Ever since four years ago, when Mapleleaf woke Kanofia with Ouyang’s blood, Kanofia had hunted excuses to drink him again, like a bee forever circling its favorite blossom.
Today was no different. She slurped at his vein with soft, greedy pulls, unfazed by the risk because he was a Realm God, a mountain that wouldn’t fall from a single sip. Her fangs pinned his artery, yet her lips lay warm against his neck, her little tongue wriggling like a silkworm.
It was, honestly, the first time since Xi that a girl had pressed so close. Heat fanned across his skin like summer wind in tall grass; it tickled, and he couldn’t move at all.
Time crawled like a lazy brook. Kanofia finally had her fill. She tucked her fangs away, then licked the puncture—slow, catlike strokes—before letting out a satisfied purr.
“Hmph. Despicable, shameless human. For supplying such a tasty drink, I’ll forgive your little leak this once.”
She turned her head with haughty flourish, proud as a cat flicking its tail, as if letting her drink your blood were your great honor.
Even with a beauty’s mouth at his throat, Ouyang felt nettled, like bristles under the skin. Did he have no rights at all? He squinted, touched the wound, and felt his heartbeat go odd, like a drum skipping on a cold night.
“You dramatic vampire—just wait. I’m paying this back.” He threw the words out hard, armor over embarrassment. Kanofia’s wine-red eyes flashed, a blade’s glint under dusk.
She was about to act when Loyin popped out of nowhere like a sparrow from a hedge.
“Brother…”
Loyin hugged his arm, face bright with finally-caught-you relief. With her there, Kanofia couldn’t start a fight. She huffed, swiveled, and drifted away like smoke.
Watching Kanofia’s vanishing silhouette, Loyin leaned in, her whisper like rain at the eaves. “Brother, did that woman do something… strange to you?”
Strange, indeed…
Loyin had once walked in on Kanofia drinking Ouyang’s blood. She’d tried to stop anything “harmful,” sparks snapping in the air until they almost fought. Their grudge had been knotted from that day like braided thorns.
Ouyang rubbed Loyin’s head, choosing calm over truth. If those two clashed, trouble would roll in like thunderheads. Besides, Kanofia hadn’t meant harm; to him, it felt more like mischief.
Most dangerous of all, for reasons he couldn’t name, he thought… it wasn’t half bad.
He shook himself and brushed those tangled thoughts aside like cobwebs.
His castle was still his castle—only three servants remained: Eika, Nabelia, and the Jade Rabbit. Over the four years, Xi had sent her own trio—Snow, Black Butterfly, and Leticia—to keep everything running, steady as lanterns in a long corridor.
The Jade Rabbit had finally reclaimed its other half. The human it had loved and fought had died, a candle snuffed at dawn. Now the Jade Rabbit held a below-god tier of power—bottom rung, maybe—but in Miracle City, where Demigods strolled like cranes and pseudo-gods were as common as strays, a true deity had standing like a steeple above rooftops.
Ouyang’s eyes enjoyed the row of pretty maids in black-and-white, a flower bed in motion. His heart didn’t lift at all.
Those maids were Xi’s eyes set in his halls. Look at Snow, pen and paper in hand, recording his days like frost tracing windows: what he ate, where he went, who he spoke to. She would deliver it all to Xi once she returned.
“Lord Ouyang, where did you go just now?” Snow watched him with a not-quite-smile, her pen spinning like a dragonfly. “Please answer. Her Excellency Aurora reviews my records. It’s my duty. I ask your understanding.”
Understanding?
With a girlfriend like this, freedom felt like a bird inside a cage. He missed the old days like moonlight missed by cloud. Xi’s strictness, he suspected, had a lot to do with the Azure Bird. He didn’t know what they had discussed; after that, Xi tightened the reins.
“I… took Loyin for a walk.” He squeezed Loyin’s soft hand, touch gentle as a leaf press.
“I can confirm,” Loyin said, loyal as a puppy. “Brother just took me out.”
Snow wrote it down cleanly. Ouyang sighed in relief, when Nabelia stepped close, voice lowered like a bell behind a door. “Lord Ouyang, your student Augustine requests an audience.”
Augustine?
In four years, Augustine had grown into a sturdy youth, a sapling turned straight trunk. Under Anatasya—the last White Elf—he’d learned his bloodline’s arts to a solid seven-tenths. Now Augustine stood at Sky Level. A pseudo-god had said he’d reach Demigod in five years, and climb the godseat in fifty.
Becoming a god was only a matter of time, sand trickling steady. Fifteen years used to be long—an age for a generation, some returned to dust. But in the Demon King era, most beings lived two, three hundred years; Demigods carried a thousand like mountains carry snow.
So fifty years wasn’t far at all. A talent bound for godhood was famous across every land, a name in every household. Those who’d joined Augustine against the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts had also bloomed: the weakest had reached Sun Ring Level peak, and the stronger stood at Sky Level beside him.
“Let him in.”
Ouyang hadn’t seen the kid in a long time. After Ouyang revived from the Boundless Sea, Augustine led his team into another world to adventure, gone until now, wind in his boots.
“Teacher!” Augustine burst in, joy bright as fire, only to be flung back by Loyin with a flick of her hand. “Kid, hygiene. Shoes.”
She pointed to the carpet, and the slippers lined up like well-behaved ducks.
Augustine slipped on the indoor pair, embarrassed, then came in proper.
“Teacher, that lazy sun up there keeps slacking. Folks say it doesn’t take its job seriously—some nights the sun pops out at midnight…”
He rattled on, words popping like kernels, asking if they could swap in a more diligent sun. Sometimes day flipped to night in a heartbeat, chaos for ordinary people, a nuisance like drums at the wrong hour.
“Teacher, you could catch a few suns. Make a roster. Today this sun’s on duty, the others rest. Tomorrow another sun clocks in… Lighten their load, they’ll work better.”
He gulped a drink, breath pumping like a bellows, excitement rising like steam.
Ouyang had thought about it, clouds gathering on the idea—but Ancient God–class beasts weren’t easy prey, nor were they street-side wares you picked like fruit.
Loyin felt his snag. She shook his arm lightly, voice soft as silk. “Brother, Ancient Gods are hard, but we can grab Divine-class ones…”
Her take cleared the mist, and Ouyang’s eyes lit like lanterns.
Ancient God beasts could serve as suns, but they were living things—boredom would gnaw, errors would creep. Divine-class beasts couldn’t match a true sun’s blaze, yet their light and heat could illuminate a world easily. They weren’t flung across the span to the Source World like the real sun.
Closer distance. Full light. Full warmth.
“Alright. We’ll catch a whole pack that shine and burn, and put them on shifts.”
He spoke around a mouthful of food, words thick like bread. Divine-class small fry, he could pound at will; the only trouble was finding ones that truly glowed and truly heated.
Hearing him, Leticia’s interest sparked. She lifted her hand, a candle asking to speak.
Ouyang nodded, granting the floor.
“Mr. Ouyang, you could set up a position. A god to manage those suns—a keeper of day and night. Just saying it sounds formidable.”
It was a neat idea. Augustine’s ears twitched, like a fox catching news. “Teacher, Miracle City has so many gods. You could make more posts—god of day and night, god of life and death…”
“And, Teacher, can I take the day-and-night post?”
He wanted it badly. It sounded cool as frost on steel. In truth, it was watching a bunch of beasts and making sure they clocked in, nothing as grand as the name promised.
Still, Augustine loved it for the title’s thunder. Outsiders wouldn’t know how dull the work was behind the golden sign.
“We’ll decide after we catch enough suns. Work hard now. Climb the godseat before they’re netted. If that post exists by then, I’ll reserve it for you.”
These kids had lively minds, ideas popping like fireflies in summer grass—bright, quick, and delightfully unexpected.
