Each Containment Entity’s strangeness manifests in wildly different ways. Some may seem harmless yet harbor lethally volatile auras. Others might kill you for no reason at all. These entities sense each other through an innate connection—a way to recognize their own kind.

Even Senior Bailin, whose confidence bordered on arrogance, never underestimated fellow Containment Entities despite her overwhelming power.

She might believe herself unkillable, but if her body was torn apart and this district destroyed in the crossfire, the delicate web she’d woven for Junior Li Ming would shatter.

That web must remain intact.

A silvery moonlight haloed the edges of Senior Bailin’s hazel irises. Her pupils snapped tight. Ignoring the risk to Xu Peng, she lunged—not with her body, but with an invisible force—clamping down on the floating crimson puppet.

The puppet barely registered the attack before its fragile form crumpled into splinters under the crushing grip.

Shards of red fabric and wood chips scattered like eerie, tragic confetti.

*Crack.* The acidic snap of breaking joints marked the puppet’s end. Containment Entity battles often ended in a single strike. For Senior Bailin—an uncontainable, rare-class entity—crushing a puppet was trivial.

Yet as the puppet’s remains drifted down, Senior Bailin’s expression stayed grim. Her left hand began sizzling.

Searing pain shot up her arm. Her fingertips blackened like charred meat, the scent of burnt flesh thickening the air. In an instant, her entire left hand looked as if it had been roasted alive.

Few could endure such agony without screaming.

But Senior Bailin’s face remained serene, as if the hand wasn’t hers. Only her hazel irises contracted unnaturally.

"*Turned to ash in misty waves, a perfect demise…*" Her voice cut through the smoke. "*You once leapt into flames to repay his love through a life of drifting. Today, you’ll taste that same fire.*"

Where the puppet’s fragments lay, a three-foot crimson stage materialized. Melancholic music swelled as the puppet reformed, dancing with heartbreaking beauty—a vision begging to be saved.

Its fiery gown now mirrored its words: flames. The vibrant makeup darkened to soot-stained ash at its feet.

"*Another unkillable Entity?*" Senior Bailin tilted her head slightly, examining her own charred hand. "*I recall a little one like you once. Danced so boldly before me, certain of its immortality.*"

Her gentle smile returned—the same indulgent look an adult might give a child showing off a toy sword.

"*For your kind of ‘unkillable’… I’ll try a different method. If I decide you can die… you won’t come back.*"

Her aura shifted from icy ruthlessness to poised grace—a perfect lady of noble bearing.

She raised her hand again, palm open.

This time, the puppet didn’t wait. Terror flooded its painted eyes as invisible chains locked it in place.

A ghastly shriek tore from its throat. Senior Bailin’s gaze turned cruel. This wasn’t just crushing—it was *rending*. Limbs ripped apart. Silk threads snapped. The puppet’s final scream echoed as its body tore into four pieces, discarded like broken dolls.

Every Containment Entity held unique power. Senior Bailin, among the rarest, was no exception.

Unlike certain entities she avoided, she’d never bothered to fully explore her own ability. To her, it was simple: *What she willed, would be done.* The method didn’t matter.

She’d ensnared Junior Li Ming because she *willed* him hers.

She’d crushed the puppet the first time without thought—hence its revival. Many entities died permanently to physical destruction. She’d ended countless that way.

But this second attempt? She *willed* its death. And reality bent.

The puppet’s remains hit the rooftop with a wet *thud*. Its crimson gown darkened to charcoal, as if burned from within. Its severed head rolled to Senior Bailin’s feet, one beautiful eye bulging from its cracked face.

"*This one… performed a lifetime of roles for him. Sang every song…*" Its voice grew clear, stripped of rage. "*He promised reunion in the next life… but never came…*"

A single tear glistened on its ruined cheek. It stared up at Senior Bailin—not at her, but *through* her.

"*Ah. A Ming Dynasty relic, then.*" Senior Bailin’s voice softened. "*I watched your awakening weeks ago. To think a puppet’s fate could be crueler than mine…*"

In that final moment, she glimpsed its past: a wandering performer, starving in a ruined temple, clutching a beautiful puppet as life faded.

A lifetime dancing on strings… ending in bitter regret.

*Who was to blame?* Even Senior Bailin had no answer.

"*This one… only… refuses to accept… He promised…*"

The voice died. The puppet burst into flames without fire. In the blaze, a tearful silhouette faded.

*Thus it was written:*

*A century of swaying—empty fate,*

*Three feet of crimson stage—a dream’s weight.*

*One song of parting, roads gone astray,*

*Two strings of sorrow—time slips away.*

*Words fail the fallen, lost and alone,*

*Whose heart’s riddle finds no true home?*

*Puppet to pyre, the last act is done,*

*Bitter tears flow north on the wind’s sigh.*