Lạc Trần sat in a daze, fingers knotted in her hair, tugging it into a tangled mess.
Tô Mạc Tà took the bowl and stepped into the kitchen.
A figure in teal sat cross-legged atop the table, clearly waiting.
"You're back?"
"Let's talk outside."
Tô Mạc Tà eyed the cross-shaped mirror spinning lazily in Khổng Tú's palm, then gave a small nod toward the door.
"No need to complicate things."
At her words, four beams of light burst forth - red, white, black, and yellow - each striking a corner of the mirror. In its gleaming surface, the lights wove together, forming a dimensional veil that enveloped them both.
Lush grass. Clear waters. Flowers in bloom. Birds singing overhead. A world untouched by yesterday's ruin.
"You've mastered Genesis Radiance?"
The divine technique of the Chaotic Peacock Clan: Red Flame, White Wind, Black Water, Yellow Earth. Once refined, the elements fused into the first vision of creation: the dawn of heaven and earth. Hence, the name: Genesis Radiance.
And this world was its by-product.
"I had to borrow a treasure to conjure this. It's still incomplete. Without King's Domain, I can't fully realize it."
"What do you want?"
"Do I owe you an answer?"
"Looking for a fight?"
"If I were, yesterday would've been the moment. Don't posture."
Khổng Tú stood and reached out, lifting Tô Mạc Tà's chin with a finger. They were inches apart. Close enough to feel her breath, warm against her neck.
Tô Mạc Tà pulled away, her glare sharp.
"What do you want?"
"That's twice now. Suppose I said I wanted to marry you, how would you respond?"
"Then you clearly want a fight more than a wedding."
"You're worried about Lạc Trần? Don't be. You and I… we're the same."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You want the Dry Sea's secret inside him to protect Floral Valley. I want that same power."
Tô Mạc Tà studied her, then said flatly, "You're lying."
"Believe whatever helps you sleep."
"If that's all, why provoke Brother Lạc into attacking you?"
"That's not reason enough? Then tell me, what do you think I wanted? To make him the father of my child?"
She pressed a palm to her belly, throwing Tô Mạc Tà a mocking smirk.
"That's enough for now. You should leave soon. Things are about to get... messy."
She took a few steps away, then looked back over her shoulder with a wicked grin:
"Keep my darling husband safe. I hate my meat served cold."
Tô Mạc Tà returned to the kitchen. Khổng Tú was gone.
The next morning...
Lạc Trần stood at the edge of the dock, wind tousling his hair, freshly healed skin pale and unblemished. Not even a scar. The White Wind of the Chaos Peacock had mended more than flesh - it had wiped him clean, too clean. He rubbed his wrists absentmindedly, as if expecting the pain to return, as if something inside him still hadn't caught up.
Their bags were packed. The Nimbus Cloud waited, floating a handspan above the stone pier. One more step, and Vĩnh An would be behind them.
Then came the shouting.
Sir Deaf - who'd been pouring tea - dropped the pot and ran to the window. He flung it open, eyes going wide.
A roar shook the street. Dozens, no, hundreds of riders charged down the avenue. Armor lacquered blood-red, copper masks gleaming like molten suns. War flags stabbed the air behind them, unfurling with every gallop.
Wherever they passed, White Elephant guards were impaled on spears, shredded beneath hooves, their screams swallowed by the wind. The road darkened with blood, like ink spilled across a scroll.
"CIVILIANS REMAIN INDOORS. DISOBEY AND SUFFER."
The command bellowed with unnatural clarity. It was two voices layered into one, one high, one low. One seemed identical to Lam Tường Vi's, the other to Lam Văn Hoa. The fusion of their timbres grated against the ear, like teeth grinding in a throat that shouldn't speak.
Tô Mạc Tà peered through the window beside the smith. "Copper masks. Crimson Tide cavalry?"
"They're riding clouds," Lạc Trần muttered. "Look at their hooves…"
Their steeds were massive, white, and silent, hooves made of mist. As they galloped, it looked like they were riding clouds.
"This doesn't make sense," said Tô Mạc Tà. "Crimson Tide's forces shouldn't be anywhere near this border, not without a formal declaration."
"Neither should Khổng Tú," Lạc Trần said. "She just appeared too. Maybe it's a coup. Chaos Peacock's doing?"
The Little Tathāgata folded his arms. "Or someone's backing Crimson Tide. The monstrosity clans, maybe. Uttarakurudvīpa's always wanted a proxy war."
Lạc Trần turned from the window. "We can wait to find out. Let's go. Now."
Tô Mạc Tà didn't move. "No. If we run, it looks like we knew. Like we planned this. The moment the dust settles, they'll name us conspirators, and we'll be hunted from all sides."
"She's right," the Little Tathāgata said. "Only way out is through."
He exhaled sharply, then formed the Seal of Formation. Swastika glyphs ignited beneath his feet in gold spirals. A kasaya fluttered across his shoulders, summoned by thought. From his back, six golden arms burst forth, jagged, angular, dripping with radiant Chi.
Tô Mạc Tà raised her hand. Her armor responded.
Silver plates unfurled around her like a blooming flower, shoulders, chest, waist, limbs. The engravings shimmered, floral motifs blooming along her pauldrons and gauntlets. A red tassel danced at the crest of her helm.
"Sir Deaf. Keep Lạc Trần safe."
She and the Little Tathāgata launched through the window without another word, wind howling in their wake.
Petals tore through the sky the moment Tô Mạc Tà landed. Her marigolds flared, petal-blades shrieking as they flew. Cloudriders crumpled mid-gallop, armor crushed inward. Horses skidded, legs collapsing beneath them like broken scaffolds.
Her wrist-bells glowed with each movement. A single sweep sent a hail of Chi-tipped blossoms into the crowd, slicing through joints, necks, wrists. Blood spattered the stone.
Little Tathāgata landed behind her with a boom, his golden arms slashing in arcs, scattering cavalry like dried leaves. "Saintess! Warn me next time! Nearly took my arm off!"
"You're fine. Take the Upper District, I'll handle the Lower. Go find the city lord before they throw a noose around all our necks."
Her voice rang in his mind through a thread-spell, already fading as she vaulted over a rooftop and vanished into the fray.
The air reeked of iron and crushed Chi.
She cut down another rider, then another. And then she paused.
Something was off.
The Cloudriders were fast, but not natural. Their movements were too clean. No flinching, no hesitation. When she broke one's arm, it twisted without a scream. When she gutted another, they stared straight ahead, blinking in the exact same rhythm as the one before them.
Their cultivation signatures, identical. Not similar. Identical.
She skewered a third through the chest, tearing the mask loose as the rider fell. The moment her fingers touched it, a glyph flared, and the face beneath began to melt.
Not like wax. More like wet clay.
Skin sloughed off in strips, revealing a warped mess of half-formed muscle and twitching tendons. One eye socket was empty. The other had three pupils, rotating slowly like a wheel.
She staggered back. Her stomach clenched.
At first, she thought they were constructs. But they bled, just like real people.
She looked at the next one she killed. Same height. Same build. And the next. And the next.
It wasn't armor, it was a uniform. And behind every copper mask...
...was the same face.
The same jawline. The same shape of nose. The same eyes, even if some were burned, crushed, malformed beyond recognition. At least, she could tell they were the same.
"What the hell is this…" she whispered.
Her blood ran cold.
Then the rooftop ahead shimmered, and Khổng Tú stepped out of the haze.
Khổng Tú stood still, untouched by the carnage around her. She looked almost tranquil, as if the battlefield were a quiet garden. No armor. No weapons. Only the cross-shaped mirror orbiting her back, spinning slowly in the air, catching fragments of blood and flame in their glassy light.
Tô Mạc Tà's breath hitched.
She said nothing.
The mirrors turned, light bouncing from one to another, until their surfaces reflected rows upon rows of copper-masked riders. Every mask faced her. Unmoving. Unblinking. Perfectly synchronized.
It hit her then.
This wasn't a coincidence.
Khổng Tú had been waiting for her.
She emerged fully from the haze, stepping into Tô Mạc Tà's path with the poise of someone stepping onto a stage.
"Saintess Tô," she said, voice like silk over ice. "Fate seems determined to throw us together. I suppose we can't avoid this little... crossing of paths."
Tô Mạc Tà's hand hovered near her waist, but she didn't reach for a weapon.
"Khổng Tú?"
She squinted, assessing. The pieces aligned with a sickening click.
They were in the Lower District, near the slave quarter, and more importantly, the city's grain depot. Tô Mạc Tà wasn't intercepted by chance. Khổng Tú had chosen the exact moment, the exact place. Her goal was obvious: cut off reinforcements before they reached the storehouses.
They hadn't just been made scapegoats.
They were pieces. Variables in a much larger equation.
"So. Not alone this time," Tô Mạc Tà said. "And whoever you've brought along, he's not your lackey. You can't command him."
"Correct." Khổng Tú smiled faintly. "If it weren't for the Heart of Saint and that Dry Sea secret inside Lạc Trần, I might've devoured you already. Just to see if our child would inherit your mind."
Behind her, four glowing streams coiled into a ring, half-formed, half-illusory. Soft as silk, sharp as wire. A dance of Chi so fine it made the air hum.
Tô Mạc Tà raised her hand, not in attack, but in parley.
"No fighting," she said. "Not yet. Let's talk terms."
Khổng Tú tilted her head. "Go on."
"You close one eye, I close the other. Let me reach the granary. I'll remove the idiot blocking your advance. In return, you get a clear path, one less rival for your clan's leadership, and I avoid a White Elephant inquisition. Everyone wins."
Khổng Tú didn't even blink. "No real gain."
"Why not?"
"He's a nuisance, yes. But not a threat. Too dull to challenge me. Killing your group, though? That's different. It might provoke retaliation from the Pagoda of Inner Peace, or Floral Valley. If Jambudvīpa and Aparagodānī go to war, well… that suits our interests just fine."
Her voice had turned glacial.
Tô Mạc Tà exhaled sharply through her nose.
"So the northern clans are suddenly united? Don't fool yourself, Khổng Tú. You don't speak for all of Uttarakurudvīpa. You're one ambitious girl from the Chaos Peacock Clan, nothing more."
"And you think the Eastern Sea tribes of Pūrvavideha will ride to your rescue?"
Their eyes locked.
Chi rippled in the air between them, silent, searing.
Neither moved. Neither flinched.
Then...
Footsteps.
Lạc Trần and the deaf blacksmith rounded the corner, arriving at the granary.
And the balance teetered.