Like any mother who has lost a child, as long as there was even the faintest thread of evidence, she would clutch at the desperate hope that this unfamiliar child might be her little Xing'er, refusing to miss even a single chance for recognition.

Thus, Yingzi frantically shook the Blood Kin Compass, desperate to pinpoint the location of that farmhouse nestled by the mountains and water. In an instant, she steeled her resolve; even if the family who adopted Xing'er lived at the ends of the earth, she would venture there to reclaim her child. Yet, after shaking it violently for a long time, the compass remained utterly still. Not only did it cease displaying any further images, but it also reverted to its original state, becoming the plain mirror it had been at first.

Yingzi, fueled by a sudden surge of adrenaline, could not accept the Blood Kin Compass’s abrupt dead screen. She snatched up the dagger from the ground and, like a self-tormentor, slashed viciously across her own wrist. A stream of crimson blood poured from the vein in her left arm, dripping steadily into the compass’s shallow groove. But artifacts of power always hold their quirks; a single drop had summoned a kin-image just moments before, yet now, a whole bowl of blood elicited no response, not even a flicker from the bronze mirror. Enraged, Yingzi raised the dagger, intending to stab the mirror, but thankfully, Da Mao was nearby. With a swift whoosh, he shot out from the air, snatched the dagger away, and bolted toward the exit. He chirped twice toward the tunnel entrance before plunging into the passage and vanishing completely.

At that moment, Yingzi felt an overwhelming sense of desolation. The single second she had seen Xing'er in the mirror had filled her with intoxicating euphoria, as if her lost child had returned, reachable with just an outstretched hand to reclaim everything that had been taken. But it lasted only that single second—in a flash, all images vanished, taking her hope and excitement along with them. Xing'er’s figure, like mist or moon reflection, could not bear a moment longer of scrutiny and mercilessly departed from Yingzi’s world.

Tears streamed down her face unbidden. Yingzi sat alone by the stone table, leaning against the frigid stone pedestal, and wept a sorrow that tore her heart apart, recalling the time she and Xiao Hao had depended solely on each other, and the carefree days when she carried Xing'er.

"Jee-jee-jee…" Just as Yingzi’s deep weeping subsided into choked sobs, Congcong, who had been crouching silently nearby, crawled over. It chirped softly while rubbing its head gently against Yingzi’s arm, like a docile kitten. Seeing Congcong’s considerate and gentle demeanor, a wave of warmth flooded her heart. She swept the creature into her arms, kissing its little fuzzy forehead again and again, as if it were the child she had long since lost.

Congcong nestled understandingly in her embrace, completely still. Under Yingzi’s soft caress, it soon drifted off to sleep. Seeing Congcong close its eyes, Yingzi felt strangely infected; her own eyelids felt as if they were weighted with lead, sinking uncontrollably, requiring sheer willpower—or perhaps a matchstick—to keep them open. After struggling between opening and closing her eyes for a few minutes, Yingzi could no longer resist the lure of sleep. She slumped against the stone pedestal and began to snore contentedly.

Shortly after the snoring began, a man’s figure appeared behind them, accompanied by a large golden monkey at his heels. The man shook his head at Yingzi with a look of weary resignation, then lifted her, holding both her and Congcong, and walked toward the wall directly opposite the tunnel opening, as if that wall were mere decoration, utterly incapable of stopping him. However, just as he approached the wall holding Yingzi, with a deep, grinding sound of ga-zhi-zhi, the wall slowly began to slide open from the center toward both sides. The man did not falter, stepping straight through the newly formed gap.