“Cerqin, how much longer—another moon or two?”
Aileaf stood by Cerqin, chin tipped up like a curious sparrow; a prickle of discomfort rose, so she squeezed his backside and asked.
“A few months, probably—just a handful of moons.”
He’d only just reached Fifth Rank; to climb to Sixth, even the swift must settle, like clay tempering in a kiln.
He spoke of months as a self-guess, a slow season; with natural growth, it could stretch like winter into years.
“That’s still fast, like spring catching frost.”
“After all, I can drink stormy feelings like wine and spin them into power.”
The Love God’s gift is a cheat-code for rank-ups, a hidden lever; her own feelings, others’ feelings, even other forces, all get woven into her cloak.
If another Eastwind City storm hit again, she might touch Sixth in days, and brush the threshold of Seventh like a hand on a gate.
At the center of the training ground, Spring Tide and Silver Luan squared up, stances set like cranes by a river; Ninexiao watched, amused, brokering terms.
When the protective arrays glowed open, Ninexiao’s voice cut like a bell; two tides of color-rich mana crashed like rivers meeting.
Fists met with a crack, and a rolling airwave surged like a breaking tide.
After the clash, Silver Luan stepped back two steps, Spring Tide five, like leaves blown by different winds.
In the first test of strength, Silver Luan held the mountain; silver dragon scales bloomed in a breath, covering her jade-pale arm.
If it were only flesh, Silver Luan’s body stood several times a Sixth Rank; with scales, it towered in the teens, like a cliff grown higher.
Ninexiao stroked his chin, weighing outcomes like stones on a scale.
“In raw power, Silver Luan expands more; in reaction, they match like mirrored blades, but Spring Tide still runs with the wind.”
As talk flowed, the two crossed again and again, speed blurring to sparks; even Cerqin’s eyes lagged, and Aileaf saw only afterimages.
Of the three onlookers, only Ninexiao’s hawk eyes traced every thread in the loom of motion.
To Cerqin, Silver Luan’s white frost pressed down Spring Tide’s spring green like dawn on dew.
“Spring Tide’s really getting pushed hard,” he felt, a ripple of worry before words.
“Not entirely,” Ninexiao said, gaze unblinking, voice calm as stone under rain.
“After that first punch, Silver Luan hasn’t touched her; slipping into the fissure between moments, even I must wait till Spring Tide returns to the world.”
“But that trick burns fuel like a comet,” Cerqin murmured, concern humming like a taut string.
Silver Luan’s recovery after her rise surged like new sap; Life Force, a root of matter’s law, pulsed like a deep spring.
In attrition, she holds a heaven-granted edge, evergreen against drought.
Outside speed, Spring Tide’s offense, defense, and recovery face a cliff; the tide beats rock and loses foam.
“A wear-down fight cuts worse for Spring Tide,” Ninexiao judged, hourglass sand fine and sure.
In his sight, despite Silver Luan’s berserker storm, her body read like a map of scars, a bleeding tiger beneath a white moon.
Life Force’s mending failed its promise; Spring Tide’s time-acceleration salted the wounds, worsening them like frost on cracks.
On ordinary days, a small cut, under that rush, could turn fatal; for Silver Luan to stand this long, she’s an iron ox at this tier.
If injuries piled just a little more, her current edge would splinter, certain as nails in a board; yet in a dozen minutes, Spring Tide had burned half her mana like candles guttering.
Without new tricks, the result would fall within ten minutes, as steady as sand slipping.
Both held trump cards tucked like hidden blades; it was only sparring, a touch and a stop, rain without thunder.
Five minutes later, they halted where they stood, breath clouding like horses after a run.
Spring Tide’s face was paper-pale; mana trembled like stormlight, and her stamina and mana were sapped nearly dry.
Silver Luan looked worse, blood slick as wine on armor; scales shattered in patches, life glow flickering like a lantern in wind.
“A draw?” Ninexiao sighed, regret a thin reed note; Spring Tide rolled her eyes like a wave and turned to Aileaf.
“Aileaf, give me a bottle of calm—an Anshenzhi.”
“Anshenzhi? Got it.” Aileaf’s blink was a flutter of wings; seeing red flare on Spring Tide’s pale cheeks, she moved quick as rain, handing over a milky-white vial.
The potion slid down like moonmilk; the flush retreated like a tide, and Spring Tide exhaled, relief a soft wind.
She withdrew the time force she’d draped over Silver Luan, then spoke with rue, like a leaf letting go.
“This blood’s effect hits harder than brute force; it bites deeper than a cudgel’s bruise.”
Blood’s a body fluid, part of the same river; once strengthened, even Spring Tide must split focus to dam the surge.
“Time’s force restrains like ice; erosion outpaces recovery, even with everything wide open,” Silver Luan said, regret a mist; she knew she’d lost in truth.
It looked like a draw, but she felt time’s blade hadn’t been swung full; she took it without heat, like a warrior setting down her spear.
They stood close in power; next time, with counters set like shields, the outcome might turn with the wind.
With time withdrawn from her wounds, scales grew back like spring shoots; Life Force swelled, and with no deep cuts, Silver Luan returned to prime in minutes.
“This recovery’s outrageous,” Spring Tide muttered, half laugh, half sigh, eyes flicking to Cerqin like a fan’s tap.
Cerqin got it at once, scampering over like a happy pup; the Love God’s gift flared, and Spring Tide’s drained body and mana filled like a warm tide.
“I won’t bother your rest. Do as you please,” Ninexiao said, coming like a breeze and leaving like one, mission done.
Cerqin felt a pang, a stone dropped in his chest-pond; with Silver Luan out of seclusion and joining the field, tonight’s plan with Aileaf might dissolve like mist.
“Mm…” He lifted a foot like stepping into a stream, and Silver Luan’s hand pressed his shoulder down like a firm, cool leaf.
She looked to the other two, eyes bright as snow.
“You two have had her for days; tonight’s mine, yes?”
“Tonight was set for me alone,” Aileaf said, soft as silk yet firm as bamboo, not yielding the line.
“Together,” Spring Tide concluded, easy as a laugh; “been a while since the four of us moved like one.”
Silver Luan pouted, lips a cherry curve, and let the wind take her reluctance; today’s mood wouldn’t let her keep the river to herself.
“Then together; no returning to rooms. It’s wide here, and the soundproof array lasts like a long night.”
“It hasn’t been that long! And bedroom first—there’s no bed here,” Aileaf protested, a sparrow scolding the sky.
Three at once wears Cerqin like rain wears dye; even with spirit and body intact, he fades midstream and wakes far downstream.
They’ve all gotten stronger; even with just Spring Tide and Aileaf, Fifth Rank Cerqin had started to stagger like a lantern in wind.
Add the ever-sturdy Silver Luan, and Cerqin didn’t dare guess when his eyes would open again—tomorrow’s dawn or the one after.
“I’ve got a bed,” Spring Tide said, smile sly as moonlight; she pulled out a giant bed from her space gear, big enough for five or six souls.
“Why in the skies do you stash a bed that huge in your spatial kit? What a waste,” Cerqin blurted, disbelief a firefly.
“Just hush,” Spring Tide breathed, a finger like a reed to his lips.
“Hey, wait—”
Smack!
“Ahh—”
