Lanterns bloomed like warm flowers, sunset’s afterglow still smearing the horizon. At the far edge of night, a spray of false stars pricked the sky like painted fireflies.

Raviyasen’s night was gorgeous, a river of lamps flowing along both sides of the highway. Colors spilled like wine, neon weaving a festive tapestry that tugged Ouyang back toward yesterday.

The city roads ran wide, a calm lake of asphalt. By Duke Weihai’s order, a green median cut the center like a ribbon of hedgerow.

Trash bins stood like bronze urns at every turn. Parks opened like pockets of shade and wind. Food streets steamed like little clouds of fragrance.

Held in Saya’s arms, Ouyang lay against her like a small shadow. His gaze drifted over the passing lights, his thoughts circling like birds over water.

If Saya could link to the main body and tap that vast library, answers would fall like rain. But inside an independent world, the sky was sealed.

He could punch a hole through the world’s shell and force a link, but the shell would crack like thin ice. Independence would leak away like water from clay.

The Supreme Law would seep in like winter frost, a quiet tide through the seams. Everything that defied the rules would be ground flat and rewritten.

Once the Supreme Law penetrated, this closed world would lose its texture, like cloth washed of its pattern. That wasn’t what Ouyang wanted.

“Ayang, there’s fried fish sticks over there!” Saya’s voice rang like a bell, one hand hugging him, the other pointing toward a street of smoke and spice.

When it was just them, her smile softened like spring light. That was why Ouyang had shooed Sarayka away and slipped out with Saya like two stray breezes.

Saya jogged, cradling Ouyang like a warm bundle, her steps light as sparrows on stone.

At a stall, she stared at the sizzling fish sticks, golden like autumn leaves. Then a thought hit like a pebble in still water—no money!

Money was a distant past for both Ouyang and Saya, a dusty coin in an old drawer. He could pull out anything that mocked the idea of price, yet it meant nothing here.

The stall owner, a middle-aged woman, watched the hesitant little girl and softened like wax near a flame. A cute girl, a cute black cat—motherly love spilled like warm tea.

“Little one, you’ve been wavering a while. No money, right? It’s fine. Auntie will give you a free taste.”

“Mmm… you’re a good person!”

When Saya whispered those two words, sweetness rippled like a sugar glaze. The woman looked ready to scoop Saya up and cuddle her like a kitten.

She had no idea her kindness had stalled a Demon King. Ouyang had been about to use a crooked trick and snatch those fish sticks like a fox. She brought the food to his door.

Fine. Since she knew the wind, Ouyang wouldn’t push against it. He wasn’t unreasonable.

“Meow meow meow!”

“Auntie, Ayang says thank you.” Saya relayed his purrs like small bells.

The woman glanced at the cat in Saya’s arms and brushed Saya’s hair like a willow frond. “Ayang is the cat’s name, yes? Don’t be so formal. Your smiles make Auntie happy.”

Saya bit the fish stick, a neat crescent like a moon nibble, then held the bitten side to Ouyang’s mouth.

“Ayang, it’s really good! As good as pumpkin cakes!”

Ouyang leaned in, aiming for the unbitten edge like a careful gentleman. Saya shifted the angle, guiding the bitten part to his lips like a teasing breeze.

He sighed, a soft meow like silk. He took a bite and tasted crisp sea and warm oil.

“Meooow~ (Mmm, super tasty!)” His tail swayed like a willow switch, his ears flicked like black petals. He was acting more and more like a real cat.

The woman watching them broke into a heartfelt smile that shone like candlelight.

“Little girl, what’s your name? If you like it, have more. Auntie’s got plenty.”

“Mmm… Saya. And thank you. Ayang loves it. He’s happy.”

“Saya. That’s a beautiful name. You’re so close with your cat, even sharing your food.”

“Mm. Ayang is the most important thing in my world.”

She answered softly and put the piece Ouyang had chewed back into her mouth. The woman hesitated, the thought of sharing with an animal prickling like a burr.

Then the woman let it go, her heart smoothing like calm water.

“I grew up with no parents. I never felt that thing called family. No friends, so no friendship… Ayang, he’s the only one in my world.”

Saya was usually a winter frost to strangers, but tonight words floated from her like lanterns on a stream. The woman pictured a girl orphaned young, drifting like a leaf, followed faithfully by a black cat.

Moved, the woman gave Saya more fish sticks, piling them like little golden boughs.

Saya kept Ouyang tucked close, and the fish sticks vanished bite by bite, one person, one cat, like two birds sharing a seed.

Ouyang couldn’t help it… this felt like a date, didn’t it? Bite for bite, rhythm for rhythm, like a couple tracing the same path.

They were just one step from feeding each other mouth to mouth. He looked at Saya’s faint smile and didn’t have the heart to break the spell.

Truth was, his wife Xi hadn’t even dated him like this. The thought rose like a shy moon.

Meow. Thinking like this, I feel so unqualified. When we return, I should spend more time with my family.

Lying in Saya’s arms, Ouyang watched the bustling street, the dreamlike lights, the crowd’s roar like surf. Old memories lapped at him like night waves.

Back in the orphanage days, he’d slipped out, clutching a month of scraped-together plastic bottles, sold them, and chased the smell of the snack street like a kite.

He loved stinky tofu then, smoky and rich, and climbed the wall at midnight for it like a small thief chasing a star.

When they noticed he was gone, everyone searched like lanterns hunting shadows.

Ouyang sat in a food street corner, left hand stinky tofu, right hand bottled water, eating like it was the world’s finest feast. He never got tired of it. He could eat it forever.

“Ouyang, I knew you’d be here. Seriously, do you know how worried everyone was?” The first one who found him had been a kid from the orphanage too, a friend who wandered parks with him, collecting bottles in the morning sun.

Ouyang had told that friend his “great plan.” When Ouyang vanished, the friend remembered the sale and guessed the snack street like a tracker reading dust.

Sure enough, he found Ouyang in a corner, back to a wall, eating like a quiet rabbit.

A few months later, Ouyang’s only friend at the orphanage was adopted, carried away like a leaf on a new river.

Meow. Why am I so sentimental lately? Digging up ancient days like old coins. He still couldn’t forget that friend, the name lodged like a seed.

Jiling, are you… in that place?

Lately his memories kept snapping like threads, tugged by this and that.

He came back to himself and saw a stand stacked with fruit salad, colors like cut gemstones. The translucent flesh shimmered like dew and tugged at Saya’s gaze.

The bald owner greeted them with a smile like a sales flag in the wind. Then, when Saya said she had no money, his face iced over like a sudden frost.

Rarely did she get to wander with Ouyang. Saya didn’t want to use any power and break the mood. She pulled out a gray gem that lay in her palm like a sleeping stone.

Dog-eyed and looking down, the bald man didn’t recognize treasure. He saw only a pebble and tried to shoo her like dust off his doorstep.

Meow, this bald guy is dead meat. Ouyang’s teeth itched like flint. That gray gem was a World Stone, the distilled heart of a lowest-tier world.

You don’t recognize it? Fine. But you dare bark at my Saya?

Ouyang unsheathed his cat claws, silver slivers like moonlight, ready to teach the bald man the rain and the road.

Before he struck, a bag bulging with gold chunks flew in and smacked the bald owner’s face like a thrown brick. Pain bloomed, then greed lit his eyes like lanterns.

“Th-this… honored customer, whatever you want, say the word…”

He bowed and scraped, tail practically wagging like a lapdog.

Following his gaze, a woman in her twenties approached, her cloak draped like night. Only her head showed; the rest was shadowed cloth.

“Little sister, it’s on me. Eat whatever you like.” Her hair was a neat shoulder-length black, her face plain-sweet as morning rice, neither stunning nor dull.

Ouyang noticed a complex violet magic circle turning in her pupils, a quiet wheel like a lotus sigil.

Seeing Saya’s hesitation, the woman stepped closer. “Uh… so sudden. I should introduce myself. I’m Mo Rain. I was near that fish stick stall earlier. I’m like you—no family.”

Mo Rain lifted a plate of fruit salad, colors cool as spring glass. Saya didn’t take it at once. She asked Ouyang first, voice soft as moss.

“Ayang, should we eat it?”

Ouyang gave Mo Rain a long, layered look, a ripple behind still water. Then he opened his mouth like a patient king.

Saya understood in a heartbeat. She scooped fruit and fed him like a slow petal drifting to a pond.

“Meooow~”

Saya watched Ouyang, then looked up at Mo Rain, gratitude warm as tea.

“Thank you. Ayang likes it.”

Then she used the same spoon, slid fruit into her mouth, and chewed with a smile like dawn opening.