After receiving the affirmative response,

Cecile kept one invitation and handed the rest to Imoxiu. "When Aileen and the others arrive," she instructed, "give them these. You can head straight to Paradise Land for the banquet."

Paradise Land’s rule allowed two guests per invitation—three people total, including the holder.

"And Mom?"

"The banquet’s still hours away. I’ll find some fun," Cecile replied. "Winnie and Helena are coming with me."

"If you have more magic theory questions, ask Abathur. She seems stiff, but she knows as much as I do."

"You still have the leisure for fun?" Winnie sighed, gently pressing her hand. A crisp *crack* echoed. "I’m dying of boredom here."

Helena happily ran to Cecile, gripping her hand with pure contentment.

Shaking up all of Yahar City in one night wasn’t feasible with just their strength. That’d unite the city against outsiders. Chaos had to start from within.

Yahar City was run by five major gangs. Their clashing ideologies sparked constant disputes, yet they all upheld the city’s order and superficial peace. For ordinary folks here, rising to prominence never meant joining the government. Gang power dwarfed the government’s—it was just a visible channel for gangs to manage relations with commoners. In reality, gangs decided everything. Ordinary people arrested could only resign to fate. But gang members? Sentencing standards were set by gangs—how and how much to punish was their call. Acquittals were common. Joining a gang was the only path to success. Thus, sparking chaos was simple: framing and scapegoating would ignite turmoil.

...

"What? Gone?"

"That woman left? Send someone after her. If she wanders into strange places, you know what to do."

"Don’t worry, Young Master An. After tonight, she’ll adore you."

"Then hurry. If she escapes and we lose her, it won’t be fun... Yahar City isn’t peaceful."

Young Master An lazily closed his eyes. Two hours remained before the banquet’s revelry. He wouldn’t stir unnecessarily for a pretty plaything.

...

As Cecile stepped out of Gaihe Inn, she sensed multiple gazes lock onto her. A slight smirk curled her lips. She swaggered toward the Upper District. Soon, more followers trailed behind. Just as she’d expected: in Yahar City at night, beautiful women never lacked hunters. These lust-blinded fools only thought of "love"—or used its guise to traffic victims. Cecile knew them well. But who was hunter and who prey? Uncertain.

At a closed theater, Cecile climbed the steps to enter. An attendant blocked her.

"Madam, we’re not open. Do you have a reservation?"

Cecile pulled three warm magic coins from her chest. "I reserved long ago to enjoy your troupe’s performance." One coin each—a tip for convenience.

The attendant lecherously eyed her, pocketed a coin, and stepped aside. "My apologies, madam. I failed to recognize such generosity."

"No matter. Don’t repeat this mistake."

"Of course, madam... Please enter." He opened the doors, admitting Cecile and her companions.

The crowd outside cursed and dispersed. Some left; others lingered stubbornly. Soon, a tiger-man led thugs straight toward the theater. Most remaining hopefuls vanished. Obviously Young Master An’s men—competing with the Joyful Ball heir for a woman meant suicide. Some left. Others stayed.

The man in white and his group crouched in shadows, watching. They were from the Shadowborn Clan—this theater belonged to them. After the tiger-man barged in, they followed leisurely inside.

...

Cecile led Winnie and Helena deep inside, slipping into an unopened performance room when no one watched.

"How are you so practiced?" Winnie asked, lounging in a chair with legs crossed. Since entering Yahar City, she’d noticed Cecile knew its rules intimately—every conversation, every lure to this theater, flawlessly smooth. Like she’d done it countless times.

Cecile strode onstage, pulled back the red curtain, found a record player, and played a random song. Melodious notes filled the quiet theater.

"Nothing special," she said. "Just years of practice."

Chaotic footsteps erupted outside. A group surged in. The lead tiger-man grinned at Cecile onstage. "Done running, woman? Hiding in Shadowborn Clan’s theater won’t save you!"

"Daring to play music here?" he added, striding down the steps. "You really don’t want us to miss you!"

Cecile stood center stage, watching them. "Running? So in your eyes, I’ve always been fleeing?"

"Aren’t you? Come quietly. If we ruin you, Young Master An will be heartbroken."

"Hahaha!" Cecile laughed, reaching forward to bow slowly. "Then—it’s time to unveil this act: *Conquest of Power*."

"Hah? Think you’re Shadowborn Clan’s lunatics?" The tiger-man sneered. "If you were Clan, you wouldn’t sell people to Young Master An—"

He shuddered. An unnatural chill flooded his body, like stepping into a freezer.

"Fog! Red fog—it’s everywhere!" someone screamed, pointing at the spreading crimson mist.

"Panic over useless vapor?" the tiger-man scoffed. A blade slicing flesh echoed in his ear. Warmth splattered his skin. Terrified shrieks rose. In the red haze, he glimpsed a Crimson Great Scythe flash. Another body dropped beside him.

Pitch-black fog swallowed sight. A little girl’s joyful laughter rang out. The stage woman’s mad voice echoed through the room:

"Sing for me—sing! Sing! Sing!"