Chapter 26
Chapter 26
Ash-gray dawn squeezed through the heavy curtains and laid a trembling strip of light across the cold marble outside the door. Dust and the stunned silence of disaster hung in the air.
Wei Wu leaned against the corridor wall, bloodshot eyes locked on the shut door. Worry and exhaustion sat so thick on his bronze face they looked carved there. At his feet lay a handful of spent cigarette butts—he’d quit, but last night had been an exception. Milu was curled in the corner, silver hair a mess, small face bloodless, green eyes swollen into peaches. She hugged her oak staff so hard her arms still shook; the crystal on top was dull. Xing Dian’s flame had shrunk to fist-size and pressed itself against the panel, humming like a sick hound. Yue Fei squatted before the knob like a snow-white statue, amethyst eyes nailed to the crack under the door, tail-tip stiff. The gravity on the landing felt heavier than ever.
Inside: nothing. The storm of screams and sobbing and the artifact’s metallic shriek had cut off at dawn, and the silence was worse than the noise.
“Can’t... wait any longer!” Wei Wu snapped upright, calloused palm slamming the wood. “Milu—back!”
Milu flinched, clutching her staff. Wei Wu filled his lungs, muscles bunching like a leopard’s. Shoulder down, he aimed at the lock—
BOOM—!!
A dull thunderclap. The solid door juddered; the frame groaned; metal twisted.
BOOM—!!
A second blow. Splinters flew; the lock core sheared clean.
CRASH!
The heavy door slammed back against the wall.
Wei Wu, Milu, Xing Dian, Yue Fei—every eye snapped to the room.
Light poured through the wrecked doorway and the gap in the curtains, sweeping part of the gloom aside and revealing chaos: books strewn, ornaments toppled, the carpet scorched black—last night’s runaway energy. Bottles on the vanity lay on their sides; perfume had bled dark stains into the rug.
But what sat in the middle froze them solid.
On the floor: no unconscious Yun Xi.
Instead, two figures.
One sat cross-legged, rubbing her head in irritation. Shoulder-length hair blazed like wildfire, lifting though no wind stirred. A black, studded-leather jacket—conjured from pure energy—hung loose on her frame, collar crooked, showing a skull-print tee. Ripped denim shorts, bare feet. Sword-straight brows knitted; eyes fierce and groggy. “Ugh... head feels like a battering-ram hit it. Old Wei? You gonna stand there gawping? Where the hell is this dump? And what’s with this crappy get-up—” She yanked the jacket, the gesture all male swagger but clumsy in an unfamiliar female body, almost toppling. “Tch! This frame’s so... soft. And this stupid skirt—” She flicked the hem of a pale-lavender witch-dress shimmer that flickered beneath the jacket. Around her right wrist coiled a mini, translucent version of the Eternal Dream: Prime Abyss, pulsing an unstable indigo shot with angry red. The air around her felt like a cage someone had forgotten to lock.
The second figure knelt in perfect seiza, spine straight as a pine. Waist-length pearl-white hair spilled like silk. She wore the same lavender witch dress, the skirt spreading around her like a sleeping lotus. Hands folded on her thighs—an oil-painting lady. Eyes the color of ancient wells, calm and remote. On her left wrist glimmered a twin phantom bracelet, its glow steady and moon-silver. A faint line drew her brows together as she regarded the real artifact on the floor.
Between them lay the actual Eternal Dream: Prime Abyss. Its silver-blue band was dim, exhausted. Worst of all: a hair-fine silver crack ran along the inner curve—like a scar on a perfect face—testifying to last night’s soul storm.
Time stopped.
Wei Wu’s jaw dropped; his eyes bulged. A strangled sound crawled out: “I—what the actual—DJ? Two... two Xi... Xis?!” He swayed.
Milu blue-screened. Her staff clanged to the floor; her mouth formed a perfect O. “S-senior... split... in half?!”
Xing Dian’s sphere zipped around like panicked bees, shrieking static, indigo flares blotched with crimson.
Yue Fei was already moving. Amethyst gaze flicked once over both girls, then the cat padded straight to the Quiet-Lake figure, tail high. At her knee he butted his head against the silk skirt, purring loud enough to rattle his whiskers.
Xing Dian whirled, torn, then drifted toward the Crimson-Flame girl, drawn by raw voltage. It settled on her shoulder, tinting itself rebellious red, and nuzzled her hair.
She swatted clumsily. “Sparkly pest...” but didn’t push it off.
The Quiet-Lake girl brushed Yue Fei’s ears; the cat’s purr revved. Her eyes, however, stayed on the cracked bracelet, worry deepening.
“You... you...” Wei Wu found his voice, hands flapping. “Which one of you is real?” The question sounded idiotic even to him.
The redhead sprang up, knees wobbling but glare sharp. “Old Wei, you sleep-drunk? I’m Yun Xi! Who else? Get me outta this dump—and this skirt—” She spotted the bracelet on the rug. “What’s that piece of junk doing on the floor?” She lunged for it.
At the same instant the white-haired girl rose in one fluid motion, fingers reaching. “Its state is unstable—careful—”
Both sets of fingertips brushed cold metal.
BWOOM—!
A savage repulsion field burst from the crack. Yun Xi jerked back as if electrocuted, snarling, “You did that on purpose!”
The other girl recoiled too, moon-calm cracking into frost. She said nothing, but her stare turned glacial.
The crack on the bracelet flickered—dimmer.
Wei Wu kneaded his temples. “Great. We just broke the sky.”
Milu’s eyes swam. “S-so... do we still order three cups of milk tea?”
The question punched through the stand-off.
Red Yun Xi barked, “Screw tea! I need real clothes!”
White Yun Xi murmured, “Now is not the time for refreshments,” though her gaze slid to the cup in Wei Wu’s hand.
Wei Wu sighed. “We’re ordering. Same as always.” He looked between them. “...Same flavors?”
“No way!” Red snapped. “Full-sugar roasted boba, double pudding!”
“Unsweetened jasmine,” White said softly.
Wei Wu thumbed his phone. “One double-pudding, one jasmine, one pearl for Milu—got it.”
Red leaned toward the bracelet again.
“Don’t,” White warned, stepping closer.
“Make me,” Red sneered.
Wei Wu planted himself between them. “Enough! Red—couch, now. No touching the bracelet. White—you too, other end. Look all you want, but no fingers. We talk after tea.”
Red muttered “Tyrant,” but trudged to the sofa and collapsed like a delinquent. White glided to the armchair, back straight, hands in lap. Milu hugged her staff in the corner.
Wei Wu set the cracked bracelet on the coffee table like a live bomb.
The doorbell rang.
“Milk tea!” He bolted for the door.
Cups clunked onto wood. Red stabbed her straw through the lid and slurped. “Now we’re talking.”
White lifted her cup, inhaling steam, eyes tracking Red’s sugar-high grin.
Wei Wu sucked pearls, tasted nothing. The room smelled of jasmine, roasted milk, and something far more bitter: a soul split down the middle.
In the hush, the silver scar on the bracelet pulsed once—like a warning light nobody wanted to see.