She was okay. She was tired. She was seventeen, and she had saved the world before breakfast.

The King raised one hand. Behind it, a hundred ghosts materialized—hungry, old, vengeful. A Qing dynasty scholar with no eyes. A 1980s factory worker whose chest was a furnace. A livestreamer whose neck was twisted 180 degrees, her phone still recording.

Meihua woke up the next morning in her own bed, still in her pajamas. Her coin was cold. Her physics test was in two hours. She hadn't studied.

"I'm good at cramming," Meihua said, but her heart was hammering. Her jade coin was burning so hot it nearly seared her palm.