Under the cherry tree, Ouyang lay on the grass like a stone in a clear stream, a blade of grass clamped between his teeth like a reed.

Xi stood nearby with a knot between her brows, like a cloud snagged on a peak.

She didn’t really want that so‑called academy; with power humming like stormfire, she could teach there, even if becoming a mage felt like waking in someone else’s skin.

“I heard from Amelie,” she said, voice cool as dusk wind through bamboo. “Your Demon Kings all slipped out. Promise me you won’t let them slaughter at will.

If you don’t, I won’t go with you, and I won’t help you bring that person back.”

She lifted her fist, a small thunderhead ready to break.

“That’s… a big headache,” Ouyang said, a wince flickering like a fish under water. “They’re a step above mortals, like hawks over hens.

If some fool offends them, you won’t let them hit back?

If I give that order, nine times out of ten they’ll rebel like brushfire in dry grass.”

Xi narrowed her eyes; sunset pooled in her pupils like slow wine, danger glinting like the edge of a blade.

Ouyang’s heart hollowed like a gourd; he shuffled back two steps, gravel crackling like dry seeds.

“Fine, I got it. I’ll tell them.”

He pushed himself up, tracing a sigil in the air that flared like frost on glass.

“Little ones, meeting, meeting—move it,” he barked, voice cracking like kindling.

He yelled into the hanging magic array, its lines trembling like spider silk in wind.

Xi didn’t get it, but Demon King tricks were a forest beyond her map; she watched like a quiet stone.

After a breath, a voice seeped out, harsh as clacking bones.

“Boss, another meeting? Where’d you go?

That fat guy stewed a dragon whelp—what a pity.

I don’t have a body, but by his face it smelled delicious…”

A Lich all in bone rattled on about dragon meat, cheerful as a graveyard crow.

Ouyang went blank, like a candle snuffed by a sleeve.

“You idiots! The dragons fled their nest; we won’t see an elder for centuries, like winter without snow.

Those three whelps are protected, and you ate them?”

His roar hit the array like hail on a bronze bell.

Silence fell, wide and cold as a frozen pond.

Xi’s scalp tingled; no dragons for centuries?

They’d looted the dragon nest—truly Demon Kings, like legends tearing out of old paint.

“Where are you? Say something!”

He steadied his breath like a boat in crosscurrent and spoke again.

“Boss, here’s what happened,” a dark elf blurted, quick as a sparrow.

“That skeleton insisted on dissecting a whelp to ‘study’ it.

He botched it, the whelp died, so we stewed it to… not waste it.”

Her words tumbled like beads, eager fingers on a string.

“And another whelp got taken by the Plant Fiend for flower fertilizer.

She said a dragon’s body feeds flowers like rain—mmph—”

Her voice cut off like a leaf pinched shut.

No need to guess; the Plant Fiend gagged her like a vine over a mouth.

No one knew the fiend’s true body; rumors leafed out like spring.

Some said she was a World Tree, a branch-ring always resting on her hair like a crown of sap.

Others swore she was a flower, because everywhere she walked, fields bloomed like tides.

No one knew the root of her, only the petals she left behind.

“Flower fertilizer? How generous,” Ouyang ground out, teeth clicking like flints.

“I wanted a dragon rider legion, and you butchered whelps for this and that.

Where’s the last one? There were three.”

He was furious, heat shimmering like noon over stone.

All the elders had flown, and without a crossing to another world, dragons here were ash on the wind.

Worse, he didn’t even get a bite of dragon meat; bile rose like smoke.

“The last one…” the fat one murmured, voice oozing like grease through cloth.

“Maybe the Cataclysm duo stole it…”

“What? Those two traitors should’ve kept their tails tucked like rats in rain.

They dared stroll on our turf?”

His anger flashed and died like lightning behind clouds; it changed nothing now.

“Forget it. Business first.

You don’t kill at random, got it?

If someone bumps you, kill the one who hit you, not the whole town—no city‑sacking.

Also, if a city’s beautiful, don’t move the whole thing like a magpie stealing nests—that’s vile.

Next, scour for people from the Demon World, and bring their divine‑class in alive; I need them like ropes for a bridge.

That’s it. Go do what you do.”

He didn’t wait for replies.

He snapped the array closed; it shattered like ice under a boot.

Out of sight, out of mind—silence cooled his mood like evening rain.

“Well? Sincere enough?”

He winked at Xi, playing for a laugh like a juggler tossing apples.

Her lips cracked; a soft snort spilled out like a bell chime.

Relief loosened her shoulders like thaw on pine.

She lay back, watching petals drift down like pink snow, the world quiet as a sealed jar.

She noticed she resisted Ouyang less, her guard lowering like a lantern dimming.

If they were truly lovers, would she spend her life to unseal his last lock?

Before, her answer was bright and sharp as a new blade.

Now, with time like sand between fingers, doubt pooled like late rain.

They lay head to head, crowns almost touching like twin moons over a lake.

Petals curled around them; neither spoke, both steeped in this small peace like tea leaves in warm water.

When the sun climbed high like a coin on blue silk, two children’s voices rang from afar.

“Gege…”

A little loli called to Ouyang from a distance, voice sweet as haw on a stick.

She stayed deep in her role, even the address unbroken like a well‑worn path.

Their two‑person world broke like glass; the girl ran up and tackled Ouyang, knocking him flat like a wave toppling a sandman.

Xian followed, copycat quick as a swallows’ swoop, pouncing into Xi’s arms like a kitten.

Ouyang’s mind snagged; that little loli wasn’t exactly a saint, a thorn bush in silk.

But her face looked different, soft as morning light.

Did she eat the wrong medicine, or the right one?

With Xi and Xian watching, he kept the act, a smile set like lacquer.

On the girl’s face he saw no rejection, only acceptance settling like dust—she’d taken “little sister” into her bones.

He scooped her up and ruffled her hair, fingers combing it like wind in wheat.

Xi lifted Xian, and the two little devils pulled faces at each other like masks on strings.

“Brother, I want a new name,” the girl whispered against his ear, voice warm as breath on glass.

Right—“Yuan” was just a title, a label like “human,” not a name with roots.

She had none.

Ink‑dark eyes steadied with a flicker of resolve, a lantern lit in a cave.

He had no talent for names; his mind tossed out mutts like pebbles—Spot, Snowy, Blacky—useless as dry wells.

“Found your brother, so tell Xian your name?” Xian chimed in, voice bright as a bell.

Yuan turned to Ouyang, eyes asking like a tide tugging a boat.

He understood—she wanted a name now, the knot tied in one pull.

She pressed her cheek to his, soft as a petal, wheedling.

“Brother, tell Xian my name.”

He knew a wrong name would sprout trouble like weeds after rain.

His mind spun like a millwheel; nothing good came.

“Loyin. That’s my sister’s name.”

He tossed the word like a stone skipping water.

“And I’ve got another sister, an angel.

You can’t meet her yet.”

He hurried the topic aside like a curtain in wind, afraid the little loli would frown.

The angel sister was Rola, off with the water goddess Eunice, recruiting for the church like cranes gathering at dusk.

Who knew how they were doing now; their trail was mist over river.

“Another sister…” Xi narrowed her eyes, teeth set like a clamp; for some reason, heat rose off her like summer.

“What’s her name?”

Stared down, Ouyang clutched the little loli and thought for a beat, thoughts bobbing like corks.

“Rola. Her name’s Rola.

This one in my arms is my little sister, O Loyin, and her elder sister is O Aurora…”

“Au…ro…ra…”

When he said it, something twisted; his face went strange, as if a ghost brushed his sleeve.

He shook himself like a dog from water.

“Coincidence. Has to be coincidence.”

Seeing his color off, Xi let the “sisters” drop like a stone in deep water.

She let it go, but how could Loyin?

She’d wanted a name, not a sudden elder sister like an extra thorn in a rose.

She lunged while he was distracted and bit his arm, teeth sharp as a fox cub’s.

“Hmph, you think anyone can take advantage of me?”

She didn’t mind Ouyang much, but that out‑of‑nowhere Aurora made her bristle like a cat.

“Let go. You’re a noble being; don’t bite like a dog,” Ouyang pleaded, voice low as a wind through reeds.

“No. You dropped an elder sister on me from the blue.

And I hate the name Aurora!”

“Please, little ancestor, let go.

Can’t you see the servants staring at me like knives?”

“Nope!”