Back inside her apartment, Feng Ruqing locked the door, tossed her bag onto the couch, and collapsed into her beanbag like a tragic noodle.
The room was still, dimly lit by the soft glow of a talisman lamp. Outside, the city murmured — horns, dogs, laughter. Inside? Only the faint hum of her soul.
She sat up, exhaled slowly, and pressed her fingers to the talisman at her wrist.
A gold shimmer crawled up her arm, like a ribbon of sunlight unspooling.
“Let’s go.”
Her consciousness — and body — shifted, pulled inward.
---
✦ In the Realm of Jadefire
She landed softly on the spirit-stone path, bare feet brushing dewdrops that shimmered with qi. The sky overhead was its usual twilight gradient, and her personal garden — a blend of floating herbs, cauldrons, and moon-pools — glowed like a dreamscape wrapped in incense.
And then—
WHOOSH!
A sparkle bomb exploded at her feet.
Out of nowhere, Little Spirit spun in midair, holding a giant paper fan that said:
“WELCOME BACK MASTER WHO PROBABLY BLUSHED ONCE TODAY~”
Ruqing did not flinch.
She simply blinked. “How long were you rehearsing that?”
“Three hours, two minutes, and a light snack!” Little Spirit chirped, floating upside down. “So? How was the walk with your cute little human friend~?”
“He's not cute.”
“Is he little?”
“No.”
“Then what are you two?”
“Friends.”
Little Spirit gasped, scandalized. “Lies! Bold lies! You were glowing! Your face was like—” it squished its cheeks dramatically— “blushy like steamed buns!”
“I don’t blush,” Ruqing said flatly, walking toward her cauldron.
Little Spirit zipped after her. “He believes in you. That means something~”
“He’s annoying,” she muttered, lighting her lotus flame with a snap of her fingers. The cauldron ignited, gold fire blooming in elegant swirls beneath it.
“And yet,” Little Spirit said, balancing on her head, “you smile when he does.”
“I smile when I imagine setting people on fire.”
“Sure, sure. But if I drew a talisman of you two holding hands—”
Ruqing threw a dried soul-thistle at it. Little Spirit shrieked and dove into a tea kettle.
---
As she tossed ingredients into the cauldron — calm root, dream-seed, frost lotus petals — the flame curled higher, responding to her rhythm. A soft melody hummed through the air, as if the realm itself breathed with her.
Stillness settled.
Except for a faint whisper behind her ear.
“...Do you think he’d still smile like that if he knew everything?”
Her hand faltered for just a moment.
Then she added the final herb, and the mixture swirled — silver-gold and shimmering.
“He would,” she whispered. “But I’m not ready to let anyone see everything.”
Not yet.
Little Spirit peeked from the kettle, ears drooped.
“You’re lonely sometimes, aren’t you?”
Ruqing didn’t answer.
The morning started off suspiciously normal.
Which, for Feng Ruqing, was already suspicious.
No spirits loitering in alleyways. No cursed whispers in stairwells. No glowing talismans vibrating in her bag. Just a stale breakfast bun, a warm breeze, and Qin Chen trying to stack three apples on top of each other at the school gate.
She stared at him blankly. “If this is a ritual, I hope it backfires.”
“They say if you balance three apples before 9 a.m., you summon perfect grades,” he replied seriously.
“‘They’ are liars.”
One of the apples rolled off and hit his foot.
---
By mid-morning, the class was dragging itself to the gym for physical education — otherwise known as “fifteen minutes of actual activity and forty-five minutes of internal screaming.”
“Dodgeball,” Coach Ma barked, blowing his whistle like he enjoyed causing trauma.
“Split into two teams. I want sweat, speed, and a little healthy fear of spherical objects!”
Feng Ruqing joined the back of Team B, arms crossed, face calm, expression suggesting she was already regretting existing.
Qin Chen jogged over, bouncing a ball off his knee like an idiot. “Ready to crush dreams?”
“I’m ready to dodge human stupidity.”
“Same thing.”
---
They were three rounds in.
Qin had already been hit once (dramatically), Minya was throwing balls like she was auditioning for war, and Feng Ruqing was effortlessly dodging every single throw without moving more than an inch.
“Are you… gliding?” Qin Chen whispered.
“Skill,” she replied.
Then it happened.
The moment she touched the ball.
She felt that something was Just… off.
Because in that split second her fingers brushed the rubber, something brushed back.
A faint whisper, low and distant, echoed not in her ears — but in the edge of her awareness.
“You’re getting close...”
Her eyes narrowed. Qi rippled faintly through her fingers — not in defense, just instinct.
But the ball? Normal.
No cursed mark. No unnatural chill. No spiritual residue.
Just… a whisper that didn’t belong.
Ruqing froze.
“What the—”
“FENG RUQING, THROW!” someone shouted.
A blur came at her. Instinct kicked in.
She threw the ball.
It shrieked.
Not out loud — not for anyone else.
Just that same faint voice, rising behind her ribs like an echo.
The ball slammed into Minya straight in the stomach.
Minya crumpled like a folding chair.
Everyone gasped.
Coach Ma dropped his whistle.
Qin Chen blinked. “Holy crap, Ruqing, did you just knock her out with chi?”
She blinked. “...No?”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
---
Minya was fine — just winded and overdramatic, as usual. She was escorted to the infirmary muttering something about “psychic missiles.”
But Ruqing held her breath.
That voice… wasn’t in the ball.
It came from somewhere else.
It knew her.
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