By the time Amai finally steadied her emotions, night had already fallen.
The little girl stopped her hiccupping sobs and opened her tear-blurred eyes, only to see a warm campfire flickering before her— its origin unknown.
The orange flames illuminated a patch of snow, vivid and lively against the pitch-black night.
Even the sharp ice and snow softened into rounded contours, giving off an unusually gentle aura.
Beiyuan had strung together the fruits he’d picked from this snowy pine forest on a branch and was roasting them over the fire.
For some unknown reason, the aroma smelled quite pleasant. He casually handed a skewer over. “Want some?”
Amai stared for a moment but eventually couldn’t resist her hungry stomach and took a bite. “…It’s hot!”
Beiyuan: “I was just about to tell you that.”
Despite complaining about the heat, Amai tore into the fruit eagerly, as if trying to chew away not just hunger but the lingering frustration from earlier.
While eating, Amai glanced around and noticed Sinsid was nowhere in sight. She asked, “Where’s that guy?”
Beiyuan fed a skewer to the curious Yan King and petted its fur before casually replying, “He went out on some business.”
Under Beiyuan’s ‘loving’ discipline, the spider leg had finally obeyed them.
Feeling he had mastered Beiyuan’s technique, Sinsid eagerly grabbed the leg and headed out, hoping to capture the Ghost Spider Lady once and for all.
Amai let out a soft “oh” and grew quiet again, staring into the fire.
Beiyuan glanced at her and suddenly asked, “Was that performance really that important?”
Though they had only just met, Beiyuan wasn’t opposed to lending a hand— especially since he’d accidentally destroyed her house earlier.
All he knew so far was that this little girl was part of a dance troupe originally scheduled to perform at the Saan Wangcheng’s public show but had been removed from the lineup.
“It’s important, of course it is.” Amai sniffled, her voice fragile. “My hometown is a nameless little planet on the border of the Sarn Star Domain. I never thought I’d even be able to scrape together a ticket to leave home in my whole life.”
“But now, somehow, the Sarn Leader heard about our Ice Dance and specifically requested our planet to perform at the Huangchu Dianxia’s coming-of-age ceremony in ten days. Commoners, nobles, even the Crown Prince and King might attend in person!”
“My grandfather even spent his savings on a new terminal so he could watch the live broadcast from home, saying he’d be the first to spot me on camera…”
Even a child like Amai, with limited understanding, knew this was a monumental, spectacular event.
On that day, all eyes in the star domain would be on them. The pinnacle of life, infinite glory— nothing could compare.
But Amai looked down at the dismissal notice tossed to her during the day and choked back her tears as the campfire crackled fittingly.
The kids from earlier were also part of her troupe, but they were backup members, just in case.
Being invited to perform at the Imperial Royal City was a lifelong dream for many.
Along the way, the adults around them reminded the children over and over, filling their hearts with awe and excitement.
Now that Amai couldn’t perform due to her injured leg, the others saw their chance— and none of them wished her well. They hoped she’d remain crippled forever.
“When did you injure your leg?” Beiyuan had noticed her limp earlier but had avoided mentioning it, wary of hurting her feelings, treating her like any ordinary person.
Amai’s expression darkened. “Three days ago, on the way back to the dormitory, I was bitten by a snake.”
“Dormitory?”
“It’s about a twenty-minute walk east from the cabin. The whole troupe lives there. After I got hurt, they made me move out to rest.”
In truth, that shabby cabin was less a place to recuperate and more a random spot picked to get her out of the way.
Beiyuan asked again, “Did you see a doctor?”
“Yes. They said it was snake venom. I got an injection of antivenom and then nothing further.”
Beiyuan wasn’t sure if the doctor was just careless or if the snake venom was truly beyond even the most advanced medical technology of the Imperial Capital.
But the incident reminded him of Sinsid— after all, his forcibly transformed hand was the result of the Ghost Spider Lady’s poison.
Later, Sinsid seemed to have developed a universal antidote.
Just as Beiyuan recalled this, Sinsid returned.
Seeing what the man carried, Amai let out a short scream, and the Yan Beast, who’d been dozing, lazily opened its eyes and glanced disdainfully at them from beside the fire.
Sinsid held the very spider leg of the Ghost Spider Lady, still thrashing wildly as if trying to escape.
“That’s enough. Your main body is far away from here, so don’t think about going back.” The man stomped the leg into the snowbank without mercy, finally quieting the writhing limb.
“How did it go?” Beiyuan raised an eyebrow at Sinsid’s disheveled appearance. “You found the target and even got into a fight?”
“It’s a long story. Do you have water? I’m exhausted!” Sinsid thanked them, took the wooden cup Amai awkwardly handed over, gulped it down, then began explaining. “I followed this leg’s trail for over half an hour until I reached a city. Hey, that city’s surprisingly bustling— almost comparable to Yunshang Nation!”
Beiyuan thought for a moment. “You mean the Saan Clan Royal City?”
“Saan? That’s one of the races here, right? Probably. The prosperity looks like a main city of a major clan.” Sinsid rubbed his chin, recalling the scene. “At the city gates, I found that the leg’s signal was even deeper inside, so I tried to enter. But the guards stopped me—”
At this, the man’s face twisted with confusion. “The guards said, ‘The King has ordered no Wanzu-related matters in the main city these days. Even dressing like Sinsid counts as a violation.’ I don’t get it. What does ‘dressing like Sinsid’ mean? I am Sinsid.”
Beiyuan immediately glanced at Amai, who also looked puzzled— almost thinking, “A big city that controls what people wear is just ridiculous.” Beiyuan realized that Amai, from a remote planet, probably couldn’t afford a holo-game pod and naturally knew nothing about the Wanzu game.
“And then?” Beiyuan ignored Sinsid’s curiosity, mainly because he didn’t know how to explain it.
He would have preferred to say that the Wanzu world was a special existence, its foundation not atoms but data.
Once, the real world intervened unilaterally, but now this intervention had become mutual.
Fortunately, Sinsid understood the urgency and didn’t dwell. “So the guards demanded a fine, and then a bunch of people suddenly showed up, saying I looked like the real me and wanted photos.”
Beiyuan instantly knew the free-spirited man wouldn’t stand for this. He raised his eyes and unsurprisingly said, “You ran.”
Sinsid shrugged. “Ran. The soldiers chased me for a while, but I lost them halfway.”
After a moment of silence, Beiyuan looked at him and suddenly said, “Do you know what I’m thinking right now?”
Sinsid nodded. “I guessed.”
They exchanged a glance, speaking almost in unison: “She must have parasitized someone else.”
“She prefers young, beautiful girls as hosts.”
They paused, then again together: “We have to find a way to flush her out.”
Sinsid: “Just storm the Royal City?”
Beiyuan: “Too flashy, you’ll spook her.”
Sinsid: “Then sneak in.”
Beiyuan: “But—”
The two fell into a seamless back-and-forth that left Amai dumbfounded. She quietly shuffled to the Yan Beast’s side, but it was busy glaring at the cowboy and ignored her.
“How do we execute this?” Sinsid massaged his temples. “Places like this usually require passes, just like Yunshang Nation, right?”
“I already have a plan.” Beiyuan looked at Amai. The girl was clueless as he then turned to Sinsid and asked, “Do you still have your universal antidote?”
Following Beiyuan’s gaze to Amai’s leg, Sinsid circled it thoughtfully before understanding. “To what extent?”
Beiyuan: “Fully cured.”
Sinsid: “Three doses.”
He reached into the leather pouch at his waist and pulled out three vials filled with faintly red liquid.
He tossed them one by one; Beiyuan caught them steadily.
“One dose per day, each time once, three consecutive days to heal completely. But it’s painful.” Sinsid explained clearly. “Each pain episode lasts an hour. During that time, she can’t lose consciousness and must keep walking to fully metabolize the medicine. You should let her think it over carefully.”
Beiyuan nodded and looked to Amai, his golden eyes calm and steady, radiating a reassuring strength. “You heard everything. What’s your decision?”
Amai stared at them in disbelief. From their brief words, could it be… they meant to heal her leg? But was that really possible? Could she still dance, still chase her dream?!
The ice lake was eerily silent under the night sky, its surface smooth and mirror-like. Snow-laden pines shed their branches, like ornaments framing the glassy expanse.
The children who had fought with Amai earlier had long disappeared, unable to endure the cold night.
Yet this was where Amai chose to take the medicine.
Sinsid, claiming he “didn’t want to see anyone suffer,” busied himself trying to coax the spider leg into better obedience, so only Beiyuan had accompanied them.
“You probably haven’t heard of it before—my hometown is a tiny, remote planet on the border of the Sarn Star Domain,” Amai said, gazing up at the stars.
“Ice Dance is the oldest tradition on our planet. Everyone learns it. Some kids even master the basic steps before they can write their own names.”
Beiyuan handed her the prepared dose, feigning curiosity in time with her words. “Sounds like there’s a story behind this dance.”
Amai swallowed the medicine without hesitation. The sparkle in her moist eyes shifted slightly at Beiyuan’s reply. “It’s a dance passed down by our ancestors—apparently, they loved dancing even though survival was harsh. They had to migrate constantly, searching for a place to settle.”
“Once, during a migration, they encountered a real dragon! They accidentally trespassed into the dragon’s territory and were almost wiped out. Suddenly, one of them begged, before dying, to offer a dance to the dragon. It was a dance no one had ever seen…”
She faltered here, seemingly unable to describe the scene properly, and hurriedly opened the worn storybook she clutched tightly.
The book was tattered from overuse, its damage far exceeding its natural wear. Its spine had been stitched repeatedly, showing how dearly it was treasured.
Her hands trembled faintly as the first waves of pain slowly arrived, but she remained silent.
Beiyuan looked down at the opened page—
The illustration depicted a frozen, snowy world, an endless ice lake where a dancer twirled gracefully on the frozen surface.
Her flowing skirt resembled a white bird about to take flight. At the horizon, an ice-blue dragon lowered its gaze, looming from the snowy depths beneath the vast sky.
The dragon’s body was translucent and clear, carved from ice and snow, radiating pure, dreamlike majesty.
In contrast, the dancer’s figure was tiny as a speck of ink, yet radiated a sacred devotion as if offering a sacrifice— silencing all who beheld the scene.
The image was frozen in this moment but felt as if the dancer and dragon could spring to life at any second, forcing viewers to hold their breath.
“Sometimes I wonder what the dancer thought while dancing like that? And the dragon, looking down at such a fragile creature struggling below— what was it feeling? Would it spare them because of the dance? What was a dragon’s heart like back then…?”
Her breathing grew erratic. Fine beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, and she trembled uncontrollably in the cold wind.
The medicine had begun to take full effect.
Beiyuan watched her. “If you really want to know, it’s not so hard.”
“Wh…at…?” The pain surged violently, like countless ants burrowing through her bones. In moments, her consciousness blurred.
Amai could only see Beiyuan’s lips move faintly, unable to make out the words. Sweat dripped into her eyes repeatedly, and she barely made out a pair of shimmering golden eyes.
She couldn’t cry out but firmly remembered to keep moving, not to stop.
Normally, in an inspirational tale, this would be the moment when the girl’s perseverance finally triumphed, and she rose reborn from the flames.
But this was still a barely thirteen-year-old child— perhaps not even a girl yet— and an ordeal many adults couldn’t endure.
After over forty minutes, Beiyuan realized she was at her limit— without some external change, she would fail.
Beiyuan decided to help. This was his backup plan when asking Sinsid for the medicine, designed for exactly this situation.
His method resembled anesthesia: intervening in her mind to let her temporarily escape the pain of reality and endure the time ahead.
Almost every high-intelligence lifeform in the Wanzu had considerable mental strength— even spider monsters possessed “mental attacks.”
As the last dragon towering above countless spider monsters, Beiyuan naturally had a strong mind.
He expanded his mental field and guided the nearly unconscious Amai into linking with him.
This was Beiyuan’s first attempt at such a connection, but with his mental strength as a foundation, it was not overly difficult.
However, a slight problem arose—
After spending several seconds constructing the mental world, Beiyuan suddenly discovered that, though theoretically only he and Amai should exist there, a third, unfamiliar mental presence had appeared.
…Who was this?
And why did it feel oddly similar to the Zhuilongzu?