Chapter Sixty-Two: The Magic of the "Spirit Realm"

"Good idea," Qin Mo replied smoothly, already reaching for a clean cloth. "The perimeter needs a Sovereign’s eyes. I will stay here and ensure she doesn’t slip."

Lin Wan watched them, a strange mixture of exhaustion and amusement bubbling in her chest. She was carrying three cubs, her system was broken, her husband was missing, and her two "protectors" were behaving like jealous toddlers.

As the door clicked shut behind Long Zhan, leaving her alone with the silver-haired king, the room grew quiet. The steam from the bath curled around them, and for a moment, the weight of the world felt a little lighter.

"He’s very loud, isn’t he?" Qin Mo whispered, his eyes softening as he looked at her.

"He’s trying, Qin Mo," Lin Wan said, her voice tired.

"He’s trying to be what Wang was," Qin Mo said, his hand lingering near her hair. "But he doesn’t realize that you don’t need another warrior. You need someone who knows how to keep you warm when the world goes cold."

Lin Wan didn’t answer. She just looked into the steam, wondering when the beastworld would finally give her a moment of peace.

. .

The morning air in the Orycto village was crisp, the kind of sharp cold that signaled the shifting of seasons in the North.

But inside Lin Wan’s cottage, the atmosphere was stiflingly warm, thick with the scent of simmering bone broth and the heavy, silent competition between two high-ranked males.

Lin Wan sat propped up against a mountain of plush furs, her back aching with a persistent, dull throb as her body began to adjust to the growing weight of the three cubs within her.

She watched with a mixture of amusement and growing exhaustion as Qin Mo and Long Zhan navigated her kitchen space like two titans trying to perform a delicate dance inside a birdcage.

Every time Long Zhan moved to stoke the fire, his massive wings threatened to knock over the drying herbs hanging from the rafters.

Every time Qin Mo reached for a wooden bowl, his silver hair brushed against the Dragon’s shoulder, sparking a low, territorial growl. It was a domestic disaster waiting to happen.

Determined to make things more efficient—and frankly, to stop them from breaking her primitive clay pots, Lin Wan decided it was time to utilize her secret reserves.

She had been hesitant to reveal the full extent of her "treasures" in front of the Dragon Sovereign, but the risk of a kitchen fire was becoming more pressing than the risk of curiosity. She closed her eyes, feeling for the faint, flickering connection to Weiwei.

’Weiwei, I need to take a few things out of storage,’ she thought, her mental voice firm. ’The stainless steel pots, the iron skillet, and the full ceramic set. I can’t watch them struggle with those porous clay bowls anymore.’

[Host... accessing storage requires minimal energy, but remember, the Shop is still dark, so you can’t get anything else, so please be be frugal for now,] the system’s voice crackled in her mind, sounding like a fading radio signal across a vast distance. [Items departing the Void... now. Please brace for the auditory impact.]

With a soft, shimmering ripple in the air that looked like heat haze or a glitch in reality, several objects appeared on the wooden floor at the foot of her bed.

The sudden "clatter-clink-clang" of high-grade metal hitting the floor sounded like a symphony of bells in the quiet room. Both males spun around instantly, weapons half-drawn, their eyes scanning for a threat that wasn’t there.

Qin Mo was the first to approach. His silver hair caught the morning light as he knelt to inspect the strange, reflective objects.

He poked at the stainless steel pot with a long, slender finger, his brow furrowed in genuine, child-like confusion.

To a man who lived in caves and cities made of stone, the mirror-finish of the steel was incomprehensible.

"What is this sorcery, Wanwan?" he asked, his imperial aura flickering with a rare spark of curiosity. "It is as cold as the Northern Peaks to the touch, yet it shines like a polished mirror. No blacksmith in the Beast City—not even the master forgers of the High Clans, could forge metal this thin and yet this impossibly strong. It has no seams. No hammer marks."

Long Zhan loomed over him, his violet eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air around the skillet. "It has no scent of fire or brimstone. It smells of... nothing. Sterile and cold. Did your ’guardian spirit’ bring these from your tribe? Or did you pluck them from the air itself?"

"Something like that," Lin Wan lied smoothly, her voice gaining a bit of its old strength as she realized she held their undivided attention. "They are for cooking. They distribute heat better than clay. The food won’t stick, and it won’t burn as easily. I’ll show you how to set the base. . ."

She started to swing her legs off the side of the bed, intent on reaching the hearth to demonstrate. She felt a surge of adrenaline, a desire to be useful again, but she didn’t even make it halfway. Before her feet could touch the floor, a large, calloused hand pressed firmly, but gently, against her shoulder.

"Stay," Long Zhan commanded. His voice was a low, protective rumble that vibrated through her chest.

Before she could utter a single word of protest, he scooped her up, furs and all, and tucked her back into the center of the bed as if she were a fragile porcelain doll. "The healer said your spirit is a vessel at the brink. You will direct us from here. Point your finger, bark your orders, and we will move. But your feet stay off the floor."

"I am pregnant, not paralyzed!" Lin Wan huffed, clutching her blankets.

"In this house, you are the Sovereign, and a sovereign doesn’t dirty herself with menial chores," Qin Mo added. He shot a smug, sidelong glance at Long Zhan as he picked up the iron skillet, testing its weight. "Tell me, Wanwan, how do we use this ’mirror-metal’ to make the soup you like? Does it require a different kind of flame?"

For the next hour, Lin Wan played the role of a general from her "throne" of furs. She explained the concept of searing, the importance of heat distribution, and why they shouldn’t use metal spoons to scrape the ceramic plates.

The two kings, who could command armies and level forests, listened with rapt attention, their bickering temporarily replaced by a shared obsession with mastering the "Spirit Tools."

. . .

While the domestic lessons continued inside, the quiet of the village square was interrupted by the sound of heavy, rhythmic wingbeats and a sudden, frantic commotion.

Kray had finally returned to the tribe, looking like a man who had been dragged through a briar patch and then sat on by a mammoth. He was bedraggled, his clothes torn, and his eyes bloodshot from days of flight.

He had flown all the way back from the direction of the Beast City, his mind reeling from the intelligence he had gathered. He barely had time to touch the ground before Davy intercepted him, grabbing the scout by the scruff of his tunic before he could even fold his wings.

"You!" Davy roared, his face inches from Kray’s. "Where have you been? Do you know the chaos that unfolded while you were chasing ghosts in the south? Another male intercepted Lady Lin! A Snake King! He is currently in her house, stoking her fire and eating her food!"

"I... I went to the Beast City!" Kray gasped, his breath hitching as he tried to steady his shaking knees. "I thought the white-haired male would have returned there to seek reinforcements or to report his ’lost’ female. I thought he was a runaway! But when I arrived, the city was in a state of absolute panic.

The guards are frantic. The elders are in mourning. Qin Mo hasn’t been seen since the great flood happened . He never went back! He’s been hunting for her in the wilds, alone, for weeks!"

Davy’s eyes flashed with a mixture of grudging respect and renewed irritation. The fact that a King would abandon his throne to wander the wilderness for a single female was a testament to Lin Wan’s value—and a reminder of why the Dragon Sovereign was so obsessed.

"He’s here now, you fool," Davy growled, dropping Kray into the dirt. "In her cottage. Acting like he owns the hearth and knows everything . He out-tracked you, and he out-timed us."

"He’s here?" Kray’s eyes went wide as he looked toward the cottage. "But how—"

Thwack!

Davy delivered a swift, ringing blow to the back of Kray’s head that sent the scout face-first into the mud. "That’s for being slow. And that," Davy added, looming over him like a dark cloud,

"is for letting a snake out-maneuver a dragon on our own turf. Get up.