A thin chill draped the snack street like morning mist. Ouyang and Morris sat in a roast-duck shop, shoulders hooked like brothers, tearing into duck with smug delight. Morris, born noble, had grease running down his hands like melted amber, and Belle watched with eyes bright with tears and fury.

Look at her Morris—second among Aupu Continent’s top ten prodigies, trained in every noble etiquette since childhood. In Belle’s eyes he was grace in motion, talent like a full moon gleaming.

And now? Under Ouyang’s lead he’d turned into a mess—oily hands, slick face; where was the elegant gentleman she knew?

Teeth clenched, Belle’s anger burned like live coals; her gaze pinned Ouyang—he was the culprit.

“Brother Yang, I didn’t expect the roast duck here to be this good; no wonder the shop’s so packed.” He licked his lips, then frowned. “Oh—why did your shout scatter that shoal of people in a blink?”

Not only Morris; Belle, too, looked baffled.

Ouyang snorted, eyes narrowing, a sly grin bright as a fox under moonlight. “Little bro, listen up—I’ll give you a look; you figure it out.”

Experience? Experience what? That greasy smirk, that scheming glint?

Morris then got it—at least the gist; even without the truth, he understood Ouyang’s move.

“Back home we have a saying: the shameless are unbeatable.” His words carried old salt like wisdom steeped in a sea. “Chew on it. One day you’ll grasp it, and you’ll be invincible.”

With carefree swagger, Ouyang flicked a bone backward; it traced a lazy arc like a crescent. If not for the sheen of grease on his face, freeze that frame and he’d look dashing.

Meow~

White Cat didn’t miss its chance to exist; it was eating so hard even its fur wore a glossy oil coat.

After saying that, Ouyang felt something off. The clatter when the bone landed was wrong—like it smacked something soft before kissing the ground.

“Damn it, lowborn…”

Ouyang turned. A familiar sight met him: a woman in a purple evening dress—a face he remembered as a “big fat sheep.” That woman, her old butler, and a cluster of servants—an easy‑mark ensemble he wouldn’t forget.

The girl’s long purple hair and purple gown shimmered like night violets; under the street lamps you could see the oily stain on her chest—the spot the bone had struck.

“Ah, so it’s the ‘big fat sheep’ from the other day. Mm—you people are good folk.” Ouyang felt no guilt about dirtying her dress; he kept wrestling White Cat for duck like a pair of alley toms.

White Cat glanced back, then calmly kept fighting him for duck. “Yeah, that’s the loaded tycoon—big fat sheep.”

Big fat sheep?

The girl in purple was too pure to get the slang, but the old butler wasn’t; decades of mud and rain had taught him every shade of a con.

“Huh? The kitty… the kitty can talk?” She had cradled White Cat earlier but hadn’t known it spoke. “Return the kitty to me, and I’ll forget you stained my dress.”

Her words showed a decent heart; with other heiresses, the servants would’ve beaten Ouyang with sticks by now. Of course, it’s the First Region—masters walk like wind here, and that keeps tempers leashed.

Never mind the gods who stroll among mortals; even a false god could wipe a clan clean like frost on grass.

So the great houses share a tacit rule: anyone they send out has been vetted by a circle of old men, twice and thrice, to make sure they won’t drag the clan into a pit.

In that climate, the scions who roam are the solid ones.

“A cat? Oh, take it yourselves… and don’t say ‘return’ like I stole it.” Ouyang kept chewing. “You didn’t watch your cat; it came to me on its own. I didn’t snatch it.”

The girl in purple thought it through; Ouyang wasn’t wrong. She had failed to watch White Cat; he hadn’t stolen it. She bowed, voice soft as rain. “Sir, I’m very sorry.”

Seeing Ouyang about to sell it again, White Cat bristled. It leapt to Ouyang’s head, planted a cute paw, and pointed at the girl, face full of disdain. “Hmph, you want to take Lord Cat? What identity I carry! You think a mere thousand Demon King coins can buy me… pfft—no, can Lord Cat be measured by money?”

White Cat grew more excited, tail high like a banner. It had once followed the Young Overlord into the First Imperial Princess’s palace, chased the Crow through the Land of Reincarnation, and under a tattered book’s lead peered into the Eternal Celestial Palace. A life fit for legends—now Ouyang was selling it cheap.

“You…” White Cat pointed at the girl. “You…” it jabbed at the old butler. “You… and you…”

After pointing them all out, White Cat set both forepaws on its waist, cute and imperious. “You’re all trash!”

…

White Cat’s fuss churned the air, but in the First Region even the old butler had to swallow his fire. Still, in this case they held the right.

Ouyang’s plan had been simple: let White Cat follow the girl so he could squeeze another sum; the cat, on some odd whim, refused to play along.

“Sir, since the cat clings to you and we can’t take it, the previous deal is void.” The servants had already sensed the scam when Ouyang sold them White Cat so cheerfully; if not for the old butler, those hot‑blooded bruisers would’ve taught him a lesson.

Ouyang shot them a look of contempt and flung another bone; this time it found no face. “Hmph, it’s only money…” He pulled out a pouch with just a few dozen Demon King coins and shook it; clang, clang.

“Here—your little money doesn’t impress me.”

A breeze slid through; the purple‑haired girl went stiff like stone. Even the old butler nearly cursed. A mere thousand Demon King coins might be little to their house, but getting shaved like this still stung.

“Sir, we gave you one thousand Demon King coins; now you return only a few dozen…” Even the well‑bred girl bit down, forcing the words through like thorns.

At that, Ouyang felt pure embarrassment wash over him. He’d wanted to finish clean, sleeves brushed, name hidden, but fate had steered him back into the crowd. If the Demon Kings heard, they’d laugh him to death.

“Ah, fine. I’ll sign for you. My autograph isn’t something money can measure—but since I’m at fault, it’ll be your bargain.” Ouyang produced paper and pen from nowhere.

A gasp rolled through the onlookers like surf. If his signature were priceless, this ridiculous scene wouldn’t exist. The old butler almost spat old blood; he had met shameless men, but never one this shameless.

Seeing Ouyang truly broke, the butler decided to let it go. Their family wouldn’t miss that sum, and stirring trouble here was foolish.

In the First Region, the human web tangles like vines. For all they knew, Ouyang’s uncle’s friend’s wife’s nephew’s daughter’s classmate could be a resident of Miracle City. If a resident of Miracle City got involved, they’d be in real trouble.

In this era of Demon Kings, Miracle City’s people are the world’s darlings; they walk hand in hand with gods.

Thinking that, the old butler waved Ouyang off, ready to end it.

“Eh, O… brother‑in‑law, why are you here?”

Her voice was ethereal, sweet as a lark. A sixteen‑ or seventeen‑year‑old ran up, stood before Ouyang, peered, confirmed him, then drew out a handkerchief and wiped the oil from his hands and face, not caring about stains.

Faces turned pale; a cold breath swept the crowd, rattled by her presence.

Her orange hair was tied into two bundles, draped over each shoulder. Deep violet eyes carried a crescent moon like Kanofia’s. Skin white as snow, springy; a pink long dress swayed gently in the wind.

“Brother‑in‑law, I went to the castle to find you—I wanted you to stroll the New Night Festival with me. But you weren’t there; heehee, now I’ve caught you.”

The girl was Xian, Xi’s younger sister. Four years ago she was a tiny loli; now she’d grown. She looked sixteen or seventeen, but Ouyang knew the little brat from back then was already eighteen.