In a world painted ink-black, Ouyang saw a lone sword hanging in the void like a frozen moon. The night was absolute, yet the blade shone like cold starlight.

The sword was mottled with rust, its body veined by cracks like dried riverbeds after drought.

He moved toward it, heart tight like a clenched fist in winter wind. No matter how far he walked, the distance stretched like a shoreline that never drew near.

“Sword… why can’t I get close to you?”

His lonely voice fell like a pebble into a bottomless well, echoing in the dark. A reply drifted from the sword, thin as mist over water. “Because you’re not whole. I… do not acknowledge you.” The blade’s voice was a closed gate in a storm.

“I… not whole?”

Confusion spread through him like fog. The sword’s shape thinned, then vanished, erasing the only color in that abyss. The dark turned to blinding white, and sudden silence felt like snow smothering sound.

He looked down and found himself bound by countless black iron chains, each link coiling like night serpents around his limbs.

Ahead, in that bleached world, a man stood with wings unfurled—gray-white short hair, a wicked smile like a crescent blade.

“So familiar… you, who are you?”

The thought hit like thunder behind clouds. That face was his—everything the same, except for the ash-short hair and those black wings like ravens at dusk.

Why am I the one chained?

The winged Ouyang walked forward, each step slow as a tide. Lightning fanned from his black wings, and the porcelain-white space shattered like glass struck by hail.

“You’re too weak,” he said, voice cold as iron in winter. “Weak like a harmless ant. The title Void Messenger will draw a storm of mockery to you. While the main body sleeps for a blink, I’ll rule everything.”

Time rewound like a reel jerked back to a brighter frame—when Ouyang followed Youyun home.

“Little sis, uh… you’re sure I can stay at your place?” His awkward smile hung like a paper lantern in wind.

“Yup. Youwen’s fine with it! Mom and Dad are on vacation. I’m calling the shots!”

“This is… so embarrassing. Stay at your place, eat your food… How about I cook a meal to say thanks?”

She’d first struck him like a shadow with sharp edges, but when he knew nothing about this otherworld, Youyun took him in like a harbor taking a lost boat. He had no money, and his skills were scraps in a storm. In a world where almost everyone carried weapons that could level a house into ashes, money felt like rain evaporating mid-air.

Run a shop? Every counter had a robot, smooth as steel birds. Carry bricks? Ordinary folks here could hoist trucks like oxen at dawn. Charge protection? People could turn their hands into cannons, thunder blooming from their palms.

He paced that thought like a caged tiger and found no door. No money, no gift to repay Youyun. So he pinned his hopes like a kite and decided to cook.

The moment he set one foot toward the kitchen, Youyun’s face went pale like frost.

“No. Absolutely not.”

She flashed in front of him like a swallow cutting through light, grabbed him, dragged him back from the kitchen’s threshold. While he blinked, she slapped a paper on the door like a talisman: Kitchen—Restricted Area. Ouyang Forbidden.

What kind of sign was that?

Still stunned, he watched her pull a kitchen knife, her expression solemn as a judge. “From now on, absolutely, absolutely no entering the kitchen.” Her eyes held a memory like a cold wind—something she’d rather not relive.

So Ouyang settled into their home and lived off warm meals for a week, soft as a stray curled by a brazier. Because he’d blown up Zhongfeng No. 1 High School, Youyun and Youwen got one week off.

But only one week. This world’s tech ran like a river after rain. The school rose in seven days, new as spring shoots. Today was their first day back. Before leaving, Youyun told him to stay home, be good, don’t step out. Her words pressed like a lid on a boiling pot.

Without Youyun or Youwen, Ouyang didn’t dare wander. This strange world felt like a forest full of hidden thorns—unless he’d grown tired of living.

After they left for class, he sat on the sofa, remote in hand, and watched TV. He drifted like a leaf, then froze. News flashed like lightning. He was wanted. No—Ouyang the Demon King was wanted. He was innocent. At least, that’s what his heart insisted like a stubborn drum.

He kept watching and felt his stomach drop like a stone. A camera had caught him when the school exploded.

“Attention, residents,” the anchor’s voice rolled like a siren under rain. “This man is extremely dangerous. Seven days ago, he let out a bizarre, terrifying sound on South Ring Road, sparking a chain collision. Fifteen dead, several injured. On the same day, he blew up Zhongfeng No. 1 High School. Thanks to timely notices, students were evacuated, so no casualties occurred.”

He stared, dumbstruck, eyes dry as desert. The school blast—he admitted it, cat demon threats or not. He wouldn’t dodge that storm. But South Ring Road? That was a stranger’s shadow. Not him.

He already feared stepping outside alone. Now, seeing that wanted notice, fear clung to him like cold damp clothes.

What you fear always knocks, like wind finding a crack.

While the news rattled his bones, the front door clicked. A key turned, smooth as a fish slipping through reeds. Aside from Youyun and Youwen, only… their parents had keys.

The door swung. A middle-aged man and woman stepped in, with an eighteen, nineteen-year-old young man behind them.

“Who are you?” The couple stayed silent; the young man surged forward like a drawn bow. “Auntie, did this stranger kidnap my cousins?”

He didn’t ask first; he slapped a label like mud on a wall.

Ouyang opened his mouth to explain. The young man’s fist slammed into his stomach like a battering ram. Pain exploded, night fell, and he blacked out like a candle snuffed by wind.

When he woke, iron bars framed his world. His hands wore laser locks that bit like ice. In the dark cell, time dragged like tar until footsteps came, tapping like rain on stone.

“Ouyang, are you okay?”

The slightly cold voice carried a thread of tears, thin as silk. It was Youyun—no mistaking that timbre.

“Ouyang big brother, we came to see you!”

That shy voice was Youwen’s, soft as moss.

Beyond the iron door stood Youyun and Youwen, and the middle-aged couple—clearly their parents. The young man was there too. His eyes shone with a hard light, like wolves in snowy pine.

“Youyun, that guy’s a wanted criminal,” the young man said, smile crooked like a hook. “South Ring Road’s chain crash, your school’s blast—they’re tied to him. And the audits these days? Black-on-black deals on the underworld. Cruel methods. Vile temper.”

“Most importantly, his ID’s fake. He’s a ghost in the registry. He’s likely a spy from the Western Empire.”

He smiled strangely, and the killing intent in his gaze was a blade wrapped in velvet.

A policeman stepped in, uniform crisp as a new flag. “Miss Youyun, Young Master Chiba’s analysis checks out. That man’s dangerous.” With the officer pressing, Youyun’s parents began to urge their children like wind pushing reluctant sails.

Youyun stood firm, a rock in river current. Youwen had lived with Ouyang for a week. He knew Ouyang flinched at raised voices like a rabbit startled by thunder. That didn’t match the terrorist on TV at all.

“Cousin Chiba, Dad, Mom, Officer,” Youwen said, clutching his father’s coat like a lifeline. “Ouyang big brother isn’t that terrorist. We spent a week together. I know him. He’s not the one you’re hunting.”

We aren’t stone or weeds; feelings grow when people share days and bread.

In that short time, he’d found Ouyang decent, plain as clear water. Not like Cousin Chiba, who always had clockwork turning behind his eyes. A memory snapped into place like a trap. Chiba was eighteen, and he fawned over his twelve-year-old female cousin—sick as mildew in damp rooms. That explained the thorn in his heart. As her brother, Youwen felt the man’s malice like grit under the tongue. If he hated Youwen this much, how would he treat a stranger like Ouyang?

“All right, everyone,” a policeman said, voice steady as a drum. “Time’s up. We’re starting the interrogation.”

“No. Let Ouyang go!” Youyun gripped the bars with both hands, determination flaring like a torch in wind.

The officer hesitated, a crease between his brows like a cut in wood. “Miss Youyun, even if you’re Master Switt’s disciple, you can’t break the Empire’s law.”

In the end, her parents pulled Youyun and Youwen away like roots torn from soil. As Chiba left, he threw Ouyang a look, long as a cold shadow.

“Kid, they’ll take good care of you,” he murmured, voice oily as smoke. “A man with no identity? Heh. No one will save you.”

They left, and the world fell back into night like a curtain dropping.

“Why… I’m just a clueless traveler between worlds.” The words were a whisper to himself, like a lone moth circling a lamp.

Two men walked into the cell, carrying a box the color of storm clouds. Ouyang didn’t know what lay inside, but dread pooled in his gut like ink. Their smiles were wrong—thin, sharp, hungry—as if the box held winter and he was the first frost.