The old king stared at the two odd figures, the poisoned food a violet frost that dropped the little black dog in three heartbeats.

But these two “monsters” only clutched their stomachs and howled, writhing like fish on hot sand, with no hint of mortal danger.

Maybe the toxin bit beasts harder than men, a net for animals while humans slipped through; or maybe...

“Are you monsters?”

He chose the second thought, a storm settling into certainty, because they leapt through his palace like thunder and ignored his crown like dust.

Anyone that brazen wore power like plate armor, and their recklessness rose from a mountain-deep faith in their strength.

“To hell with your ancestors, I’m no monster...” Ouyang pressed his belly, his face pale as chalk under moonlight.

He looked at the old king like a gutter leaf, no respect, only cold wind. “This lord—”

The words died; pain shot through him like a hooked blade, and silence fell like snow.

The two in black rolled on the floor, bodies like tangled shadows, and the old king froze, a lone tree in winter.

He wanted to call people, but whenever he tried, his survival instinct rang like a temple bell, a red flare in the fog.

He would die—if he did that, death would close like an iron gate; these two took the poison and only their guts burned.

He could not imagine what kind of abyss they were, and his breath hung like mist at dawn.

So he watched, a lake without ripples, eyes on the two figures rolling across the tiles.

His heart twisted: half wished the intruders die like snuffed candles, half prayed they live, because their arrival spared him the cup.

Without them meddling, he would likely have drunk his death, a quiet poison like night rain.

“Toilet, old man—where’s the toilet?” Ouyang’s weak voice sliced his thoughts, a reed whistle in the wind.

The old king pointed, a trembling branch, and in a blink Ouyang and Lagu sprinted like arrows toward it.

“Remnant, get out— I saw it first!”

“Shut it, idiot; pick any corner, you’re an idiot anyway!”

“You’re the type to go wherever—”

Ouyang lost; Lagu used his bulk like a boulder and blocked the doorway, then slammed the door shut with a thunderclap.

Ouyang clutched his belly, his face iron-blue, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

He glanced around the quiet courtyard, clean as frost, and swallowed his pride; he wasn’t the kind to go in the open.

He shivered, then jabbed his fingers down his throat, digging like a desperate miner at midnight.

“Ugh—”

Moments later, he vomited everything he’d eaten, a stream splashing like muddy rain across stone.

The old king stared at the mess, his heart fluttering like a startled bird, because the stuff gleamed a pale violet.

“Such vicious poison...” His voice shook, his long road of experience cracking like thin ice.

“You monsters indeed...” His worldview tilted like a broken compass, and fear licked him like cold fire.

“Water...” Ouyang croaked, half-dead, the word a dry leaf.

The old king rushed to fetch water, footsteps tapping like small drums in a hall.

A quick rinse, a swirl like a clear brook, and Ouyang bounced back, full health blooming like spring.

“Hmph. That Night Clan remnant—enjoy your squat. Spend a lifetime in that pit.” Ouyang smiled, a fox under starlight.

While Lagu stayed inside, Ouyang ignored the master of the house like passing wind and dove into the old king’s rooms, ransacking like a thief at dusk.

He came out gripping a thick rope, braided like a coiled snake in his fist.

It happened so fast the old king gaped, eyes round as moons; for a breath he doubted the house was even his.

To Ouyang, the place felt like his own courtyard, and he moved through it like water.

He rushed over and bound the bathroom door tight, rope cinching it like ivy choking stone.

Bang, bang—

Lagu had noticed; crashes boomed from inside, waves battering a cliff.

“Bastard! Open the door! Open it!”

Ouyang wouldn’t, not even a crack; he dragged more furniture, layering it like shields, and locked the windows like sealed tombs.

Any vent that breathed, he choked shut, a spider webbing every gap.

Lagu’s stamina hadn’t returned; by the time he could smash through, the hours would crawl like ants.

“Brother Lagu, savor the feast inside. A year from now, we settle it with blood.” Ouyang stretched, a lazy cat, and slid his hands into his belt pouch.

He looked ready to leave, boots whispering like dry leaves.

“Open up, you idiot! Ahh—I’ll kill you!” Lagu’s voice clawed through the door, a wolf howling at stone.

The roars dragged the guards’ attention like a bell across a market, and Ouyang didn’t spare them a glance.

Mortal steel couldn’t kill that one; this game of nausea felt good but wasted time, like rain on sand.

He had heavier things to do, mountains waiting, and no hours to burn on spite.

He decided to go, but not without one last twist of the knife.

“Leaving like this? Aren’t you afraid the patrols will spot you?” The old king’s worry rose like mist, oddly warm.

“Guards? Combat power five, all scraps. I’ve got a hundred ways to wipe them out.” Ouyang’s tone rang with confidence, a drumbeat under the sky.

For a blink, the old king saw not a man but a god above the clouds, gazing down like the sun.

Noise swelled nearby, a tide of footsteps rolling closer, torches flickering like fireflies.

“Old man, when I get my strength back, I’ll cover you...” The aura vanished like smoke, and Ouyang bolted like a rabbit.

Where were those scrap guards, and those hundred methods? His boast blew away like dandelion fluff.

“Over here! A man in black is stuck in the toilet!” Ouyang shouted as he ran, his voice a thrown stone.

Inside, Lagu sensed danger; unease tightened like a noose in the dark.

“Bastard! Foreign idiot! One day I’ll cut off your head and play ball!” His rage thundered, pulling the guards like iron to a magnet.

Ouyang, mid-sprint, was moved, tears pricking like rain. “A good man—still selfless in these times...”

He didn’t know how Lagu would end up, a fate behind a closed gate, but he was far from danger now.

Then a wall blocked him, last barrier thick as a fortress, and his gut winced like twisted rope.

Just one climb and he’d be out of the palace, but with only the lowest Dust-lifting spell, breaking stone was a dream.

He waved his hand; the spell whooshed like a broom of wind, leaves spiraling upward.

The wall didn’t budge, not a breath, and weakness weighed on him like wet cloth.

He missed his castle and his Divine Sword, memories blazing like sunlit steel.

Back then, if someone annoyed him, he smashed them; he’d hurl the castle, and even gods would sidestep.

A mere wall wouldn’t dare stand.

He kicked the stones hard, boots thudding like dull drums, then stopped, seeing it was useless.

“You want to get out?” A soft voice drifted from behind, light as a breeze through bamboo.

“Yeah, but this wall’s too thick. Hey, you got tools? I used to raid tombs.” Ouyang didn’t turn, his tone easy as noon.

“Give me a shovel, and I’ll dig a tunnel under like a mole.”

Silence pooled behind him, surprised air humming like a taut string.

“You’re... interesting.” The words fell like dew.

A blonde woman in white formal dress appeared at his left, her wide pleated skirts swaying like waves.

She looked past the wall, eyes on the sliver of sky, thoughts somewhere beyond the horizon.

Ouyang finally noticed, and disappointment darkened him like shade. “Thought you were a colleague. No tools then.”

“Guess I’ll wait till my strength returns and blast the wall open.”

He sat on the grass, knees up, arms looped, chin propped on one hand, a lone stump in a field.

“I don’t know who you are, but you look like someone high up around here.” The dress wasn’t something common folk wore, a swan among sparrows.

“High up... you could say that.” Her gaze stayed on the sky beyond the wall, yearning like a tethered kite.

With the answer given, Ouyang stood, anger sparking like flint. “What’s wrong with this place?”

“Is poisoning food your tradition? Your toxin wrecked me.”

“The first time, I thought someone targeted me; then I grabbed an old man’s roasted leg, and that had poison too.”

“Your customs are bizarre, like winter snow in summer.”

“Food... poisoned?” Her calm face finally showed emotion, ripples on a lake.

She lifted her skirt and left, steps floating like herons over water.

Watching her go, Ouyang exhaled, relief cooling like shade; she was likely the strongest human in this palace.

His strength hadn’t returned; he couldn’t beat her, not with wind this thin.

In the end, he still won a small victory; she weighed poison against him and chose the poison, scales tipping like dawn.

She thought that by the time he recovered enough to flee, the food problem would be clean, like a swept floor.

She left, but urgency gnawed at Ouyang, a fox at a trap.

He tinkered for a while and found nothing, frustration piling like stones.

He flopped onto the grass, the earth cool as night, and pondered shifting to another spot.

Just then, a palm-sized little bean of a girl zipped through the air, lugging a sword far larger than her body, blade flashing like a flying moon.