Chapter One: Ashes of Magic (Part One)

In the ambiguous, dim lighting of the bar, people sat together in small groups. The resident singer performed a popular song—familiar to the ear, but the name escaped memory, and it wasn’t particularly pleasant. Fu Lan rested his chin atop interlaced fingers, staring blankly at the glass before him.

An ice sphere perched on the rim, spirals of mist descending from its base into the drink, refracting the bar’s blue-violet lights. As the bartender had said, it was indeed worth seeing.

His colleague, Xiao Liu, sat beside him, tapping the bar in time with the music, picking up his glass with enthusiasm, only to remember Fu Lan before taking a sip. Noticing the large ice sphere still unmelted, he raised his glass in a gesture to Fu Lan, then awkwardly drank a small mouthful himself.

Fu Lan was used to such awkwardness and continued to admire his cocktail.

Earlier that day, he had helped Xiao Liu resolve a database issue. It had troubled Xiao Liu for days, and as the deadline neared, Fu Lan had offered a few hints. Xiao Liu, grateful as if rescued from drowning, insisted on treating him to dinner.

Young newcomers to the workplace often still take their jobs too seriously and are keen on maintaining good relations with colleagues. Normally, Fu Lan would not have accepted such an invitation, much less agreed to this second round at the bar, but lately he felt he needed a drink.

Xiao Liu had chosen a quiet bar near their office; the ambiance was decent. Still, they weren’t close, and most conversation had been exhausted over dinner—Xiao Liu was probably regretting it now.

They’d only shared a few brandies when they first arrived. After Fu Lan’s cocktail—Smoke Spiral—was served, he left Xiao Liu to his own devices, lost in his own thoughts.

The ice sphere finally melted, sliding into the glass. He realized he was being somewhat selfish, lingering for the sake of a few drinks and delaying Xiao Liu for half an hour. He decided to pay the bill discreetly when he excused himself to the restroom. With that thought, Fu Lan began to rise.

“Hey, isn’t that Xiao Liu? What a coincidence!” A man and woman approached; the man greeted Xiao Liu.

Xiao Liu nervously stepped down from his stool. “Director Wang, you’re here too?”

The middle-aged man waved off the formality. “No need for such seriousness outside work, we’re all off the clock now… Wait, Fu Lan? Is that really you?

“Haha, we have to drink together tonight. Xiao Liu, you don’t know—Fu Lan is the kind of guy who dared toast the CEO with tea at the annual gala. Sharing a drink with him gives you more bragging rights than our boss!”

“Hello, Director Wang.” Fu Lan nodded, uninterested in correcting the story.

The man was the director of the planning department, a master of office politics. He glanced at the woman beside him—a new graduate in his department named Yang, if memory served.

This street was often frequented by colleagues, so Fu Lan was prepared for such encounters, but running into these two together was awkward.

Yang greeted them naturally, standing quietly behind Director Wang, playing the role of an innocent assistant.

Xiao Liu, flustered, began explaining why he’d invited Fu Lan out.

Director Wang, hearing the tale of workplace assistance, clapped Fu Lan on the shoulder as if they were old friends. “Impressive, Fu Lan! You’re like the hidden master in the company, a legend! Have you heard that story?”

Yang’s eyes widened in curiosity. “What story, Director?”

“It’s that viral tale you young folks passed around—a programmer stuck on a bug, and the cleaning lady steps in and fixes it.”

Fu Lan felt nothing at the obvious teasing. In his younger days, he might have retorted on the spot; after a few years in the workforce, perhaps he’d play along, making the joke more complete. But now, he didn’t feel like saying anything.

Xiao Liu glanced at him uneasily and tried to defend him, saying things like “Fu Lan isn’t a cleaning lady.”

Director Wang, a bit put off by the interruption, chuckled. “Right, Fu Lan is at least an IT staff member.

“But Xiao Liu, as a graduate from the Provincial Institute of Technology, you should learn from Fu Lan. Don’t let your official position go to your head. Fu Lan is from a top university—more than qualified to be your mentor.”

Xiao Liu exclaimed in surprise. “Really? Fu Lan graduated from a top university?”

---

Yang exaggeratedly played along. “Is that true? Director, how do you know?”

“Only you newbies from the past couple years don’t know. It was big news back in the day.”

“So how did Fu Lan end up…” Yang trailed off, covering her mouth and giving Fu Lan an apologetic look.

Whatever the three of them were thinking, Fu Lan knew without needing to hear it. He took a sip of his cocktail and stood. “You two go ahead, I need the restroom.”

Did it look like he was fleeing? Let it be so; he didn’t care.

The bartender was right—the drink was more for show. Using strong spirits to ignite and create the mist spiral with the ice sphere made it surprisingly potent.

He washed his face, pulled out some paper towels, and looked up at the mirror.

The man reflected back was weary, middle-aged. His face was still youthful for his age, but the receding hairline, perpetual stubble, eyelids heavy as if weighed down, and a lingering twilight in his eyes all proclaimed he was no longer young.

Like many, he’d dreamed as a child of becoming a scientist or astronaut, and also imagined working in a library.

Ironically, he’d achieved that dream, but not as a librarian—instead, he was a jack-of-all-trades in the tech department, maintaining equipment, and only a contract worker at that.

That dream had never included endless, tedious meetings, passive-aggressive bosses, or workplace intrigue.

But none of it mattered anymore; it had nothing to do with his mood tonight. He pressed his temple to quell a slight dizziness and prepared to leave.

Just then, someone rushed down the corridor between the restrooms.

A girl with only the left half of her hair in a ponytail glanced at the women’s restroom, then suddenly turned to look at Fu Lan inside the men’s. He opened his mouth, surprised to recognize her.

The girl paused, gestured for him to be silent, brushed past his shoulder, and dashed into the men’s room, untying the ponytail as she ran.

Fu Lan frowned, not yet understanding what was happening, when three more people sprinted to the women’s restroom—one woman burst in, prompting shrieks.

The two remaining men quickly scanned the area and headed toward the men’s room.

“Have you seen a girl with twin ponytails?” One man in a black uniform asked Fu Lan.

The other bypassed him, checked inside, and kicked open the half-shut stall doors.

Fu Lan shook his head.

The men’s room was empty; after searching, they reported to the uniformed man, eyeing the window in the corner and speaking into a walkie-talkie. The search in the women’s room yielded nothing.

“Go to the front for inspection,” they ordered Fu Lan. Some women from the ladies’ room were also ushered out, complaining along the way.

“Magic Affairs Bureau, please cooperate,” said the uniformed man, displaying credentials, and the women fell silent.

The Magic Affairs Bureau—Fu Lan recognized the uniform immediately; the others were clearly plainclothes agents.

But what had that girl done to warrant pursuit by the Bureau?

Back in the bar, the music had stopped, all lights turned on, and Fu Lan found himself, like everyone else, being directed to line up and exit.

Passing through the device at the entrance, Fu Lan clenched his fist nervously, but the officers paid no mind.

Compared to a security gate, a magic detection device was so unusual in both appearance and use that most people were nervous in its presence—so long as the alarm didn’t sound, it was fine.

Once everyone had passed through, and the bar had been searched again, the Bureau lifted the cordon and resumed business, though most patrons had lost their mood.

Director Wang and Yang left first. Fu Lan, still intent on settling the bill, returned to the bar and met Xiao Liu coming back.

They politely tussled over the check, but Fu Lan ultimately paid. “What a coincidence, running into this kind of thing. Fu Lan, maybe I’ll treat you next time!” Xiao Liu apologized.

“No need,” Fu Lan replied, mentally reconstructing the girl’s other ponytail, chatting casually. “I wonder what the Bureau was actually investigating so suddenly.”

“Probably about magic ash trafficking. There’s been a lot of news about it lately.”

“Magic ash trafficking?” Fu Lan repeated the unfamiliar term.

---

Xiao Liu was surprised. “Haven’t you seen it?”

Fu Lan shook his head—not much of a news reader, and for years, he’d deliberately avoided such stories.

Xiao Liu pulled out his phone, tapped, and showed him a news article.

The report described the Bureau and local police busting a magic ash production and distribution ring, with photos showing a filthy room, cages containing small magical beasts, and suspects crouched on the floor.

No details were given about magic ash itself, so Fu Lan didn’t ask further, planning to look it up later.

One photo showing large boxes filled with cash caught his eye. “That profitable?” he blurted.

“Of course. The quickest way to make money is always criminal.”

Fu Lan looked at the related cases at the article’s end, noting the line, “Two main culprits sentenced to life, four others to fifteen years”—surprised at the severity.

He returned the phone to Xiao Liu, exchanged a few more words, and headed home.

On the bus, enduring his headache, he searched magic ash and found it was a recent phenomenon—no wonder he had no impression. But he realized he’d been out of touch with this world for too long.

Magic ash: a substance extracted from refining magical beast corpses, which, when absorbed, enhances magical power. For ordinary people lacking magic, forced absorption damages the body.

Apparently, it was helpful for unregistered magic practitioners. Since these people were the Bureau’s main targets, their use of magic ash was naturally illegal.

But such a small group couldn’t sustain such a lucrative market—how could magic ash trafficking earn so much?

Fu Lan didn’t trust the vague encyclopedia entries and switched to a foreign search engine.

As expected, while ordinary people couldn’t gain magical power from magic ash, it induced intense, pleasurable hallucinations, making them feel as though they could wield magic, invincible, with an overwhelming sense of control and satisfaction.

Most intriguingly, users retained clear consciousness within the hallucinations—a lucid dream, with controllable visions and subconscious feedback.

This was more stimulating than any audiovisual entertainment, for the brain itself was the ultimate rendering engine.

In other words, it was an “ultra-dream” without external devices.

Under its effects, users’ physical abilities were temporarily enhanced, though only by forcefully overexerting themselves, often resulting in injuries.

Thus, magic ash was not only used by secret magic students but widely as a stimulant and hallucinogen. No wonder its production and sale were so profitable.

Who would have thought that in an era when magical beasts no longer posed a threat, they’d be repurposed in such a way?

Nobody had ever imagined this before; the focus used to be simply eliminating magical beasts before they caused more harm.

Weapons used by the Bureau could recharge directly from magical beast corpses, without needing extraction; magical girls even more so…

At this thought, Fu Lan’s gaze dimmed.

But had that girl really been involved in magic ash trafficking? Judging by the Bureau’s inspection methods, it seemed they were searching for magic ash by detecting magical energy responses—otherwise the search would have taken longer. Yet he’d only glimpsed her, barely able to figure anything out.

Perhaps she was simply learning magic illegally—a lesser crime, but serious cases still meant years in prison.

That girl, Shi Ningyu, had been his student five years ago when he taught at a cram school.

Her signature twin ponytail hairstyle was distinctive, her personality bold—unforgettable, so he recognized her at a glance tonight.

Looking back, she hadn’t changed much in height or appearance since five years ago.

Her makeup and outfit tonight were strongly subcultural, but not quite as outrageous as a club-going delinquent.

What did they call it? He remembered they called that… “landmine style.”

In any case, though Fu Lan disliked such old-fashioned terminology, she certainly appeared to have “gone bad.”