Jerry crept forward along the dotted "line of sight," clutching Yevenko in his arms, and Tom followed right behind.
Two mice and one cat moved with extreme caution.
The line was only a single thread, and with the weight of all three already exceeding its limit, every step made it tremble violently.
Even so, Tom pressed on, pan in paw, swatting constantly. Each swing left a mouse-shaped dent on its surface.
Jerry, in turn, wielded a baseball bat—every time Tom hit him, he smacked Tom's leg.
Yevenko, leading the way at the very front, focused all his little strength on keeping his short legs steady.
Step by step, they advanced nervously, exhausting themselves not just from fear but from their ceaseless skirmish.
Soon Tom was panting, tongue lolling, drenched in sweat. He raised a paw to signal a stop.
At once, a strange mutual agreement fell between the three.
They all halted mid-line.
Jerry pulled out a chalk bowl of magnesium powder, dipping his hands like a gymnast, chalking up to absorb the sweat.
Tom unzipped his "cat skin," peeling it off like a costume. Underneath he wore only a loose vest and baggy shorts.
He swung the empty cat-skin violently.
With that swing, a small thundercloud puffed out beneath it. In an instant, lightning cracked and rain poured in sheets, falling upon the waters of the Lunarescent Depths far below.
But that downpour was not rain.
It was Tom's sweat.
The thunder-shower ended as abruptly as it began. The sweat drained away from the fur, the cloud dissipated, and Tom slipped back into his skin.
Cooler now, though parched, he pulled from behind a milk bottle—once gifted by Yevenko. Inside remained only a single drop.
Tom tilted his head back, upended the bottle.
That last drop clung stubbornly to the lip, trembling, about to fall—
Whoosh—!
A clockwork bird happened to pass by. The drop fell into its beak. At once it came alive, fluttered into the distance—only to stiffen back into lifeless metal once more.
Tom's eyes bulged red. Strength drained from him. He collapsed flat on the line, tongue hanging, butt in the air.
At the front, Yevenko turned, stepped carefully across Jerry's head, then pulled out another milk bottle. He shoved it into Jerry's mouth.
Jerry instantly swelled into the shape of a milk bottle himself, blinking.
Yevenko hurried forward, pulled yet another bottle from behind, set it upright, and plopped down on it.
Though glass, it stretched and compressed like rubber under Yevenko's squeeze.
Milk burst forth like a high-pressure cannon, blasting the cap open, streaming into Tom's open mouth, launching him backward in a torrent.
The recoil hurled Yevenko off. He tumbled onto the line, while the spent bottle toppled and landed right on him, squashing him into bottle-shape too.
Now, a mouse-bottle and a bottle-mouse stared at one another.
The next moment, Tom—revived by milk—sprang back full of vigor, racing toward Jerry with careful but rapid steps.
In another cut, Jerry and Yevenko returned to normal, line trembling violently beneath them. Jerry looked back—Tom was already catching up, propelled by the milk-blast.
Jerry's eyes shot out on springs. He scooped Yevenko up and bolted.
But Tom realized the milk had blasted him far behind.
He yanked out a bicycle—missing its chain. So he tore a strip of line itself, looped it in place, and used it as the chain.
Pedaling furiously, he gave chase.
Jerry, sensing the danger, shoved Yevenko aside, grabbed the line with both hands, and yanked.
With a mighty swing, the line bent into a giant wave.
The wave surged straight for Tom.
He tried to turn the bike back—but too late.
BOOOOM!
A deafening crash.
Tom, cat and bicycle both, was flung from the frame.
When he dropped back in, only a single wheel landed on the line. Tom fell squarely atop it, gripping a stray rod in his paw.
The rest of the bike sank into the sea below.
Tom now rode a unicycle, wobbling forward, still in pursuit.
But Jerry and Yevenko had reached the very crown of the Ambrosial Arbor.
Grinning with buck teeth, Jerry pulled out a pair of scissors and—snip—cut the line.
The thread vanished.
Tom looked down. His unicycle hung over nothing. He gulped.
Fwoooosh—!!
In the next instant, he stretched long and plummeted.
Falling so fast, he left behind a glowing blue soul.
The soul shrugged, pulled out an umbrella, and drifted gently down.
Jerry waved cheerfully after him, then turned, happily drawing a mouse hole at the Arbor's peak with chalk. A hammer tap—and the hole collapsed into form, fully furnished inside.
Jerry settled into a sofa, yawned wide, and dozed.
Yevenko, however, still stared after Tom.
Whoosh—!
Branches and leaves broke away as Tom plummeted, falling with him until he crashed—
SPLASHHHH!!
The impact boomed.
From such a height, water was no different from stone. His body shattered into fragments, sinking.
But his drifting soul spotted this. Tossing aside its umbrella, it dove, gathering the pieces.
It lashed them onto a raft of branches, then reassembled Tom like a puzzle.
At last, whole again, Tom shook his head awake.
He gazed upward. The Arbor's crown was beyond sight. To climb it… how long would that take?
He lay on the raft, drumming his fingers thoughtfully. His brow twitched. Above his head, a dim lightbulb flickered to life.
It sputtered, weak.
He smacked it.
It lit fully.
An idea!
Tom paddled about, collecting heaps of fallen golden leaves. With needle and thread, he stitched them into two great wings.
Strapping them on, he flapped gingerly.
And—to his amazement—he rose.
He circled the raft, flapping faster to stay aloft, then began to climb, spiraling upward around the colossal Arbor.
Higher, higher, toward the peak.
...
Alchemy Commission.
A petite girl with long pink hair, clad in flowing silks, stood proudly. Her delicate face gleamed, violet-gold eyes shining like dawn.
Most striking of all—a third eye at her brow, radiating uncanny power.
Her slender legs, wrapped in white silk stockings, stretched from tiny ivory toes up to the curve of her hips, delicate yet commanding.
This was Fu Xuan, head of the Divination Commission, one of the Six Charioteers of the Luofu.
Small in stature, but towering in station.
Behind her stood Welt, March 7th, Stelle, and Tingyun.
Their gazes fixed on the great furnace of the Alchemy Commission. Fu Xuan spoke softly:
"Here, the ancient alchemists pursued immortality. They built this furnace, drawing on the Arbor's power, turning wonder into reality."
"As the fumes never ceased, it became known as the Cloud-Veil Purple Manor."
"And here resides our target."
The leader of the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus sought to reenact that ancient blasphemy—draining the Arbor's life.
With the Nameless and Cloud Knights sealing the mechanisms, the battle erupted. Soon, the leader was overmatched.
Fu Xuan folded her arms across her petite frame, voice cool:
"At this point, surrender is your only path."
The leader staggered back.
"No! No, no, no!"
"Why? Why?! She promised!"
"She said—the Arbor's descent would grant immortal flesh!"
"The one who gave us the Stellaron swore it—"
She screamed hoarsely:
"Phantylia! The Disciples have done all you asked!"
"The Lord Ravager must keep her word—now! It must be now!!"
Her wild eyes fixed on Tingyun.
And Tingyun… smiled faintly. She shook her head.
"Tsk, tsk. Must you force me to act personally? How vulgar, little pawn."
"Ah well… it seems if the Luofu is to be ruined from within, I must stretch my limbs myself."
Before the stunned eyes of Fu Xuan, the Nameless, and the Cloud Knights, Tingyun strolled forward with graceful leisure.
As she brushed the Mara-Struck, her fingers flared.
Cyan-yellow flame engulfed them, transforming instantly into searing violet-black fire.
Mara fell, and in their place rose soldiers of Destruction.
Her voice warped, layered, ghastly:
"You accepted Abundance's gift. Surely you can bear Destruction's blessing."
With a grotesque crack, Tingyun's head lolled sideways. Her body collapsed—
And from within, a turquoise flame rose, sultry and dreadful.
"Allow me to reintroduce myself…"
"I am the Lord Ravager—Phantylia."
"I have come to shatter the Luofu, to leave it in ruins."
She imagined it already—their terrified faces at her grand revelation.
But instead—
What met her was not horror.
It was bewilderment.
March 7th jabbed a finger upward.
"Hey! What's that?!"
"There's a line straight to the Arbor—I think I see Jerry and Tom on it too!"
Stelle looked skyward. From the Divination Commission, a line stretched impossibly to the Arbor's crown. How?
But remembering Tom was involved… somehow it made sense. She added:
"Not just Tom. Yevenko's up there too."
Fu Xuan's third eye pierced farther.
"So that is the mouse that's plagued us so long. Yet the General said it aided greatly in the Shackling Prison."
Phantylia: "..."
Her moment—stolen.
Her grand entrance—overshadowed by two mice and a cat. All eyes looked upward.
And she remembered—their meddling in the prison, their interference again and again.
Rage and hatred boiled.
"I will…"
"—I will utterly destroy you!!"
Her voice, once calm, cracked into venom.
She abandoned the Nameless, abandoned the Cloud Knights. Leaving behind her soldiers of Destruction, her flame surged toward the Arbor.
She wanted power. She wanted their ruin. She could already taste it.