Old Kula and his son Kado were headed to the city to carry out a grand plan, and Duolun City lay north. Ouyang frowned, a cloud crossing his heart—was fate pushing him to meddle in town?
Either way, he was going north. If luck cracked open like sunlight through bamboo, he’d showcase his great art to the world.
Before he set off, Ouyang drew a sigil on the ground, lines weaving a purple six-pointed star that flickered like a storm-lit lantern. It looked arcane and cruel, a thorn in twilight. Minutes bled by, yet nothing changed, the circle calm as a pond before wind.
Devila, that guy, wasn’t answering the “phone”—the arcane line hung mute like a bell with no striker. Ouyang had wanted to check his progress, and to discuss his sister. Because Xi was acting strange, his plan kept sliding back like sands in an hourglass. But even after minutes, the circle gave no reply, the silence heavy as snow.
Just as Ouyang wondered if Devila had died, a girl’s voice seeped from the array like water through stone. “Lord Devila, there’s a weird magic circle on the ground. What should we do?”
From that one sentence, Ouyang knew the bat fiend wasn’t dead, and there was a girl at his side. That meant he was doing fine, a lantern attracting moths. He exhaled and let it go. The guy’s a walking beauty; Ouyang had long decided that when he showed his face, he’d never go out with Devila, or his spotlight would be stolen like a scarf in a market.
Ouyang waited for Devila’s reply. Another minute fell like ash, and still nothing.
“Bat fiend, are you dead? If you’re alive, squeak for me!” Ouyang’s angry voice dropped into the far end like a pebble into a well, but Devila kept silent. Instead, the girl’s voice came, thin as a reed. “May I ask who you are? Are you looking for Lord Devila?”
The girl didn’t get what “bat fiend” meant, but she could guess Ouyang wanted Devila. “Where’s Devila? Tell him to answer, now!” The far side paused, quiet as frost, then said, “Lord Devila is sleeping. Blood Kin sleep by day and move by night. His coffin is soundproof. I can’t wake him.”
Sleeping? Day-sleeping and night-stalking? Ouyang wanted to hurl a shoe across the worlds, a comet with bad temper. He’d only teased him as a bat fiend, and the guy really lived like a bat?
“Kick it. Kick his coffin hard and wake him.” “I… I don’t dare…” Her timid voice trembled like a sparrow, but Ouyang wasn’t having it. “Kick when I say kick! If trouble sprouts, I’ll take it. Besides, I’m his superior; what temper could he dare show?” “Superior?” The girl clearly didn’t grasp that word. Ouyang palmed his forehead, heat pooling like summer rain. He thought a moment, then said, “I’m his boss! Wake him and say the boss wants him.”
This time, the girl understood. She might not know “superior”, but she knew “boss”, a word like a drumbeat. Silence held for a stretch, elastic as dusk, then Devila’s voice finally drifted over.
“What is it? You’re disturbing my sleep. Don’t you know we Blood Kin move at night?” His lazy tone came with a yawn, a cat uncoiling in lamplight. In that instant, Ouyang wanted to pound that bat fiend, fists like rain.
Traveling alone had fattened his courage. Not answering was one thing, but using “we move at night” as an excuse—who was he fooling? You’re a god-tier Blood Kin; the sun and the moon shouldn’t make any difference to you. Why not say Blood Kin fear daylight, so you only dare come out at night? Ouyang’s cold voice fell like sleet, and Devila sensed trouble. He’d thought of that excuse too, but sunlight didn’t touch him; for a transcendent vampire, that line was brainless, a straw man in a storm.
“Forget it. Report your side.” Ouyang rubbed his temples, a tidal ache beating under skin. If he stayed stuck on that topic, they’d be talking till nightfall.
“Everything’s smooth, except…” “Except what?” Silence stretched ten seconds like chewing gum, then, “The locals think our church is a cult…” “A cult?” Now it was Ouyang’s turn to go quiet, his mind a still lake.
He didn’t mind it much. If they called us a cult, maybe we should lean into the curve. Back in the Starry Citadel, the First Cult had wind for wind and rain for rain, a presence like thunderheads. They even rampaged through the Divine Realm for a spell, and several old undyings ran to the Other Shore to complain, snot and tears shining like dew.
Originally, Ouyang wanted the Void Church to shine like the Light Church. But look at his lineup. That Lich had a skull-collecting kink, wishing the world were an ocean of bone, waves knocking like ribs. Yulan, that plant fiend, left seas of blossoms wherever she walked, all Man-eating Flowers with smiles like knives. Old Jue couldn’t stand anyone bursting with youthful vigor; it made him feel rotten to the core. Many lively towns were razed by his shadow, spring turned to ash. And a certain snake loved to burrow. Not an earthworm, but more dutiful at digging than any earthworm under rain. A human city once collapsed because that snake hollowed out the ground, the streets sinking like sand. In short, leading this band of Demon Kings with peculiar hobbies, Ouyang still wanted the Void Church to be as wholesome as the Light Church? He’d been dreaming sideways; he saw now he’d overthought, a kite string cut.
“Devila, remember this. Our Void Church doesn’t walk the common road.” Ouyang made up his mind to pivot, his indifference to worldly eyes hard as stone. Even if the continent shouted to hunt us, it wouldn’t touch him, a mountain under storm. “We don’t need to heed the foolish gaze of mortals.”
“About time. With your bunch of clowns, trying to build another Light Church was wishful thinking.” Devila’s blunt truth landed like a slap. Ouyang ground his teeth, sparks in the dark. The bat’s wings had really stiffened; after a short time away, he dared talk to his boss like that? If Devila stood in front of him now, Ouyang would beat him to a pulp, lightning with fists.
“Ahem. Second thing—the plan to revive your sister has to be pushed back. I’ve hit a snag here because of Xi’s anomaly. Sorry…” Ouyang could be petty, but he kept his word. He’d promised Devila, so he wouldn’t break it. Xi’s deviation wasn’t in the blueprint; the delay gnawed at him, guilt like a thorn.
“No problem. I’ve waited so many years. Seeing Kanofia a bit later is fine…” He said it was fine, but Ouyang heard a thin thread of loss, a rain line in the dark.
Ouyang’s eyes widened like lamps. Kanofia? Was that a coincidence? If not, Devila might soon reunite with his sister. But without certainty, he kept the news to himself. If it was a coincidence, he’d only stir up empty joy, fireflies in a jar.
“Alright then.” Puzzled, Ouyang shuttered the magic array, the lines dimming like dew at dawn. Where had he heard the name Kanofia? Since she was ancient, he sifted through the legends of the Other Shore, memories drifting like silk.
He combed through his mind, all things Blood Kin in the Other Shore. At last, the memory snapped free. Scarlet Night’s Requiem!!!
Scarlet Night’s Requiem was an arcana. The first time Ouyang met Devila, he used it. They said the creator of that arcana was a Blood Kin. With it, she slew a god without being a god, a scarlet tide swallowing stars.
Ancestor of Blood Night, Kanofia!
Blood Kin in the Other Shore were nearly extinct, rare creatures rustling like leaves. Among the single-digit Blood Kin, the Ancestor of Blood Night was the most famous, a name carved deep. Mention the Other Shore, and people first think of the undefeated God Emperor. Mention Blood Kin of the Other Shore, and they first think of the Ancestor of Blood Night.
In the Other Shore, someone once drew up a “Top Ten Masters” list, and Kanofia was in the top ten. That list wasn’t very reliable, a kite in fickle winds, but it showed her strength wasn’t small.
Which raised a question. How did a powerhouse like that fall? History’s leftovers gave Ouyang a headache, a drumbeat behind his eyes. A being worthy of hymns wasn’t cabbage in a field. And if a sovereign fell, why did the chronicles stay quiet, a loud bell never written?
Naturally, Ouyang linked it to Diary Bro and that silver-haired girl. He remembered clearly: if the Ancestor saw them, she’d settle the score, thunder chasing swallows. From Diary Bro’s chat with Li, he knew of their eldest, an existence called Flowing Light.
No matter how he turned it, Ouyang didn’t see the Ancestor winning. They had three people, three shadows braided under a greater moon. And above those three was a master, a hand on the strings.
If that’s true, then it adds up. The more he thought, the more he felt he’d been set up, a fish hooked in clear water. If the Ancestor learns Ouyang revived her at Diary Bro and Li’s request, would she mark him as one of their side? Would she cut him down, a blade flashing from silk?
The more he thought, the more certain Ouyang was: that diary was bad news, a smiling trap.
