Chapter 24: A Mother’s Promise and a City’s Peril

The sudden appearance of [Mind Collapse].

The mysterious disappearance of a Magical Girl.

As Su Qingyao linked these two unsettling events, she felt a peculiar ache begin to throb in the roots of her teeth.

Especially now, the young girl was not the solitary, helpless figure she had been in the apocalypse.

Upon entering the apartment, Su Qingyao tiptoed. She first paused at Su Muxue’s bedroom door, listening intently for any sounds from the girl within.

“Creak—”

She quietly pushed the door open, revealing Su Muxue’s serene sleeping face.

Somehow, Su Qingyao found herself calmed by the girl’s steady, even breaths.

“Phew…”

Su Qingyao gently exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Yet, for the ‘resurrected’ Su Qingyao, many things no longer held the same importance.

She simply needed to wear the facade of a “country magical girl,” and diligently raise Su Muxue to adulthood.

This, she thought, would be the fulfillment of her modest wish.

A prelude to retirement?

Late into the quiet night, Su Qingyao suddenly let out a foolish, joyful laugh.

It had nothing to do with her acting prowess.

After a moment, as if realizing her impropriety, Su Qingyao covered her mouth with the back of her hand, clearing her throat softly twice.

Embarrassed, Su Qingyao closed the door, failing to notice a faint, whispered murmur from within:

“Mommy’s back.”

Su Muxue’s voice was barely a whisper, yet on her peaceful sleeping face, a sliver of joy subtly unfurled between her lowered eyelashes.

Long ago, Su Muxue always slept cradled by Booboo.

Unlike other fantastical creatures, Booboo’s embrace was wonderfully warm.

However, once Su Muxue met her true mother, Booboo’s arms could no longer truly lull her to sleep.

The greedy girl now yearned more for her mother’s undivided attention.

To be loved by her.

****

Inside the apartment.

In an identical apartment unit, what would have been Su Muxue’s bedroom had been transformed by Lu Zhichuan into a combined study and workshop.

As the clock’s hands approached eleven, Lu Zhichuan was hunched over his notebook, filling it with meticulous rows of script. Despite three decades having passed since his school days, his handwriting remained remarkably elegant and strong.

“Finally finished summarizing [Anomalous Submergence].”

Lu Zhichuan let out a weary sigh.

[Anomalous Submergence] was a calamity on par with [Mind Collapse], its corresponding supernatural system falling under the purview of the Museum.

This was a task entrusted to him by his former colleague, the Professor, who wished for him to categorize and summarize all “calamity types” that had emerged in the past.

It wasn’t merely about listing names.

The Professor, in particular, expected Lu Zhichuan to produce something akin to an encyclopedic tome.

“I’m truly being wrung dry.”

Lu Zhichuan chuckled self-deprecatingly. “My sword is gone, and my wife is gone.”

“Only knowledge remains, it seems.”

Oh, but not necessarily.

Many calamities possessed the insidious ability to strip away or alter memories.

While Lu Zhichuan’s supernatural abilities typically shielded him from the interference of common calamities, the exact outcome remained uncertain in more severe cases.

Fortunately, the Professor was one of the few colleagues who maintained regular contact with Lu Zhichuan, and he merely treated this extensive project as a bounty.

A few years to produce some meaningful results would be entirely sufficient.

More a friend’s request than a demanding mission, this was precisely why Lu Zhichuan was undertaking it now.

Beyond that, there was one more, rather pressing, reason.

He was short on money.

“Ding-dong.”

His phone chimed with a notification from a specially marked contact.

He didn’t need to think to know who it was.

Lu Zhichuan casually picked up his phone and opened the message Su Qingyao had sent late at night.

In the message, Su Qingyao briefly described the evening’s events, then highlighted the appearance of a reverse-magic beast and, more critically, a “Mind Collapse progenitor.”

Lu Zhichuan frowned deeply.

The man loosely clenched his fist by the chair, and the hilt of a sword, constantly shifting its form, emerged from the void, settling firmly into Lu Zhichuan’s palm.

‘“The Veil” shows no signs of penetration,’ he murmured.

After repeated confirmation, Lu Zhichuan’s expression turned grave as he typed out his reply on the phone:

“–From my end, there are no signs of a direct descent.–”

“–Therefore, if a progenitor exists, it must have infiltrated the city from outside Dawn City.–”

If his conjecture was correct, the situation would become troublesome very quickly indeed.

Lu Zhichuan furrowed his brow tightly, setting down his pen.

As a former safe zone, the city naturally possessed a comprehensive defense system to prevent calamity byproducts from infiltrating its walls. Concurrently, “The Veil,” managed by the Hero, could seal passages, preventing calamities from directly descending upon the city itself.

It was precisely under this robust system that the city earned its reputation for “safety,” as only native, ordinary demonic beasts were ever expected to appear within its confines.

However, the problem now laid bare was that a [Mind Collapse] progenitor had somehow infiltrated the city.

This implied that the issue might not merely lie with the city defense protocols, but also potentially with “human traitors” colluding within the council, from top to bottom.

Such a betrayal was far more terrifying than any cultists.

Lu Zhichuan hesitated for only a moment before dialing a number from his contact list.

Simply put, a good citizen of Dawn City was about to report a serious breach.

Just as the Magical Girls’ “Tower” established branches or other entrances in various cities,

Other supernatural organizations also maintained communication points within Dawn City.

Lu Zhichuan happened to know several experienced individuals in this particular area, leveraging his identity as “Mr. Lu Zhichuan, East District Councilor.”

For the past twelve years, Lu Zhichuan hadn’t idled away his time alone at home, despite his outwardly dispirited appearance.

With a single phone call, several unfortunate office workers in Dawn City found themselves abruptly roused for midnight overtime.

****

“Already handled?”

Su Qingyao recalled Lu Zhichuan’s messages from last night: first, a lengthy, rather ominous explanation, followed five minutes later by an “OK” emoji and the line, “I’ll find someone to deal with it.”

Such a remarkably hands-off statement.

Su Qingyao could almost picture the entire emotional journey Senior Lu Zhichuan must have taken upon receiving her message last night.

Still, it seemed the outcome was within expectations.

Su Qingyao knew, of course, that the Magical Girls’ unfamiliarity with [Mind Collapse] was, in all likelihood, simply because—

They no longer encountered it often.

Generally, calamities prone to causing widespread panic were precisely those that saviors prioritized.

Not to mention, their original homelands had now become colorful lightbulbs hanging from the Tower, a permanent trophy.

Thus, even if that progenitor existed, it was merely a dying remnant.

Its ultimate fate would likely be quite miserable, she mused.

Su Qingyao thought of the faction that wasn’t yet called “the Museum,” who at the time referred to themselves as “Anomaly Scholars.”

They were a group of supernaturals who relished vivisecting or tormenting souls, you see.

Shifting her gaze, Su Muxue was diligently tackling her fried egg sandwich with focused concentration.

Booboo, meanwhile, was tidying Su Muxue’s loose, long hair.

What appeared to be large, cloth-like forepaws actually extended several small strips of fabric to serve as delicate “fingers.”

“Xiaoxue.”

“–Daddy’s picking you up today, okay?–”

Su Qingyao gently ruffled Muxue’s soft hair, her smiling lips gradually softening into a cute “w” shape as the girl hummed contentedly.

Yesterday after school, Su Qingyao had discussed the “friends” issue with Su Muxue, but whether due to obtuseness or some other reason,

Su Muxue seemed to feel almost no sense of isolation.

‘I hope so,’ Su Qingyao thought, a flicker of concern crossing her mind.

Su Qingyao narrowed her eyes, gently pinching Su Muxue’s small cheek.

“–You’re full, darling. Mommy will take you to school now.–”

“–Okay!–”

****

“Boom.”

A deep purple light cannon slammed into a translucent, pale red barrier.

The barely-held barrier shattered into countless fragments in the blink of an eye, slowly dissolving into points of light.

“–Still a bit too slow.–”

Xu Yanqing remarked, her tone even.

“–You won’t be able to protect the child behind you like that.–”

Su Qingyao, the “child” sitting behind her, could only blink in response, playing her designated role in setting the mood.

‘What… just happened?’