Cerqin woke like a leaf drifting to shore; the carriage had reached the Sanctuary.

The knight at the reins saw her dozing and called softly, like a breeze through reeds, and she stirred.

Groggy, she stepped down and faced the Sanctuary’s doors, looming like a stone cliff.

Did I just nod off, like a curtain dropping?

Surprise tightened her chest first; she stretched after, joints creaking like bamboo, and felt nothing wrong.

She chalked it up to the aftertaste of a soul-wound, like smoke that lingers after fire.

Then an itch rose below, like a familiar hand across silk, yet misaligned like a note off-key.

She started to reach down, but noise burst at the doors like sparrows scattering; a squad of knights rushed from another street, armor torn like bark.

They leaned on each other, like reeds in wind; Cerqin spotted a familiar face, frowned, and went over.

Qianli? What happened—did a storm hit you?

The front knight saw her, bowed with a voice like a low bell. Behind him, Qianli, held up by another, looked battered like a stray dog.

Are you okay? What happened? The words came fast, like thorns pressed from the throat.

We were returning from the outer Sanctuary when we were attacked, like lightning from a clear sky...

Faces darkened like storm clouds. The assailant was a strong cultivator; ordinary knights fell in a heartbeat.

When we came to, we found Captain Qianli in a nearby alley, grievously hurt, like a lantern guttering.

Cerqin stepped in to check him, calm first, hands moving after like water. He’d taken a recovery draught; body and mana flowed steady, like a river.

He’d only fainted from heavy mental drain, his body weak like thin ice.

Cerqin set her palm on his shoulder; the Love God stirred like a warm tide, refilling his strength and mind.

Seconds later, Qianli’s lashes trembled like moth wings, and he woke slow as dawn.

Mmm...

Captain Qianli! Voices rose around him like sparks.

Relief lifted off the knights like a heavy cloak.

Still fogged like mist, Qianli pushed off his support and stood; his gaze cleared like glass.

Go rest first. Her tone fell light as rain.

Yes...! The response snapped like a taut string.

The lead knight hesitated a beat, like a pendulum, then accepted. They hadn’t even seen the foe’s face, like a shadow.

Once they left, Cerqin turned back to Qianli, eyes steady like moonlight.

What exactly happened? Her voice thudded low, like a drum.

It was Ming Duo... She threw a mental spell, wide as fog, knocking people out. I didn’t last long.

Qianli rubbed his head, puzzlement blinking like a firefly.

She resisted, dragged me into that alley, then I blacked out. It made no sense, like a knot tied wrong.

Anyway... let’s find Spring Tide and the Bishop, like seeking higher ground.

Cerqin was just as lost. Still, Ming Duo exposing herself was a lantern—easier to track.

A wide soul-search might already have caught her trail, like footprints in fresh snow.

Cerqin used a comm-stone to confirm Spring Tide’s location, then the two hurried inward, like arrows, to a conference room.

As they entered, Spring Tide’s voice rang out like a chime.

Qianli, you were attacked. You okay? Concern rippled first; the question followed.

Mm... Your Grace, Holy Maiden, I’m fine. It’s just strange, like sand in gears.

Qianli recounted everything, bead by bead. Everyone, Ninexiao included, wore puzzled faces like masks.

After a hush like snowfall, Spring Tide looked to Ninexiao.

Well? The word dropped like a pebble.

... Silence pooled like ink.

Ninexiao sat cross-legged at the center seat. Pale violet sigils glowed in the floor, converging like streams beneath him.

Minutes passed; his aura rose with a rush, like wind filling a sail.

Found her... but it’s odd, like a mirror cracked.

Odd? The echo was crisp as frost.

I’m sensing several targets with similar auras and strength, like stars of equal shine. That’s odd.

Clone magic exists, but splits aren’t equals; they’re weaker, like branches thinner than the trunk.

Only certain bloodlines divide power evenly, like water shared across cups.

The Hand of Dominion shouldn’t have that trait, like iron refusing to bend.

Split up? Spring Tide’s words were clean as a blade.

Their side’s power was overwhelming, like a mountain behind them.

Even without Ninexiao, an eighth tier, the Imperial Sanctuary had several high-level Divine Officers, plus Spring Tide newly advanced.

With such a hunt team, breaking a common city would be easy, like pushing a door ajar.

No... wait a little longer, like holding breath before the plunge.

Ninexiao shook his head, brows knitting like vines.

A bit more, and soul power will blanket the city like nightfall. Ming Duo’s seventh tier, yet the skill is razor-sharp—you know it.

Spring Tide held silence, then nodded, like a reed agreeing with wind.

Her bloodline isn’t what shines; Ming Duo’s true power is breadth of magic, like a library in her mind.

Each tier allows limited imprints. At mid-tier, you inscribe only a few heavy attack spells, like stones set in bone.

Even at high tier, capacity caps; you carry maybe a dozen strong imprints, like stars you can name.

Most serve as supports to your core, like ropes to the main mast.

Ming Duo is different, like a river that ignores banks.

With exquisite control, she bypasses imprints mid-battle and casts from will, like lightning choosing its own path.

It’s terrifying—she shifts like storms; a monster in truth.

Ninexiao continued, voice level as a plumb line.

I’ve marked several targets. Wait one more night. When soul power blankets the city, we’ll trigger the formation—shield civilians, curb damage, and seal escape, like nets on water.

It was the safest course, like a wall all around; Spring Tide could only nod.

Then we wait till tomorrow, like a bow held drawn...

Cerqin, what’s wrong? Concern rose first; footsteps halted.

While they spoke, Qianli—roughed up by fate—felt fine again and aimed to find Baili, like a sparrow returning.

Then he saw Cerqin’s face twist oddly, like a flower closing at dusk.

Mm... Her sound was thin as thread.

Cerqin clutched her belly, grim-faced like fighting cramps, teeth set against an unseen tide.

Nothing... just itchy, like ants under silk.

Itchy? Qianli’s surprise flicked like a match.

He frowned, then her blush deepened like embers; his eyes widened.

Cerqin, you’re not... The words hung like smoke.

I’m not, I didn’t... Her denial fluttered like a startled bird.

... The pause stretched like rubber.

I... Her voice broke like a reed.

Restlessness surged in her; the tingling below grew rough, like hands kneading cloth.

Damn it, what is happening, like thunder locked in a box...

She pressed a hand over her short skirt, holding on like a dam. Oddly, the fabric wasn’t wet.

Cerqin? Spring Tide’s gaze swung over, like a lantern turning.

Qianli covered his mouth, snickering like a fox, then jeered.

Holy Maiden... Cerqin looks like she wants it. It’s late, so I’ll just head out—

Hey! Her glare flashed like a blade.

Cerqin shot him a look; Qianli ignored it and exited, skimming away like a shadow.

I... I didn’t... Her protest was thin as paper.

She fumbled, embarrassed first; her body answered after, honest as heat.

But the desire felt groundless, emotion off-tempo like a drum, and it jarred her.

The next room’s empty. If you’re going to do it, take it there, like closing doors against rain.

Ninexiao glanced at them, tone sour as unripe fruit.

Spring Tide said nothing; she strode to Cerqin, lifted her like a bride, and carried her out.

On his way back, Qianli felt heat prickle, maybe bled from Cerqin’s leaking emotions, like spice in the air.

The sudden urge pushed him to hurry, to find Baili and play, like a drum driving his feet.

Then, something fired like an electric spark; in a blink his mind went white, an intense sensation compressed and detonated.

It speared his skull, buckled his knees, and left his clothes wet, like rain that fell all at once.

Wh-what... was that... His voice fluttered like torn leaves.