Xi, hair white as snowfall, cradled the mark in her left palm and stared at Ouyang with winter-lake calm. From Ouyang’s flinch, though, you should call her Lian, not Xi.

Ouyang gripped his longsword in both hands, a Moer perched on his head like a tuft of cloud, and his face cooled like quenched steel. Enemies meeting need no words; their eyes cut like knives, lovers turned to killers. Whatever storm brewed in Lian’s heart, Ouyang’s felt bitter as frost.

“If your arrival was only a lie, would you still guard that little shard of honor?” Her old question rang like a bell in fog.

He should’ve sensed it then, but back then he sensed nothing; he trusted her like earth trusts rain. Their stances doomed them to a fight to the death—such a simple snare, and he missed it.

The moment he learned her people were Sin, he should’ve woken. What is the Sin clan? Named Sin by the Other Shore, tied to the Supreme Law, a shard of its will made flesh.

And in the Supreme Law’s gaze, the Other Shore is a stain to be wiped away.

But back then, the Other Shore burned at its zenith; gods underfoot wasn’t enough to describe it—say Primordial Deities underfoot and you’d be closer. They even had an out‑of‑spec being at Tier Three, so even the Supreme Law, without cause, dared not clash head‑on.

Thus the Law’s favored clans appeared. They speak with the Supreme Law, borrow its thunder. Those races, the Other Shore branded as Sin.

“Since this is between you two, I’ve no reason to join.” White Soul, old fox polished by years, felt the Sin-brand in Lian’s soul and, linking it to Ouyang, found the key like a pick catching a lock.

Private feud or not, that didn’t matter; his footing sat on a knife’s edge. He couldn’t help either side.

Help Lian? His achievements owe much to relics the Other Shore’s great ones left behind; that alone stamped him half Other Shore. Help Ouyang? He’d be finished; Lian stood backed by the Supreme Law. Without the Other Shore’s shelter, he wouldn’t provoke the Heaven‑favored—others call those clans that; only the Other Shore dares call them Sin.

So White Soul chose to help neither, and watched like a crane by the river. Seeing that, Devila and the rest drifted back like a tide, hands up: your household matter, we won’t stir the pot.

Ouyang never planned to borrow others’ strength to settle things with Lian. But seeing those faces munching on drama like seeds, he itched to beat a few of them black and blue.

While Ouyang shot Devila a look sharp as flint, Lian’s strike arrived.

A strip of white light shrieked past sound, and before his head could turn, it kissed his face like lightning.

“Damn, the girl from the Gulachidor family’s that fierce.” A random onlooker praised like a rooster crowing, and Ouyang’s hands almost fumbled the Divine Sword.

Seriously? Your future mayor just got smacked, and you’re cheering the enemy?

“Go, Xi girl! Drop that punk!” The smithy uncle bellowed like a bellows, and the crowd echoed, cheering “Xi.” She wasn’t Xi, but the face fooled them; soul swaps are mist to a crowd that only knows faces.

And somehow, many found Ouyang an eyesore. He’d barely shown up—a stranger, yes—but hearts bristled at him like hedgehogs.

He’d scrubbed that awful memory with black magic. Leticia took the blame then. Still, the crowd’s gut pointed at Ouyang like a compass to true north. If that memory remained, paired with that eerie instinct, the Dark Cuisine incident would get renamed in blood.

Alas, Ouyang’s black magic is tyrant-strong; the common folk show no spark of recall.

“Take him down!”

“Take him down!”

“Take him down!”

He blocked with the Divine Sword again, and the chant rattled his bones like a drum. What the hell? Sure, compared to Xi I’m a stranger, but I was nearly your mayor. You call this hospitality?

He had no idea their bile bubbled from the Dark Cuisine incident.

Dodging once more, he felt her stamina failing like a candle in wind. Makes sense. Lian’s soul is strong, but Xi’s body can’t feed that furnace.

Using Xi’s body for that kind of strike was already the edge of the blade.

“Looks like you’re almost out of fight. Me? I’ve got time to burn. We can grind all day.” He flicked a tiny fireball just to needle her, like a gnat to the ear.

Yet—

“The sun has set. By the old clans’ rules, this mark won’t choose a master again for a thousand years…”

At those words, Ouyang’s face went ink-dark. After all that brawling, he’d forgotten the main quest.

He stood there, both hands on the hilt, but the man was stone—a statue stranded in a square.

In his plan, it was perfect. Take the town’s mark; open the road to the Other Shore. Step into the Other Shore, and trash littering the ground are artifacts; even a random blade of grass would make a commoner ascend on the spot.

With godly junk everywhere, he’d forge a mass‑produced divine army, then wage war across the stars like a blazing banner.

Think of it—such a perfect plan. Once he slipped into the Other Shore, what had he to fear? A crowd of Primordial Deities, a host of Tiered Beings farming their turf for millions of years—what had he to fear?

He was one step from the peak of his life.

“What’s up with Lord Ouyang? Feels off…” Valiant scratched his head like a puzzled bear. White Soul, veteran fox, smelled trouble; leaning on his cane, he slipped away like a shadow at dusk.

“Aaah!” Ouyang clenched the Divine Sword and, all at once, slashed at the sky like a madman storming heaven.

“Move! He’s lost control!” Ever wary, Devila burst into a swarm of tiny bats and vanished from sight. The clueless crowd saw a weapon thrash and scattered like startled sparrows.

Cherish life. Stay away from Ouyang.

“Why? Why like this? Since that first time, I never got in. Every time, something blocks me! Don’t you dare stop me. I’m gonna split this damn sky!”

In that instant, the long‑silent Divine Sword shivered, a fish under ice. Ouyang, all fire and no focus, missed it. Lian felt it; her face went snow‑white, her body shaking like a leaf.

In the dark inner space, the suppressed Xi finally found a seam. “Get out!” The low voice roared like a lion. “This is my world. This is my body!” The proclamation rang like iron, hard and undeniable.

In the black, red lightning flickered like cracks through lacquer.

Outside, Ouyang gave the heavens a casual flick of the Divine Sword… and the sky split with a vast crack. Red clouds boiled. Red lightning snarled like a wrathful beast.

“This makes no sense. This is insane!” He only meant to swing to vent, a stone tossed into a pond. He never dreamed the sky would tear.

A rift scarred the heavens. He was doomed.

Acts like this stir the World Will nine times out of ten.

Sure enough, red lightning poured down. None struck Ouyang; instead, Devila and the others screamed not far off. Ouyang could only laugh dryly, mouth full of sand.

He didn’t mean it. He really didn’t.

Define the World Will, and it’s Creator God level. A Creator God’s wrath leaves godlings no road to run. That scar in the sky? Only a god could carve it. So Devila’s group, naturally, got roasted.

As for Ouyang, the culprit, the World Will wouldn’t even glance his way.

He once wondered if the World Will was blind. Even he could tell the Divine Sword did it—so why not a bolt for him? Then he thought it through. The sword’s pedigree is too immense. Maybe the World Will can’t even sense it. Or maybe… it senses it and chooses to look away.

Either way, someone must take the fall for that scar. Devila and the other god‑tiers drew the lot. Watching lightning farther out, Ouyang clicked his tongue. “Looks like the bunch from the Demon World are getting toasted too. Hah. Without meaning to, I became this world’s savior…”

In a sense, he wasn’t wrong. The World Will, enraged, locked the spatial gates like iron. Forcing a crossing now? Unless a Primordial Deity shows up, even a Creator God can’t make it.

All god‑tier beings trapped here ate several divine bolts; without a few centuries of rest, none will be bouncing back.

Because of Ouyang’s accident, the world found a brief calm, like wind dying before a storm.

Why brief?

“Heh. With the Divine Realm cut off and no outside meddling, isn’t this my golden hour to conquer the world? If no gods show, who can stop me?” Ouyang the Demon King hefted the Divine Sword onto his shoulder and laughed like rolling thunder.

Perched on his head, the tiny Moer laughed with him. Once Ouyang rules the world, won’t cotton candy fall like snow, as much as she wants?