The first day of the God-and-Demon Pilgrimage bled away like sunset mist—morning trapped in the Sealed Land, afternoon drowned in the Void Castle while a girl tried on dresses till dusk, and only then did we step out under the lantern sky.

It’s past midnight now, so it counts as the second day.

For Ouyang and the others, sleep’s a luxury they don’t need—but habit still has teeth. Xi insists on nightfall sleep; no all-nighters in the Void Castle. So Ouyang lay on his soft, cloud-light bed and stared at the ceiling like a blank lake. Sleeping is easy—close your eyes, open them, dawn arrives. He almost never dreams. If he does, the dream hides a hook.

Creak.

His door eased open. Under moonlight pale as jade, a small shadow padded in. He didn’t have to guess. At that height, only one person lived in this castle. As for a certain rabbit, it didn’t have the guts.

The small figure tiptoed closer, as if sure he hadn’t noticed. When she reached his side, Ouyang’s palm landed lightly on her head like a leaf on water.

“Girl, what’re you doing here this late? If Aurora finds out you’re not sleeping, you’re getting scolded.”

It was Loyin. Pink pajamas, cheeks puffed like steamed buns, eyes glaring up at him.

“Brother… I saw it. You and Aurora hugged for so long. And you kissed for so long.”

His hand, still ruffling her hair, paused. Heat climbed, humor thin as paper. “You had to stew up that much jealousy? Weren’t you the one who ran off with Bai to give us space?”

“Mm—urgh!” Her little face crumpled harder. She flashed her tiny hands, then suddenly lunged for his neck. “Brother, I’m so mad. I’m gonna strangle you!”

The move was so abrupt it snagged him off guard—but her fingers didn’t tighten. Her hands crossed behind his neck, her whole body hung off his chest like a sleepy koala.

“Mm… Bro, I’m so sleepy. I’m going to bed. Night.” She pressed her forehead to his chest, arms looped around his neck. She didn’t plan to let go.

He could only sigh and pat her head, voice low as candlelight. “Okay, no more fussing. Back to bed. Count stars if you can’t sleep. If Aurora finds out you’re up at this hour, there’s no breakfast for you tomorrow.”

“Sleep… fine. But I’m sleeping with Brother.”

She rubbed her eyes. Ouyang noticed the rims were pink as dawn. His words thinned out. He just scooped her up and smoothed her pajama collar, gentle as wind over grass.

“Loyin, I’m sorry… I meant to be with both of you. In the end, it was just me and Aurora.”

She said nothing and dove under his quilt.

Then—

“Eh? Little Loyin, you’re sleeping too?”

Ouyang snapped his head around. A white blur had materialized in the quilt—Bai. “When did you get here?” He was honestly startled. He’d felt Loyin sneaking in. But Bai?

“Me? I’ve been here the whole time. You just didn’t notice.” Bai’s tone was as matter-of-fact as a falling feather, like popping up in someone’s quilt wasn’t worth a blink.

Right. He could only cover his face at that. Bai was his Guardian Angel, so she could appear at his side whenever. And her aura felt like his own. We all ignore our own scent first. That’s probably why he’d missed her.

The instant Loyin saw Bai, her little moon went cloudy.

“Brother—why is she here? Not happy. I’m not happy!” She rolled back and forth like a sulky cat, muttering “not happy” under her breath. Bai’s face was pure innocence. Loyin’s tangled storm of emotions didn’t parse for her at all.

Loyin’s voice climbed, and the door creaked open again.

“You three… why are you making a racket at this hour?”

Xi walked in wearing pajamas, night-soft and cool as dew. She rubbed Loyin’s cheek with two fingers. “Little Loyin, if you don’t want to sleep with your brother, come sleep with me. Judging from the tantrum, you must hate him a lot.”

Loyin saw Xi reaching to pick her up and panicked. She clamped onto Ouyang like a limpet and buried her face in his chest. “No, Sister Xi, I was wrong. I’ll stop making noise…”

When Loyin’s temper spiked, Ouyang had no tricks that worked. But she feared Xi. The moment Xi showed up, the wild cat turned into a small, obedient bun.

Xi never meant to carry her off. She was just scaring her cub straight. Once the tantrum died, she nodded. “Good. Then sleep. If you act up again… you know the consequences.”

Ouyang, for his part, couldn’t help wondering what Xi had done back then to make a fearless girl so afraid.

After Xi left, the room fell quiet as snow. Loyin rolled to Ouyang’s left. Bai settled on his right.

“Good night…”

For no reason he could name, sleep hit him hard—thick and soft, like he was human again. Half-asleep, he murmured good night to Bai and Loyin. Then darkness folded him up.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d dreamed. Dreams usually fog you up, but he stayed lucid, like a lantern in mist.

He saw the Sealed Land shattered like glass under a hammer. He saw the City of the Dead torn down to bones. Without the Sealed Land, the Golden Constant Gate slipped its leash and fled into the vast, drifting void like a gold fish into a dark sea.

He saw Loyin—the little shadow always clinging to him—wear a broken smile. Then she dissolved into a storm of black butterflies, scattering under the star-strewn sky.

He saw the stars dim, as if ashes fell over the night. A mass of black matter devoured everything like ink flooding rice paper.

Strange dream, dream like mirage. He wasn’t a prophet, so why this? The images kept tilting. A gigantic pit opened, ringed by a dead world—stone-cold, colorless. The style reeked of the Abyss, likely the Abyss’s very end.

A weeping fallen angel looked back at the last world like a last glance at spring, then jumped. A proud god sighed like wind through a ruined temple; his eyes dulled, his faith went dark, and he jumped. One after another—dragging despair, gripping hatred, nursing grievances against heaven and earth—they fell.

The scene turned again. Black substance surged out of that pit. Black mist coiled like night serpents. Two crimson eyes blinked, slow as a heartbeat.

Ouyang moved to see it clearly, and everything shattered. The world broke into mirror shards, each piece drifting in the void like ice on a black sea. In every shard, a story breathed.

He floated through that space. Beyond the shards, there was only nothing. Void without black or white, like a blank page before the first stroke.

He didn’t know how long passed. In the hollow quiet, he felt a thread of life ahead. Beside it stood a door much like the Golden Constant Gate, planted in the void like a solitary pine. Three beings he knew waited near it.

The Book of Epochs glowed with cold light; its pages flipped and flipped, endless as waves, as if it could never reach the last leaf. The only human-shaped presence was the silver-haired girl; from the Book of Epochs, Ouyang had learned her true form was the Eternal Pendant. The last was the Flowing Light Wheel, jade-pale and ringed in a milky halo; he always felt if the Flowing Light Wheel took human form, she’d be quiet and well-behaved, like snow in a courtyard.

Beyond the Three Eternal Artifacts, a crowd of other things loomed there—each strong, each heavy as a mountain.

Suddenly, Li’s gaze swept his way. He thought she’d spotted him. She only frowned, as if something pricked her, then let it go.

“That… makes no sense. With her power, how could she miss me?”

He tried to slap his own forehead out of habit—and found no hand. No hand, no body. Just a blank. It was like the void itself was him, and he was the void.

Panic clawed up like thorn vines. He remembered it was a dream. Usually, once he knew, a little struggle and he’d wake. This time, no matter how he fought, the river didn’t lift him. He couldn’t wake.

A void world. A void life. Quiet as a sealed tomb. No one beside him.

What’s it like to stay awake alone for endless ages in a nothing like this? He didn’t know. He only knew he was going to break. If he stayed, the void would hollow him out. He’d become something emotionless, like the Supreme Law—no joy, no anger, no sorrow, no love. He’d look at everything the way winter looks at fields.

To love someone, and feel no love. To hate someone, and muster no hate.

He struggled and stewed. He refused to turn into that empty thing. He wanted to stay flesh and blood—to cry, to ache, to rejoice, to laugh. God or demon, if you can’t be happy, can’t be angry, can’t be sad, can’t laugh, you’re just a line in a law. What’s the point?

In a haze, something clicked. Long ago, the stories said, gods shed bits of mortal heart. They climbed the throne with an impartial mind, treating all like Law—fair and cold as frost. That old myth sounded like it came from several cosmic epochs back. Was the Supreme Law bound to that ancient tale?