In the room, Spring Tide cocooned Cerqin; the Love God stirred on its own, a tide lifting under a pale moon.

It felt ordinary at first, yet as seconds sifted like sand, a shard of wrongness grew like frost on glass.

Cerqin couldn’t shake it; the unease crept in like cold seeping through silk.

Her sense of touch dulled, the world’s edge turned to cotton; it felt unlike skin, as if a limb no longer belonged to her.

Time slid forward like rain down eaves, and the discord only thickened like mist.

Sensing Cerqin’s odd flinch, Spring Tide cut cleanly to action, like a blade through reed.

A freshly awakened Phantom God of the Seventh Rank, she cast her power for the first time, a star just lit.

Even without support now, she could keep her bloodline power humming, like a river running under ice.

With the Love God’s help before, she could spam the Phantom God endlessly, a wheel turning without end.

But the old time-stacking was weaker then, like layered paper against a storm.

Awakened, the Phantom God compressed time into a knot and let it detonate, impact blooming like thunder in a hollow sky.

Already strong, she grew fiercer in that state, like iron tempered twice in the same flame.

Minutes later, Spring Tide’s eyes flashed wide; a strange light rippled through them like a fish beneath water.

“W‑wait, this is weird…” Her voice frayed like a taut string.

Cerqin spoke too; the dissonance peaked like a drumbeat, making her doubt her own control, a reinslip in a gallop.

Even if she slipped, the Love God should only trip emotions, not erase touch, like wind stoking fire, not drowning it.

Usually she’d mutter a couple complaints here, like sparks off wet wood.

She rarely kept herself steady when it hit, like a boat in sudden swell.

Yet now, outwardly it looked the same as before, a mirror image—but there was no touch, no tide, only still water.

She glanced at Spring Tide, frozen in surprise, then took a slow breath, smoothing her pulse like a hand over ripples.

Power rose on Spring Tide; green light opened like willow leaves, then sank back like dusk over ponds.

“It’s off… my touch dropped. I can barely feel anything, like fog between skin and air.”

“I’ll go call Aileaf!”

“I’ll call her here.” Cerqin saw the worry in Spring Tide’s face and almost laughed; that prim Holy Maiden was drifting like a crown in wind.

A moment ago she’d been all force, like a storm front; now worry hung on her like rain.

She’d planned to play alone tonight; the sudden anomaly jolted her like a bell struck in a quiet hall.

Cerqin pulled out a communication stone; it lit like a firefly and linked. After a quick rundown, a knock came like a pebble on bamboo.

Spring Tide rose to open it and found Aileaf, barely at her waist, rolling her eyes like a bright bead.

“You two didn’t even call me, sneaking in here…” Her tone snapped like a twig.

“Blame her. She suddenly acted like she’d gulped your proud brew; I just went with the current.”

“So what happened?” Aileaf’s grumbling fell away as she drifted to the bed, gaze sharp as a needle; Spring Tide offered a rare placating smile, dumping the blame on Cerqin.

Cerqin swept herself with spirit sense, like lantern light through corridors, and found no glaring anomaly.

Every part looked fine, polished like jade; nothing screamed wrong, which only made the numbness feel more uncanny, like a shadow with no source.

“No curse residue, no mana interference,” she said, voice even as still water.

“Let me see.” Aileaf leaned in and sniffed lightly, like a fox testing wind, then frowned, a crease like a knife cut.

“Spring Tide, you didn’t notice anything off?”

“Huh?”

“The scent’s different, and the details are… strange, like stitches under silk.”

“Uh?” Spring Tide blinked, baffled; Cerqin watched Aileaf with a tilt of doubt, like a sparrow cocking its head.

Aileaf beckoned Spring Tide and nudged Cerqin to cooperate; Cerqin rolled her eyes like a slow wave and shifted.

Spring Tide peered where Aileaf pointed and frowned, lines tightening like strings.

“It does look different…” She leaned closer, breath warm as tea steam, then gave a light lick, a cat testing milk.

Normally that would draw a sharp reaction, lightning to the skin; today it didn’t ripple a leaf.

“No… what is this?” Her voice cooled like water over stone.

Aileaf pulled a vial of pale pink potion; she uncorked it with a soft pop and tipped a drop to her fingertip, a rose bead.

She rubbed gently; mana unfurled like fragrance, and a faint mark surfaced like ink wicking through paper.

Cerqin’s discord spiked again, jagged as broken ice.

“This is…” Spring Tide stared at the mark, stunned for a heartbeat; then fury erupted off her like a volcano under snow.

“That bastard!” Her killing intent spread cold as winter wind.

“Extremely low mana efficiency caused it. It’s definitely a bloodline ability,” Aileaf said, voice tight as a drawn bow.

“Damn it…” Spring Tide understood; the picture snapped together like a trap’s jaws, while Cerqin still blinked, a deer in reeds.

“What’s going on… Don’t tell me it’s some terminal curse.” Cerqin forced a joke, a paper umbrella in rain.

“No. That part of you was swapped out,” Aileaf said, flat as a blade.

“Huh?”

“Likely Ming Duo did it. That spot on you now is someone else’s, so your feel dropped, like gloves over skin.”

“Wha—then where’s my original piece?” Cerqin’s voice pitched like a plucked string.

“No idea,” Spring Tide answered, low as thunder before rain.

Aileaf’s sober voice cut again, cool as a scalpel. “At this fusion level, only the caster can undo it and swap back. I can’t fix it now. Without the original part, it’s impossible.”

Her anger was a banked fire; it still burned like coals.

Their rage and killing intent surged together, stormfronts colliding; Cerqin’s cheeks flushed deeper as the Love God drank that negativity and spun it to pleasure, a current with nowhere to spill.

Caught off guard by her own body’s tide, she wobbled, a reed in gusts.

“What does she even want… No wonder I felt out of tune,” Cerqin muttered, a bitter taste like unripe fruit.

“Cerqin, any memory? When did you meet her?” Aileaf’s question landed like a stone into a pond.

“Nothing clear… Wait, today after the palace meeting. On the way back, in the carriage—I slept. No… I blacked out.” The memory struck like a flash.

Then she remembered returning to the Sanctuary and meeting Qianli at the gate, wounded and reeling, like a bird with broken wing.

“Right, Qianli…” Her voice tightened like a knot.

Spring Tide remembered too and stiffened a beat. “Don’t tell me she—”

They dressed fast, motions clipped like sparrows darting, and headed for the guest quarters. Before they reached them, a corridor clogged with Nuns appeared, a hedge of white lilies.

Spring Tide frowned and strode forward, steps firm as drumbeats. “What happened?”

“Holy Maiden!” The Nuns parted like reeds, revealing a Divine Officer taking Qianli’s pulse; Qianli’s state was terrible, unconscious, and a wet pool spread beneath like spilt water.

“Qianli?!” The three rushed up; Cerqin placed a hand on Qianli, and the Love God flared like sunrise, pouring strength back like warm rain.

Spring Tide met Aileaf’s eyes; both tasted the absurdity like iron on the tongue, and Aileaf’s gaze flashed with relief, a lantern saved from wind.

Good thing Spring Tide tried to eat alone today; if she’d called Aileaf, the loss would’ve doubled like dice.

Why would Ming Duo do this? The thought was a thorn under skin.

It only sharpened their anger, honed like a spearpoint.

“Spring Tide, what punishment if your senior sister gets caught?” Aileaf’s voice had ice around the edges.

“I’ll make her faint several times a day,” Spring Tide said, calm as a cold oath.

“I’ll brew something special for that,” Aileaf added, a smile like a knife.

“Good.” The word fell like a seal on wax.

When Qianli woke, she looked wrung out and dazed, a willow after storm; she shivered, curling in, then blinked around, eyes brimming until tears fell like beads on jade.

Spring Tide dismissed the Nuns with a wave, scattered like birds, thanked the Divine Officer, and helped Qianli back to her room, a hand steady as a rail.

For a moment, the three had no words, mouths full of smoke; then Baili returned from a task, paused at the doorway, and stared at the four of them, bafflement rising like fog.