On a deserted footpath, three travelers drifted by, bags piled high, lazy as clouds.

The trail hid so deep in the backcountry a whole moon might pass without a single step.

They didn’t look like adventurers; they looked like sightseers chasing a picture-book horizon.

Xi carried a big pack and a map that rustled like dry leaves.

Xian wore a small pack, a water bottle glinting like dew at her chest, and hugged a stuffed bear like a talisman.

The sisters walked this lonely place in skirts, hems fluttering like petals, more ready for a dance in the next city than a quest.

Ouyang, meanwhile, held a sketchboard in his left hand and a pen in his right, lines whispering like crickets as he drew.

Xi guessed he was sketching the roadside scenery and let it slide, her mood smooth as still water.

Xian kept trying to flip through his board, curiosity pecking like a sparrow, but Ouyang always turned it away; that little imp never saw a thing.

“Not for kids. What are you peeking at…” Ouyang muttered, voice low as wind in reeds.

Lucky Xi didn’t hear, or she’d sniff something off.

Boredom nibbled at him, and the Demon King decided it was time for art, a storm swirling in a teacup.

Because a certain Demon King had art on the brain, Xi and Xian ended up carrying half a house on their backs.

A bag on the road is normal, but hauling big bundles while a guy with spatial storage strolls beside you is a joke.

Ouyang never offered, and Xi had forgotten he even had a space to stash things, like a key lost in a sleeve.

The sky turned a shade darker, a bruise spreading on silk, and Xian unhooked her bottle, took a sip that felt like cool spring.

Spirit returning, she whispered to Xi, “Sis, it’s going to get dark. They say demons who eat people come out at night. Will a demon eat us?”

Eat them? Xi rolled her eyes, a pebble skipping across a pond.

A Demon King walked at their side—why fear shadows birthing demons?

She remembered Ouyang’s title but still didn’t think to toss their baggage into his spatial storage; what Demon King goes without a pocket between worlds?

“Relax. Big Brother’s strong. Even if demons come, we won’t flinch.”

Xi forced the words out, pride gritting like sand, yet she couldn’t deny Ouyang’s power.

Under the dim sky, that guy still sketched the scenery—did he really want to be an artist, a pine painting the wind?

She caught a sly glint oiling up on his serious face, like ink bleeding under rain, and decided his motive was anything but pure.

“Ouyang, what are you drawing?” Xi edged closer, curiosity drifting like smoke.

His strength now was nothing like before; he palmed the board behind his back in a blink and said, calm as a temple bell, “Nothing yet. I’ll show you when it’s done. A surprise. If you peek now, there’s no surprise.”

Xi stared at him for half a day in a heartbeat, but his face was smooth stone, no cracks.

She gave up with a sigh, her mood folding like paper.

Dusk thickened, ink soaking the world, and Xi held her sister’s hand to keep her from stumbling.

That morning, when Xian heard they wanted to slip out, she clung like ivy and threatened to tell Father and Mother if they left her.

Xi had no choice but to bring her along; as for Loyin, Ouyang brushed her off with a casual excuse, a fan flick over a candle.

Xi wouldn’t take anyone else, but with Ouyang near, she couldn’t imagine a force that would ignore him and harm Xian.

His presence felt like a warm lantern, safety pooling like light in a bowl.

Of course, only if he didn’t flip into that shameless mode; Xi had been burned by that trickster too many times.

Thankfully, tonight Ouyang looked proper, carrying himself like a man with a load of duty.

As the dark settled, Ouyang stopped his art, the pen going quiet like a cricket after frost.

“Where are we now? How far to the destination?” he asked, voice steady as a road marker.

Xi and Ouyang were headed for places where creatures of the Demon World showed up.

Xi wanted to wipe out those demons like ash on a sleeve, while Ouyang preferred to catch them alive, offerings for reviving Devila’s sister one day.

He didn’t forget his first whim either.

If he saw a beautiful bit of landscape, he’d dig it up and carry it off to decorate his Demon King’s City, transplanting jade ponds like bonsai.

Sadly, on the road Xi chose there was nothing but bad land and bitter water, no scenery bright enough to light the eyes.

Boredom crept like moss, and Ouyang turned back to art.

As for why he didn’t use spatial magic to jump ahead?

First, Xi thought walking might let them bump into Demon World creatures at night, like fish rising when the moon ripples the river.

The emptiness of this region meant something was wrong.

In Xi’s memory, she’d come here as a child: green mountains and lucid waters, willow catkins drifting along the banks, rapeseed blossoms burning gold like little suns.

The place had been beautiful, a painting you could breathe.

After hearing how strange it had turned, Xi chose to go on foot, soles speaking to the earth.

“This should be Emerald Mountain. If we keep walking, we’ll reach Sedo City around midnight,” Xi said, voice clear as spring.

Ouyang had no reason to object to walking; these days, besides reviving Devila’s sister, he had little to do but watch clouds.

The World Passage would take two or three years to open—prime time to conquer worlds, like sowing fields before the rains.

Every Demon King had a plan, and the Demon King’s City was a matter of time; people don’t gather in a day or two.

Of course, if those idle Demon Kings hauled in a whole city, Ouyang wouldn’t complain; his heart would drum like festival gongs.

Since those Demon Kings were let loose, Ouyang’s job had simplified to waiting, like seeds sleeping under snow.

Wait for the Void Church to grow, wait for the Demon King’s City to prosper, wait for the World Passage to open again.

And trailing beside Xi, maybe that girl would have a sudden whim and help undo his seal, like a knot slipping under warm fingers.

“Ouyang, make some light. It’s pitch-black, and my little sister’s scared!” Xi’s voice trembled like a reed in wind.

“Sis, I’m not scared. Your hand’s shaking. You’re the scared one, right?” Xian’s words hit like a pebble in still water.

Ouyang curled his lip; a mage afraid of the dark—how ironic, like a torch fearing fire.

He didn’t conjure a light. “Do it yourself. You’re a mage now, an elite in human society. You want me to make you a lantern? Shame on you,” he said, dry as old wood.

The reminder struck, and Xi remembered—right, she was a mage, no longer a rookie spell-slinger.

She murmured a spell, words flowing like a stream, and a light orb rose in her palm like a small moon.

It was a modified first-tier spell, Radiant Glow, tweaked by Ouyang’s hand.

He’d first called it the Flare Charm, but Xi hated the name and kept the old one, a bell tone over brass.

The original Radiant Glow burst light-element in a short blaze—dazzling, but brief, a firework falling into ash.

Ouyang’s version dimmed the glare but stretched its life; light gathered into a sphere and breathed brightness, steady as a lantern behind paper.

After learning it from Ouyang, Xi felt it beat anything the academy taught, like mountain spring against well water.

Ten seconds later, the orb died, snuffed like a candle in wind.

“Seriously… that useless?” Ouyang said, words sharp as a bamboo switch.

Xi had enough mana to keep the orb shining for hours, but her element control frayed like wet thread.

“I’m not babysitting. If you can’t make a light, then let the darkness smother you,” Ouyang added, cold as moonstone.

To him, night and day were the same; in a god’s world, there’s no dawn or dusk, only a sky worn like a robe.

“Sis, it’s so dark—please, make another orb!” Xian gripped Xi’s hand tight, shaking her arm, fear rippling like night wind over grass.

A new orb bloomed from Xi’s palm, then faded after twenty seconds, a glow worm tiring.

“Progress. Keep going,” Ouyang tossed in, a cool breeze without help.

Xian decided her sister’s side felt unsafe—the trembling wouldn’t stop, a quiver like a plucked string.

She let go of Xi and ran to Ouyang, feet pattering like rain.

“Big Brother, carry me, please?” she asked, voice sweet as honey.

Xi froze in fresh embarrassment, heat rising like steam—her own little sister had abandoned her.

Without that hand to hold, the dark pressed closer, a room with the door shut.

Ouyang couldn’t withstand Xian’s cuddling assault; the little imp rubbed his arm like a kitten against a sleeve, and he finally hoisted her onto his back.

“Sis, good night. I’m gonna sleep,” Xian said from his back, hugging her stuffed bear like a guardian.

“Mother said once it’s dark, we should sleep; asleep, the dark can’t scare you.”

Xi stood there, speech strangled like a kite string; couldn’t she see her sister was terrified?

She wouldn’t show weakness before Ouyang, so the complaint stayed in her chest, a swallow that wouldn’t fly.

Thankfully, Ouyang’s heart opened a window right then.

He took Xi’s hand; at first she tried to pull away, struggle fluttering like a trapped moth.

Time smoothed the panic, and under his grip her fear swept clean, like dust washed by rain.

A soft warmth and unearned safety filled her, and at some point she accepted his hand without a word.

With practice, Xi kept a steady light; her orb now held for half an hour before dimming, a moon riding thin clouds.

It was real progress, a path brightening underfoot.

“There’s firelight ahead. Let’s check it out; we might learn something,” Ouyang said, eyes catching distant flame like a hawk catches glint.

Even far off, he saw flicker in the trees and heard voices threading through leaves.

Xi hummed assent, a note like warm tea, and held his hand tight.

They walked like long-time lovers, hands linked so natural it felt ordained, two silhouettes against the night.