Lady Cui looks between them, her gaze steady.
"Doctor," she asks Wenji, "what were you about to tell me?"
Diexin hesitates, her eyes drifting briefly toward Merin.
The method she holds can awaken the Seventh Prince, but it relies on Gu.
Gu belongs to the Four Cities of the Cangzhou Mountains.
If Merin realises she can use it, suspicion will follow.
Lady Cui notices the pause.
"What are you hesitating for?" she asks, her voice calm but probing.
Diexin lowers her gaze.
"Because the method I intend to use is not orthodox," she says.
"And it carries risk."
Lady Cui straightens slightly.
"Explain the method and the risks," she says.
"Then I will decide."
Diexin inhales slowly.
Her plan requires refining a Dream Gu, using it to link with the Seventh Prince's mind, and entering his mind realm to remove whatever prevents him from waking.
But with Merin present, the word Gu feels dangerous.
Merin watches her carefully.
He sees the repeated glances.
The guarded silence.
Is the method tied to her true origin?
His gaze shifts to the Seventh Prince.
For a fraction of a second, his Dao stirs.
His vision pierces through flesh and spirit, entering what this world calls the mind realm.
Inside, the prince's soul is wrapped in a cocoon.
A red vine pierces the cocoon, extending beyond the mind realm itself.
At the other end waits a monster.
A Dream Demon.
Its lower body is that of a spider, chitinous and vast.
Its upper body is that of a woman, pale and smiling.
Merin withdraws his Dao instantly.
He could sever the vine.
He could kill the demon.
But his Dao carries poison.
If he fights with it here, the poison will spread through his body.
To escape it, he would need to reincarnate again.
He will not intervene.
Merin turns back to Diexin.
"Tell us," he says evenly.
"We can discuss it and reduce the risks."
Diexin looks at him, searching his face, then finally speaks.
"I know a method to refine a Dream Gu," she says.
Lady Cui frowns.
"Are you from the Cangzhou Mountains?" she asks sharply.
"I was told you were from Dongji Province and studied under Esteemed Doctor Sun Jixuan."
Merin answers before Diexin can.
"She likely obtained the method from the black market," he says calmly,
"or from a cultivator's retreat ruin."
Diexin freezes for a breath, then looks at him in surprise.
He is covering for her.
She nods.
"I found it in a ruin on an island during my travels," she says.
Lady Cui considers this, then relaxes slightly.
"I see."
Dongji Province borders the Eastern Sea, and to its north lies the Demon Forest.
It is a land where ruins surface often and wandering cultivators gather.
Her explanation fits.
Lady Cui looks back toward the sleeping Seventh Prince.
"Then tell me everything," she says quietly.
Diexin speaks carefully.
"I cannot use Gu directly," she says.
"So I will transform the refinement method into a spell or a pill."
She pauses, choosing each word.
"I will use it to enter the prince's mind realm and help him wake."
Lady Cui turns to her at once.
"What are the risks?"
Diexin does not evade it.
"While attempting to wake the Seventh Prince, his spirit could be injured."
Lady Cui's expression darkens.
Spiritual injuries are the most treacherous to heal.
Spiritual herbs are rare.
Some wounds never mend.
"When can you complete this spell or pill?" Lady Cui asks.
"A week," Diexin answers.
Lady Cui nods slowly.
"Then return in a week with your method," she says.
"Other physicians will present theirs as well, and I will choose."
Merin speaks then.
"Lady Cui, I will do everything possible to solve this case."
She looks at him coolly.
"You had better."
The audience ends.
Merin and Diexin leave the palace together.
They walk through the layered corridors toward the front gate, guards and attendants parting before them.
Merin breaks the silence.
"How did you arrive here?"
"A palace carriage," Diexin replies.
"Then come with me," Merin says.
"I'll take you back to the Pearl House."
She nods.
They reach the waiting carriage.
Merin helps her step inside, steady and unhurried.
He follows her in and takes the seat opposite.
The carriage door closes.
The wheels begin to turn.
Inside the carriage, the first sound Merin hears is the muted rhythm of wooden wheels rolling across smooth stone.
This is the Inner Palace City.
Quiet.
Ordered.
Every movement is restrained.
As the carriage passes through the final gate and enters the Inner City, the world grows louder.
Voices overlap.
Horses snort and stamp.
Carriage wheels clatter against uneven streets.
Life presses in from every direction.
Diexin breaks the silence.
"Can you drop me at Huang Street?"
Merin lifts his hand and knocks once against the wooden wall behind him.
"Li, take us to Huang Street."
"Yes, Lord," the driver answers promptly.
Merin looks back at Diexin.
"What do you want to do there?"
"I want to rent a storefront," she says calmly.
"I plan to open my clinic there."
Merin raises an eyebrow slightly.
"Did you forget that in two weeks you will become a lady of the Duan Family?"
Diexin meets his gaze.
Her emerald eyes lock onto his grey ones without retreat.
"My dream is to open a clinic in the capital," she says.
"I planned it before coming here."
She continues evenly.
"I intend to open it after settling here and serve as your family's pill refiller."
"The marriage won't change that."
Merin scoffs inwardly.
So thorough.
So careful.
Not a single stone left unturned.
Aloud, his voice lowers, almost amused.
"Really."
Diexin's eyes widen.
"What do you mean?"
Merin looks at her, then shakes his head.
"Nothing."
She watches him closely.
"Are you going to stop me?"
Inside her mind, the thought repeats.
Stop me.
Stop me.
She has already arranged to meet a renter.
She has prepared every step so that nothing about the Pearl House night appears deliberate.
Merin smiles faintly.
"If you want to open a clinic," he says lightly,
"Who am I to stop you from accomplishing your dream?"
The answer hits her harder than resistance would have.
Diexin opens her mouth.
No words come out.
The carriage slows.
"Lord," the driver calls, "we've reached Huang Street."
Diexin moves to step down.
Merin speaks again.
"Send me the method for refining the Dream Gu."
She pauses.
Then nods.
"Okay."
She steps onto the street.
The carriage pulls away, leaving her standing amid shopfronts, voices, and flowing crowds.
Inside, the driver asks, "Back to the office, Lord?"
Merin considers for a moment.
"No," he says.
"Take us to Qinyun Street."
The carriage turns.
And rolls toward the heart of music, poetry, and dreams.
Merin steps down at the mouth of Qinyun Street.
The driver guides the carriage aside to park.
Standing there in his Divine Guard lieutenant's uniform, Merin draws attention immediately.
Eyes linger.
Whispers stir.
He exhales quietly.
He should have changed clothes.
Too late now.
He straightens.
If he is already here, he will investigate openly.
His mind turns to the Dream Demon.
If the demon alone were responsible, the pattern would be simple.
One host.
Then spread.
Proximity.
Contact.
Yet the victims are scattered across the city.
Unrelated.
Disconnected.
Which means someone is working with it.
Either an evil cultivator refining the Dream Demon as a natal object, or a partner bound by contract.
Refining a demon is not a crime.
Using civilians to nourish it is.
But before any of that, he must find the key.
How the Dream Demon chooses its targets.
Merin closes his eyes for a breath.
Then spreads his spirit.
It unfolds silently, layered, restrained, threading through walls and floors without pressure.
He steps forward.
He enters the first building.
A poetry pavilion.
Scrolls line the walls.
Ink scent lingers.
Scholars murmur softly over wine.
His spirit brushes cups, brushes, breath, and emotion.
Nothing.
He exits.
A dance hall.
Music hums through silk curtains.
Feet stamp in rhythm.
Sweat, incense, desire.
His spirit glides across mirrors and wooden floors.
No trace.
He moves on.
A painting house.
Canvases of mountains, lovers, ghosts, immortals.
Pigment soaked with intent.
His spirit lingers longer here.
Dreams often cling to art.
Still nothing.
He enters a music hall.
Strings vibrate.
Flutes sigh.
Drums pulse like distant hearts.
His spirit follows the sound itself, riding resonance.
No anchor.
A tea house.
Steam curls upward.
Stories are told here.
Plans are made.
Regrets are buried.
He listens with his spirit rather than his ears.
Nothing.
Wine houses.
Private rooms.
Upper balconies.
Lower stages.
He enters them all.
One by one.
Slowly.
Methodically.
His uniform parts crowds without resistance.
Some recognise him.
Some stiffen.
Some avert their eyes.
Merin ignores it all.
His spirit expands, contracts, and adjusts frequency.
He is not searching for the demon.
He is searching for its net.
For the mechanism that allows it to touch minds without distance.
Time passes.
The street grows louder as night deepens.
Lanterns ignite.
Music thickens.
Laughter rises.
Then, in one building, his spirit hesitates.
Not an alarm.
Recognition.
A faint distortion.
Like silk stretched too thin.
Merin steps fully inside.
And the investigation truly begins.