The first long-distance communication trial finished in perfect success, like a lantern flaring to life against a night sky.

Give it a few more trials, and we can break ground on the first line, like staking a riverbed through new soil.

Everyone on-site buzzed after the test, their excitement rising like warm steam, because the signal held steadier than our math had promised.

It was excellent news, a spring rain soaking parched fields.

At our current build pace, rollout wouldn’t take long; the rules and charters could fall to others, like clerks driving geese along a road.

City-to-city single lines, then a net linking many cities, would change a thousand things, like weaving fresh threads through an old loom.

Cerqin felt a tide of anticipation swell, then she let herself breathe slow.

At the banquet after the trial, Cerqin tucked herself into a corner, waved off a few researchers, and muttered, heavy-hearted like a stone in a sleeve.

I shouldn’t have stayed. I should’ve brought White Thought. I’m awful at these scenes…

It wasn’t just researchers; nobles and royals and every shade of power were here, brocade and steel glimmering like a peacock garden.

The Divine Officers from the Sanctuary were hemmed in tight, floodgates slammed shut, and Cerqin—hoping to catch a patron—shivered like a leaf and hid deeper.

Even so, as a project lead and a Sanctuary member, dignitaries still drifted over, bees testing a bloom.

Her awkward reputation as the Holy Maiden’s old flame did its work; when she showed no interest, most retreated like tide from shore.

Just as Cerqin plotted a quiet escape, a beautiful older sister with a familiar face came straight at her, moonlight parting thin cloud.

“Uh…”

The girl looked familiar, a face in water she could almost name, yet Cerqin had no memory of ever meeting her.

“Hello?”

She came straight for Cerqin, curiosity bright as a lantern, her intent clear as an arrow’s line, so Cerqin had to answer.

“Hello, Miss Cerqin. I’m Nira Saint. Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Nira Saint—ah. So, Your Highness the Eldest Princess.”

Hearing the surname, Cerqin remembered why the face felt familiar, the echo like a bell in a hall.

The little princess she’d met in Eastwind City—of the Holy Dragon Empire—was this Eldest Princess’s full sister.

Golden hair, bright as wheat under noon sun, was their seal.

After a few pleasantries, Cerqin let herself study this golden-haired, poised beauty, a blade sheathed in silk.

Her younger sister carried a bad name and a worse temper, thorn and nettle in one, and her deeds were as foul as smoke.

Cerqin’s impression was bitter; in Eastwind City the little princess had kidnapped her, and if not for Aileaf’s rescue, the roads beyond were too dark to imagine.

This elder sister, though, didn’t feel like that kind of storm.

“You want me to make something for you?”

Cerqin eyed the warm, eager smile, curious as a cat, because the Eldest Princess stated her purpose at once.

She’d expected courtly rope-work; instead, it was a simple request to build things, like a breeze instead of a net.

“I know a bit of magi-tech, but nothing too complex right now. What did you have in mind, Your Highness?”

“Oh, it’s nothing too complex. It’s, well, um…”

Before she finished, a blush rose like dawn on her cheeks.

“…”

An image burst in Cerqin’s mind—the first time she’d come to the palace—and she ventured a guess, thread pulled from memory.

“You don’t want custom versions of my signature toys… do you?”

“Ah—yes, yes!”

The toys Cerqin had modified had gone viral, carried along trade lines like swift boats, after the An Sisters in Northfort took them in hand.

She hadn’t expected a wildfire so fast, a spark racing across dry grass.

Sometimes, when idle, she still made a few by hand, to gift or sell, like carving charms on a rainy day.

The ones in those researchers’ hands on her first palace visit were handmade by Cerqin herself, warm as bread from an oven.

Unlike the scatter of mass-market units now in the capital, her new pieces were refined and given extra tricks, varnish and hidden springs.

The Eldest Princess gathered her courage again, shy as plum blossom in late frost.

“I’d like to order a batch with a fuller set of functions…”

“A batch?”

“Mm-hmm. A mix of types, several sets of each… If you’re too busy, I can connect you to a proper workshop. The price is easy as wind.”

“Now that the long-distance test worked, improvements aren’t urgent. I do have time.”

“Really? If you can make them yourself, that’s even better, like tea poured by the master.”

“Uh…”

Cerqin thought a beat and agreed, then added another ripple of thought.

“But if you can, please also introduce a trading guild to handle production.”

“Of course.”

Cerqin figured the Imperial City’s subcontractors would be better than most, and with a royal introduction, prices would bend like bamboo.

If she could tie that line now, all the better, a knot firm as a sailor’s.

They settled details, set time and place, and the Eldest Princess steered back to the goods she wanted, eyes bright as flint.

As they spoke, Cerqin found she truly was the little princess’s sister: different on the surface, yet with a hidden steel, a river under silk.

Cerqin thought the Eldest Princess would fit the Sanctuary, a flame steady in a temple lamp.

When she said it, the princess agreed at once, a bell chiming in answer.

She even admitted she’d wanted to join as an honorary Nun, to pin her name to the Sanctuary’s wall, but her father refused, a door closed by a heavy hand.

Her look of regret made Cerqin click her tongue in wonder, like tasting unexpected sweetness.

“Then it’s settled. Use this to reach me if anything comes up.”

As she spoke, the Eldest Princess handed Cerqin a communication stone, black and square, night pressed into a palm.

Cerqin stared a beat at the dark little block. In-city, with no mana interference, it was slick as oiled gears for short-range calls.

The flaws were plain as clouds: limited range, and a very low mana frequency that drifted under turbulence like a paper boat.

Worse, paired stones only talked to each other, two cups tied by a single string.

With comm stones spreading through the cities, Cerqin had gathered many different pairs, like pockets full of pebbles.

If you lacked larger spatial gear, the stones’ smallness turned on you, bulking your belt like a peddler’s tray; even with space gear, it was a hassle.

Spatial gear was pricey as starlight, not something a common purse could reach.

Letting one stone call many, or ramping output to punch through interference, would swell both size and cost, a bell that grows too heavy to ring.

Especially the latter, a mountain on the scale.

For multi-threaded city links, big fixed rigs were fine, anchors sunk deep; you could even charge fees and make the river pay you back.

Cerqin drifted into thought, eyes gone distant like a boat on mist.

“Miss Cerqin, are you alright?”

The Eldest Princess spotted that focused look and asked, worry soft as gauze.

“Is there a problem?”

“Ah, no. I just remembered a few things. Your Highness, do you think fixed-point comm hubs have any obvious points we could improve?”

Cerqin slid the topic aside, letting ideas spill like beads, because her mind wouldn’t sit still.

The princess had no technical footing and blinked, lost as a chick in tall grass.

“Uh?”

“Ah—sorry, force of habit…”

She’d been talking with specialists for weeks; the reflex jumped first, and she rubbed her head in embarrassment, a child caught sneaking sweets.

The plan was simple in bones: take the palace core as the base node, then set branch points across the city, stars around a moon.

Each branch would host a fixed number of call devices; capacity had a ceiling like a jar’s rim, so that’s how it had to be.

If mana signals overloaded, the core would tangle into chaos, a hive gone mad—more a materials and endurance constraint than a cleverness one.

No metal could carry that many single-aspect mana channels without crosstalk, threads knotting in the same eye.

Since the topic was open, the Eldest Princess listened, curiosity kindling like a small campfire, while Cerqin sketched the basics.

She wasn’t expecting answers from a complete outsider; she was only talking to keep the moonlight company.

Then the princess dropped a stone in the pond.

“If metal tops out, why not try other materials? Though high-grade beast parts are hard to get in bulk…”

“Bio-materials do work, but sourcing is tricky—wait…”

High-tier beast husbandry was hard, and yields were thin, like snow in summer.

Composite beast materials existed, but wide application was a mirage in heat.

As conduits or mediators, they might be worth a try; that road was a blind spot in the map.

Most of all, Cerqin remembered something, a shard bright as lightning.

A material with extremely high mana conductivity, smooth as polished ice.

After the banquet, Cerqin ran to the palace lounge where Baili, Qianli, and others waited, wind in her sleeves.

Two knight-captains and a few knights were playing a quick game; when Cerqin burst in, they jumped like startled fish.

“Baili, Qianli, can you help me with something?”

“Uh?”

“Help me catch a few monsters outside the capital—please?”

“Uh?”

“A few large slimes—the same type we ran into before.”

Spring Tide looked to Qianli, the words pointing back to the giant slime they’d hunted together, a memory like a wet thud.

“Uh?”

Baili and Qianli were blank again, faces flat as boards.

“So here’s the deal…”

After a stream of fast, one-sided babble that washed right over them, Cerqin remembered to explain properly and laid out her method.

She skimmed the technical parts like a dragonfly on water; once her requirements were clear, Baili and Qianli nodded, steady as posts.

“No problem. But near the Imperial City, high-level beasts are scarce. For large slimes, we’ll check the Adventurers’ Association, like casting a net where rumors swim.”

“And live capture’s tough,” one added, voice dry as rope.

“We’ll need to apply for restraint gear from the Sanctuary,” the other said, practical as a ledger.

“Restraint gear, got it. I’ll speak with Spring Tide myself; that should go faster, like cutting through bamboo.”

With that decided, Cerqin plopped down in the lounge and played mini-games with the knights, killing time like tossing pebbles.

The banquet ended without surprises; the researchers returned with the accompanying Divine Officers, and they all went back to the Sanctuary, a caravan under stars.

Cerqin found Spring Tide buried in paperwork, a river of ink, and explained again; she came away with approvals for capture devices.

She also got authority to mobilize a small squad of knights, a stamped wind at her back.

She handed the documents to Baili and Qianli, and the two hurried out to execute, drumbeats rolling toward the city gate.

After that, Cerqin sought out White Thought and White Feather, handing them a roll of orders like a bamboo slip and a purse heavy as river stones.

The money was the Princess Royal’s deposit, warm in Cerqin’s palm like smooth jade.

The list named not only raw stock for this batch, but tools and reagents for the next trials, beads of dew on the next leaf.

After a flurry of errands, dusk pooled like ink under the eaves.

It was late; after tidying the lab like stacking tiles, Cerqin returned to her room, waiting for their nightly rite like a candle for flame.

Contentment settled like warm tea; she lay on the bed, eyes on a ceiling blank as rice paper, the day a brimming cup.

Compared to before, it was sky and earth apart, though each new city brought stormfronts—and troubles like the Four Pole Stars.

If only this plain river of days could run a little longer…

What are you sighing about by yourself?

The latch clicked and the door creaked; Aileaf’s puzzled voice chimed like a bell.

Back so early?

Today’s experiment wrapped early; but you too—back so soon? Did your trial succeed?

Mmm-mmm-mmm…

Cerqin, you look like you can’t wait—like a cat at the fish basket.

A brushstroke of helplessness wrote itself across Aileaf’s small face, ash on porcelain.

Heh-heh-heh…

After all, last night her partner was Spring Tide; with Aileaf now at Tier Six, today would be her first try, a first step up the ladder.

The Curse Deity’s dominion let them work finer details now, threads of control fine as spider silk.

It’d be a lie to say she wasn’t eager, a bowstring itching to sing.

Cerqin wore a punchable grin and drew breath to tease—

Their mana flared in the same heartbeat; the dizzy ripple felt familiar as thunder before rain.

This is…

That feel again—Silver Luan seems to have broken through.

Mm.

Spring Tide, still at his desk, looked up as if a string had been plucked; in the depth of his eyes, four dim stars hung, and one flared.

It stood opposite the one that lit when he advanced before, the pair winking like beacons across a river.

Deep in the Sanctuary, in a special cultivation room, Silver Luan sat cross-legged, eyes shut; a silver-white aura swept the chamber like tidewater.

Patch by patch, dragon scales surfaced where skin had been bare, frost blooming across stone.