“Spill it. What trick are you pulling this time? Let me make one thing clear upfront—if you try to brush me off with more of your vague nonsense, I won’t go easy on you.”
At those words, Tang Yin froze for a moment, cold sweat prickling across her skin.
Because what Tang Nai said wasn’t a threat—it was a simple statement of fact.
The fact was, if she really did it, Tang Nai would act without the slightest hesitation, just as she had done to her own father.
In any other situation, with anyone else saying those words, Tang Yin wouldn’t feel even a trace of fear.
But the person speaking was Tang Nai—someone who absolutely had the power to deal with her.
Was Tang Yin’s ability strong?
Extremely.
As long as she had sufficient magic power, she could rewind time, alter its flow rate, or accomplish countless unthinkable feats.
That power was breathtaking, giving her the confidence to stand against the entire world without flinching.
But that confidence rested on the premise that her relationship with Tang Nai had not yet deteriorated beyond repair.
Indeed, even against “War”—the other titan in the Combat Division rumored to possibly rival the Demon King in strength—or against Zhen Yi, on whom they pinned such high hopes, Tang Yin could still walk away unscathed.
Yet she absolutely did not dare provoke Tang Nai, because the latter had long since surpassed the scope of what she could handle.
The ability everyone saw was merely Tang Nai’s mask.
Before her true ability, the very concept of time ceased to exist.
“I’m jealous of her,” Tang Yin said after a brief hesitation, her voice trembling.
Short and to the point.
“Guessed it again. Last time it was Tang Mo. I don’t know exactly what strings you pulled, but that girl seems to be doing some pretty childish things right now…”
At that, Tang Yin averted her gaze, unwilling to meet Tang Nai’s eyes.
She looked like a child caught red-handed after doing something wrong—being lectured by an adult—mentally tallying her own mistakes without much real remorse.
“Enough. I only came to stop you before you went any further. I don’t care what else you want to experiment on, but you’d better keep your hands out of my business from now on.”
Toward Tang Yin, Tang Nai’s attitude seemed cold on the surface, yet it wasn’t truly that harsh.
After all, these two troublesome younger sisters were now the only blood relatives she had left.
“Fine.” Tang Yin remained sparing with her words, but for some reason—perhaps an illusion—Su Mu thought she detected a faint note of grievance in her tone.
“Follow me.”
“I won’t be going along,” Tang Nai said suddenly, halting in place and simply motioning for Su Mu to follow.
It seemed she wasn’t worried that Tang Yin would try anything against Su Mu while they were alone.
Su Mu hesitated for a second but obeyed, following Tang Yin into a pure white room.
Every inch of the walls emitted blinding light.
From ceiling to floor, radiance flooded every corner, erasing all shadows.
The glare forced Su Mu to narrow her eyes; for a moment she lost all sense of distance.
In the center of the narrow space floated a medium-sized magic-power cage.
Rippling blue magical energy clung to the bars, flowing back and forth along them, baring its fangs toward Su Mu as though the slightest touch would slice skin.
Though called a cage, it resembled more a trap designed for small-to-medium animals.
For a human, it was far too cramped—impossible to stand straight or even sit upright inside.
And the most striking thing in the entire room was the red-haired girl curled up within it, eyes tightly shut.
Seeing her, Su Mu gave a small start.
Without thinking, she sent threads slicing toward the bars.
The serrated magical energy fought back just as fiercely, tearing at the threads and sparking violently in collision, ringing out with the clash of metal on metal.
As though unwilling to clash further with Su Mu, Tang Yin flicked her finger lightly.
The cage vanished in a puff of smoke.
Su Mu hurried forward, catching Ye Wanqing’s body and anxiously checking on her condition.
The girl’s eyelashes trembled incessantly.
Her silky red hair, once so lustrous, now lay dull and disheveled like withered autumn grass.
The parts that had touched the cage still bore charred, scorched marks.
Even after being freed, she kept her brows tightly knit, like a small child trapped in a nightmare.
Her expression shifted again and again, yet never escaped the realm of suffering.
Remaining in the same curled posture and exposed to such intense light for so long—it was clear Ye Wanqing had not known real sleep until this moment.
Any time she drifted off in a daze, Tang Yin had brutally jolted her awake.
Even for a magical girl, enduring such inhuman torment was impossible to sustain for long.
And ever since Su Mu had gone back in time, several weeks appeared to have passed.
Just the last time Su Mu had heard her voice, Ye Wanqing had still been that carefree girl, her words laced with natural playfulness that made one picture her sweet, radiant smile.
The thought made Su Mu feel suffocated, as though a giant python had coiled around her chest.
And the name of that ferocious serpent was guilt.
She gently brushed aside the messy strands covering Ye Wanqing’s cheek.
Beneath them was a haggard yet still beautiful face.
Her lips were cracked and dry; thick shadows pooled beneath her eyes, making it painful to look directly at her.
When guilt reached its limit, it transformed into a shuddering rage that tore through Su Mu’s chest.
In an instant her gaze turned so icy it seemed capable of freezing everything in sight.
She slammed her hand down.
Countless razor-sharp threads ripped through space, enclosing every inch of Tang Yin’s body in their cutting domain—as though intending to shred her apart then and there.
Yet to Tang Yin, who had already reached B-rank, an attack of this level was little more than child’s play.
Just as Tang Yin prepared to casually dispel it, she was shocked to find her will sinking into nothingness.
Her ability no longer answered her call, as though it had fallen into a deep slumber.
In desperation she could only raise her arms in a frantic block.
Her extraordinarily high Bu Mo Index granted her body the resilience to withstand the cutting, but bleeding was unavoidable.
Countless gashes bloomed across her skin, the pain jabbing at her mind.
Her pristine white lab coat hung in tatters, no longer able to cover her properly.
Gritting her teeth, Tang Yin clutched the nearly disintegrating fabric and struggled to restore it.
But before she could catch her breath, Su Mu’s second assault arrived.
A single filament—sharper than any before—flickered in and out of sight as it sliced toward Tang Yin’s throat.
In the nick of time, Tang Yin’s power finally reawakened, cloaking her within her own pocket of time and letting her evade the decapitating strike.
“How dare you—”
Tang Yin started to spit venom, but then remembered Tang Nai was just outside the door.
She swallowed the rest, glaring furiously at Su Mu instead.
Her normally cool gray eyes burned with resentment and envy.
How could someone so reckless and suicidal be looked upon so favorably by her?
Yet Su Mu had no intention of letting her off.
The dazzling strings remained ever-present, coiling relentlessly around wherever Tang Yin stood.
Just then, Ye Wanqing stirred faintly in Su Mu’s arms.
The movement distracted her, and the threads in her grasp loosened.
“How… are you?”
Hearing the familiar voice, Ye Wanqing forced a weak smile.
Her voice came out dry and faint, barely above a whisper: “Stupid Little Mouse Mu… you sure took your sweet time…”
‘Once I’ve rested up, I’m going to get back every bit of this—with principal and interest—from you.’
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