Everything played out exactly as Morris had guessed. Because he and Belle were lovers, he carried items she’d used—threads in his palm—and the seeking spell caught the scent like dew on grass.

Once the clutter was handled, Morris led Belle to choose a gown for Jiangxue, elegant yet solemn, like moonlight on jade. Jiangxue’s poise was a quiet lake; in that dress, both Morris and Belle nodded like reeds in a breeze.

On the road to Miracle City, Jiangxue held her words like sparrows behind her lips. It was the considerate Morris who broke the ice, a spring wind parting thin frost. “Miss Jiangxue, do you have questions? I can’t promise every answer—some things are family shadows—but I can answer most.”

He wasn’t posturing, nor playing coy; truth sat in his chest like a stone in a river. If a question touched his family’s secrets, his mouth had to stay shut, like a sealed shrine gate.

“Ah… well… Mr. Morris, the big figures we’re going to meet—by your words, real gods. What’s the difference between real gods and the gods of my world?” Her voice trembled like a thread in rain.

“Difference?” Morris thought for a long beat, head lowered like a willow. “I don’t really understand gods. With what I know, I’d say the gods of this world are stronger—mountains to hills.”

He didn’t know the exact might of the gods of the ‘Source’ World; their realms were mist to him, a mountain range behind clouds. But in those legends, even the Divine Realm avoided their edge like sailors steering around a reef; years ago, creatures of the Divine Realm and the Demon World fell in this world like stars burning out. The godhead in the Rift Wasteland was proof, a shard of thunder in stone. He didn’t know how that so‑called “Divine Realm” differed from Aup World’s Divine Realm, but you could tell those ‘Source’ gods weren’t pushovers—iron under silk. And now, so many gods gathered here and the world’s order still held like a well‑tuned lyre; that alone spoke volumes.

To make time, Morris grit his teeth and paid a steep fee to cut through a spatial corridor, like stepping between ripples of moonlight, straight toward Miracle City.

“That’s… an angel?!” Awe rose in Jiangxue like dawn over snow peaks.

Creatures flew across the sky and left a rain of holy light, like pearls scattering from a hidden hand. Pure white wings and sanctity that took root in the heart—one glance, and you’d never forget. High above, angels flickered like lanterns behind gauze, patrolling; at times pure white feathers drifted down, inscribed with god‑marks like frost‑lace on glass. To mortals, a feather was priceless; keep one close for life, and no illness would cling, like a charm carved from spring.

“Rainbow…” Belle breathed, her whisper a wind‑bell.

Besides those veiled angels, tiny beings with dragonfly wings darted under the firmament like sparks. They had elf‑sharp ears and bodies no larger than a palm, a handful of starlight. They played and chased in the sky, leaving a trailing arc of rainbow like paint brushed across silk.

Those lived high in the heavens; a little lower—about four or five stories up—the air held riders on brooms, like swallows skimming a river. One broom had a sack tied at the front with vegetables bouncing like green lanterns—someone bringing home dinner. Another rider leaned forward hard, a streak of urgency. Others drifted slow, sightseeing, brooms carrying extra passengers like small boats over mist.

Higher still, about ten more meters up, began the realm of the white‑cloud carpets, fluffy fleets cutting the blue. Clouds sped past like galloping herds, and from their pace and the clusters of riders, they left the brooms far behind like kites in slack wind.

On the street, ahead moved a humanoid marked all over with golden stripes, like sunlight raked across bronze. He rode a unicorn, white as carved jade, ribbons of light rippling from its mane. A blue‑furred dog walked upright on two legs, wearing human clothes and a backpack, padding along like a short professor. A beast with a crab’s upper body and a human lower body clacked by, its twin pincers carrying a heap of parcels like a moving storehouse. It stopped before a house, knocked like rain on a wooden eave; the door opened, goods went in, and coins glinted in the crab‑hands. A courier, built for the tides.

Miracle City hit like thunder in a clear sky. The life here, the customs, the scenery—everything stood apart, a garden behind a veil. In that instant, a stubborn yearning swelled in Morris like roots drinking deep; he wanted to stay forever, to watch these people and these stories like stars across seasons.

Would these views become a swan song after millennia, a flute fading at dusk? Would the rainbows and the holy rain in the sky one day dim, like embers after a feast?

“Pity,” Morris sighed, breath a cloud on glass. “The procedures to settle in Miracle City are too tangled, and the threshold’s too high.” The first heavy word he heard in this world had been “Demon King,” and the second “Miracle City,” stones that sank his heart and steadied it. To live here would be a dream sealed in amber.

Jiangxue stared, dazed, like a deer in moonlit snow. “Is this the Divine Kingdom? The land where the gods dwell?”

Miracle City sprawled vast as a sea. Riding a white‑cloud carpet toward the embassy, they crossed distance in half an hour that could have circled the capitals of great empires more than once, like an arrow over fields. Inside Miracle City, that was only about a fifth of the way from the south to the north—one brushstroke on a mural.

“Here we are,” the driver called, voice a bell over mist. “Ahead’s the embassy. Total fare, one hundred seventy Demon King coins.”

Only then did Morris remember the hard edge of reality. The dress for Jiangxue, the spatial shortcut—their purse was a dry well. All told, they had only about fifty Demon King coins left—everything he and Belle owned, two pebbles in a jar.

“Uh… brother, could you put it on tab?” Morris forced a smile like winter sun. “We’re headed to the embassy. We’ve got some standing; we won’t cheat you. Once we find our contact, we’ll pay you back here.”

The cloud‑carpet driver narrowed his eyes, a storm under a hat brim. “Riding for free? In Miracle City?” His voice dropped like a blade.

“Listen, hear me out. Or come with us to the embassy,” Morris hurried, words tumbling like beads. “Once we find him, we’ll pay you a hundredfold.”

He couldn’t forget that night when Xian tossed out a hundred thousand Demon King coins like petals on the wind. And that was just a month’s allowance—pocket rain. A hundredfold of a hundred‑plus coins was only a bit over ten thousand; Ouyang wasn’t in the same family, but would it matter? For a person like that, ten thousand would be a blink—dust on a sleeve.

“Sure. Great. Wonderful…” the driver muttered, and a black aura seeped from him like ink in water. “So you freeload, and you want to waste my time too?”

“No—brother, I mean it,” Morris said, heart tight as a clenched fist.

Seeing that the man was a breath from swinging, Morris’s mind flashed like flint. “Then let me sell you important intel.”

“Important intel?” The driver’s gaze sharpened like a spear.

“Please, calm down and listen,” Morris said, voice a bridge over current. “Hear me first. If you don’t like it, then object.” The driver stilled, though his eyes stayed dangerous, two coals on a cold night.

“Details touch certain secrets, so I’ll stick to the gist and my own guesses,” Morris continued, laying out Jiangxue’s situation like a map. “So—I suspect Miracle City will dispatch gods and others to that world for ‘aid’…”

He stopped there, the rest hanging in the air like a drawn bow. Anyone with a brain could see the shape of it.

In that world, ordinary folk had no gifts, like grass before a scythe. That ‘aid’ would likely be a one‑sided culling, waves beating an empty shore. The most dangerous evil god would be handled by Miracle City’s Demon King—lightning meeting a tree. In short, this ‘aid’ would be the perfect time to rack up merit, like harvesting in a golden field.

The driver stayed silent for a long moment, then spoke, voice low as distant thunder. “Good tip. I should prepare early. With enough merit, I can consider apotheosis.”

He flicked his hand, brushing away the fare like dust from a sleeve.

Morris, Belle, and Jiangxue froze in place, statues struck by dawn. Consider apotheosis? From that one line, Morris and Belle knew the man was a Demigod, a mountain under plain clothes. Jiangxue didn’t know this world’s power ranks, but anyone who could say “apotheosis” that calmly was strong—steel beneath velvet.

“No wonder it’s Miracle City,” Morris murmured, watching the driver’s back disappear like a cloud dissolving. He swallowed hard, a pebble down a well. If he’d acted rashly, they’d have been wiped—ashes on wind.

With the weight lifted, Morris scouted the area. This was a diplomatic quarter, flags like blossoms on every street; many embassies clustered here, each serving as a gateway for a single world’s delegates. He quickly learned where the general supervisor resided. Through a message crystal, the supervisor first tried to stay put, lazy as a cat in sun, and told them to come to him. But when he heard Ouyang’s name, the crystal slipped from his hand like ice, and he told them to wait in place—he would come at once.

Right then, Ouyang and his family’s mystery deepened for Morris like a forest thickening. The embassy hosted representatives from other worlds; the general supervisor’s rank couldn’t be low, a pillar among pillars. Even after learning about Jiangxue’s world and the chance of meeting gods, the supervisor had stayed calm, a lake in wind. But the instant he asked who made that unilateral decision, and heard the name, he lost that calm like a drum skin split—panic in his eyes, feet already moving.