Witches, in Jiu Wenxin’s eyes, were moon-veiled mountains, powerful and distant.

Yet in her private study, Laisenya’s court witch Tiko hung by her collar like a chick, jerked up by a warrior from the Netherworld.

“Brat, I hear you love acting lofty, like a peacock in a storm?”

Ouyang’s face was an iron cloud. One hand held Tiko aloft. The other gripped a sun-baked brick like earthen thunder.

“Do you know what a ‘dunce’ is? No? It’s fine—one brick and you’ll turn into one.”

Tiko didn’t know the word. She knew the picture—a brick to the skull, a night full of stars.

“Don’t—First Warrior, please. I was wrong.” Her voice shook like rain on paper.

Yes, witches wield mystery beyond men, but can they match a Demigod’s projection carved from shadow?

In Ouyang’s eyes, Tiko was a weakling, Star Ring Level if this were the Source World, a candle in wind.

In this world, forget Sky Level. Even a Sun Ring Level expert might be a rumor, mist over a marsh.

“Sigh. A flock of scrubs, not one who can fight. Life, lonely as falling snow.”

He dropped the line like frost, then bricked Tiko into darkness, clean and simple as a chop.

He wasn’t sparing her for being a cute loli. No benevolent annihilation; only a hard hello, stone on skull.

Jiu Wenxin watched, blank as winter glass. Tiko had stormed in like thunder, then got plucked like a leaf.

This was the legendary witch? She seemed a child before an adult, a sparrow under an eagle’s shadow.

Don’t be fooled by Tiko’s loli face. Jiu Wenxin had heard from her father—Tiko was over a hundred winters.

Ouyang tossed the unconscious Tiko onto the floor, clapped dust from his hands, like dropping trash into a pit.

Bai produced two cleavers like moonlit fangs, measuring Tiko’s body as if weighing where a butcher’s cut should fall.

“Girl, what are you doing?” Ouyang’s tone was a raised brow, a pebble skipping water.

“Me? The finishing blow. She’s not dead-dead. If we don’t, she’ll bolt like a rat at dawn.”

Ouyang felt that odd wisdom land like a feather. “You sound right, and I’ve got no retort.”

He had fed Bai many campfire laws, like On the Importance of the Finishing Blow, a blade against fate.

In stories, the evil Demon King lets the hero crawl away. Later, the hero rises, a tide against the night.

If the Demon King knew better, one more blade, dead for sure. No dog-blood plot of hero beating Demon King.

Right now, Bai saw the pattern like chess on a board. Skip the finishing blow, get stabbed at a crucial turn.

“Be good. Put away the cleaver. That weak chicken doesn’t need it. I never planned to kill her.”

“I offered a physical greeting. She’ll get it when she wakes. Every land greets differently. I prefer the hands-on kind.”

He tossed the brick and caught it, a sun-warm tile cycling through the air.

Bai stared, dazed like a cat watching snow. Then she nodded, sheathed steel, and let trust settle like dusk.

She didn’t grasp his meaning. She felt “very strong” in his voice. For her, Ouyang’s word was law, a pillar.

Jiu Wenxin watched, terrified, her throat locked like ice. She feared the white-haired girl’s glance, a knife of cold moon.

“Sir Warrior… um… Lady Witch… is she… is she okay?” Her words were reeds bending in wind.

Tiko mattered to Laisenya like a lighthouse on a storm coast. With or without a witch, a nation’s voice changes shape.

Ouyang set the brick on the desk, took a fruit from the plate, and spoke like wind through bamboo.

“She’s fine. That brat’s just taking a nap. She disrespected me, the First Warrior of the Netherworld. A mere smear of a witch.”

He lounged, flipping pages, biting fruit. Leisure spread like spring rain across stone.

Bai copied him, lounging, flipping, gnawing. “Mm… witches are too weak. This world is trash.” Her words were pebbles thrown into a pond.

“You little rascal, spouting harsh truths like a chill wind. Who taught you that?”

Bai shrank her neck like a startled turtle. “Y-you did, Ouyang. You say it a lot.”

Ah?

Awkwardness hit Ouyang like an offbeat drum. He did say that often, a habit carved in wood.

A child pure as snow, dyed by his tongue. He felt guilt settle like a stone in his chest.

He vowed to watch his words around Bai, lest his shade stain her, ink on clean silk.

Jiu Wenxin watched the master and servant, suspended like a kite in crosswind—leave or stay, both wrong.

“Hey, kid. These fruits are good. Bring this warrior a plate. And this one—Bai likes it—bring another.”

He spoke like a lord calling for tea, forgetting his earlier pact to hunt rivals and harvest magic crystals.

Jiu Wenxin didn’t chafe. Even the legendary witch had been bricked by Ouyang, a mountain moved by a stone.

But then a fruit pit came flying, tossed like a pebble. Her mind fogged like a lake at dawn.

The palace holds many fruits. By skins, she can name most. By pits, she’s blind, a princess untrained in seeds.

She lifted her head, protest sparking like flint. Her eyes met Bai’s—steel glint under strange wings.

She bowed her head and left, silent as a shadow. The blood-smudged cleaver rose like a warning moon.

Outside, she took the pit to palace gardeners, the soil’s keepers. She asked, learned the name, and returned with two plates.

She entered the study and froze, a rabbit hearing a hawk’s cry. Her hands trembled; the plates almost slipped like rain.

A young man hung upside down from the beam, a bundle of pride turned into a bat.

Jiu Wenxin knew him well. He had chased her for years, a dog at the gate.

His name was Tayars, son of a duke of the Sole Empire, a noble oak among men.

Years ago he saw Jiu Wenxin once, then rooted in the capital like a stubborn tree, refusing to leave.

While she fetched fruit, Tayars took his habitual stroll. He saw a stranger in her study and thunder rolled in his chest.

In theory, he would rage at the stranger, duel Ouyang, and end up dangling like a fish on a hook.

In fact, he did flare when he saw Ouyang, a spark on dry grass. Then he saw Bai, and the fire changed color.

“Ah, beautiful lady, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” His voice poured like honey, thick and bright.

“Your beauty is a sun in the sky. It dims the stars and humbles the world, a halo over mountains.”

“Your light is a lamp in the dark, guiding my steps. Your beauty paints color onto my black-and-white world.”

Words spilled for ten minutes like a spring river, never repeating, a garland thrown endlessly at her feet.

Ouyang swallowed, dry as dust. Talent, he thought—this guy was talent, a bard with silver tongue.

If not for Ouyang’s brick, he would have kept singing, a rooster at dawn that never stops.

Tayars woke soon after the hit, a bell rung back to life. He didn’t question Ouyang.

He kneeled to Bai the moment his eyes cleared, right hand on his heart like an oath on stone.

“Beautiful lady, let’s get married.” The proposal dropped like a pebble aiming to ripple a lake.

Ouyang’s face went black as storm. Bai trembled behind his back like a small bird seeking a tree.

He bricked Tayars again, harder, hammer on iron. Tayars wouldn’t wake soon, night wrapping him like a cloak.

Ouyang eyed the two bodies, thoughts sliding like knives. Tiko had disrespected him, a gnat on a tiger.

He didn’t care much. But Tayars proposing to Bai? Digging at Ouyang’s wall with bare hands. Unforgivable.

So Ouyang hung him from the beam, a trophy against the rafters, a warning like a skull on a stake.

“Little punk, dare steal what’s mine? I’ll make you die without knowing how.” His glare was a blade of frost.

He rolled his fists like millstones, considering. A human sandbag might be good practice, thunder in the arms.

Bai stood aside, scared stiff, cheeks puffed in borrowed anger, a hedgehog in winter.

She wasn’t mad because she understood the proposal. Meaning still floated like fog beyond her reach.

She only saw Ouyang burning, a wildfire in the hills. So she burned too, ember for ember.

Right or wrong didn’t matter. If Ouyang was angry, Bai was angry, no reason needed, no scripture cited.

Thus, when Jiu Wenxin opened the door, she saw Tayars dangling, a fish in air.

She saw the white-haired girl honing two cleavers, blades whispering like winter, ready to slaughter pig and sheep.