Miracle City stood hollow, the newborn world a blank scroll; Ouyang still hadn’t found a name for that fresh sky.

Urgency burned in his chest like a lantern in wind; naming could wait.

Inside his Void Castle, he opened the topmost door; a black‑and‑white grid spread like a chessboard across an ocean of silence—the Void Illusion Realm.

Legend said the Eternal Trinity Artifacts waited there like three steadfast stars; when he was weak he couldn’t approach, when he grew strong the candles were already snuffed—no one remained, only a note.

Back then, if Diary Bro and that girl named Li had stayed, the river of events wouldn’t have forked here; when the Tiered Being was exiled, the iron rules dragged the Eternal Trinity Artifacts along like leaves in a riptide.

He opened the lone door at the top, and the black‑white world echoed like an empty temple; a single sheet of gold told the tale, and then the wind carried all endings away.

Inside the Void Illusion Realm he discovered a stark truth, bright as noon sun over ice: in there, he was the only god.

It was a crown of smoke; his enemies weren’t fools and wouldn’t charge into that silent sea.

Still, he found one sharp use, a needle in the hay: anyone beneath a Realm God who entered had their time frozen like dew in winter.

So he coaxed his amnesiac Lady Wife into that glassy stillness; to shield Xi like a pearl in shell, even if Miracle City fell like a crumbling cliff.

If someone chased her into the Void Illusion Realm, he could cut them down like shadows at dawn.

There was another reason, heavy as rain; he could wrap time around Xi, yet war was a long winter, and a mortal shouldn’t be forced to count each snowflake.

He chose the kinder pain—trick her into stasis, then draw her out when the curtain fell; her memory would stay like a bookmark in a distant chapter.

The moment Xi’s body left the Void Illusion Realm, her time ticked again like a waking clock.

“You… why are you suddenly holding me?”

“I’ve been holding you the whole time.”

“Nonsense. I remember walking into that strange room, then—how did it turn into this?” Xi struggled like a sparrow in a net, trying to slip his arms; her memory froze at the step into the Void Illusion Realm.

Ouyang still held her, steady as an old pine, with no intent to let go. “Hallucination, my Lady Wife. That was absolutely your hallucination. You begged me for a hug, remember? I agreed, you got too happy, and your head spun, so your mind painted illusions…”

Watching his straight‑faced nonsense, Xi flushed like peach blossom and thumped his shoulder, a soft hammer against his mountain.

She glanced around like a careful deer; seeing no one, she let the struggle drift away like smoke—he wouldn’t loosen, and she wouldn’t break free anyway.

If there were others, she’d squirm from shyness like a cat avoiding rain; alone, she couldn’t be bothered to fight it. This wasn’t the first time, nor the second; the guy who called her “my Lady Wife” every day clung like ivy on stone.

In the empty castle, Ouyang set Xi on a sofa, the leather cool as night water.

“So… my Lady Wife, uh… there’s something you should know…” His eyes rolled like marbles, hunting for a path through brambles; if that damn rabbit were here, Ouyang would’ve dumped this on him without a blink.

But the new world was just built, and hands were few as stars at dawn; the rabbit was busy with the First Cult folks Dongze had sweet‑talked over, figuring out how to hang a moon on the sky’s rafters.

Those so‑called First Cult members weren’t the old Other Shore crowd; they were clueless gods and demons eating melon seeds while Dongze sold them dreams.

“My Lady… so… it’s like this… now…”

“…You’re saying… now is tens of thousands of years later?”

“Yes, my Lady Wife.”

True or not, Xi’s eyes were fog over a river. If you went shopping and came home to hear it’s millennia later, would you believe it?

Ouyang knew she wouldn’t swallow that bitter pill easily; he cradled his head like it ached with thunder, at a loss for words—this wasn’t a story you could fold into three lines.

Luckily, a knock tapped the door like rain on bamboo, while he tangled with thoughts.

“Hey… brother‑in‑law, you finally let my sister out!”

The visitor was Xi’s younger sister, Xian. She flew into Xi’s arms like a swallow to its nest, rubbing her head against Xi’s shoulder; then tears burst like a broken string of pearls.

“Uuu—Sister, do you know how much I missed you? Father and Mother are gone, the people from our town are gone. So many times I almost ran into the Void Illusion Realm to find you…”

Xi didn’t reject this sister she couldn’t remember; memory was fog, but the girl kept calling her sister, warm as a hearth.

And when she heard “Father and Mother are gone,” a needle of pain pricked from nowhere, like cold finding a bone.

“Don’t cry…” She didn’t know what had happened, and her memories hadn’t returned; yet Xi hugged Xian and stroked her hair like smoothing silk—pure instinct, a tide answering the moon.

Ouyang breathed out, a quiet reed flute of regret; he slipped away and left the room to the two sisters like a garden after rain.

Miracle City had an outer ring and an inner ring; he walked the inner streets, stones cool as riverbed pebbles.

After the Empire era ended and the age of the Demon King began, the inner ring buzzed like a beehive—crowds every day, a tide of footsteps.

Now the street was cold and sparse, cicadas after frost; it felt like the Empire days, when a clutch of Demon Kings lounged together, doing little, laughing much.

Yulan would trade barbs with Feges, tongues clashing like knives; Wutong fanned the flames from the side like a breeze stoking embers.

Proud Amelie hugged her sword, watching with a winter‑clear gaze, disdain sharp as frost; each night Tangela the titan snored like thunder over mountains, sending the old Demon King camp into rooster‑and‑dog chaos.

Morning fears were simple and earthy: Yulan’s Man‑eating Flowers might occupy your manor like vines overrunning a wall; the worst stench was Glenza’s lab, corpses rotting like swamp reeds.

The loudest clamor came from Bartley the dwarf, hammer singing on iron like hail on stone, swearing he’d forge a peerless artifact.

Valiant, the honest orc, paced the settlement like a slow bear; he felt useless, so he patrolled to offer his strength as a lantern in the dark.

He sighed and shook his head, leaves falling in the mind’s courtyard; some paths don’t loop back.

He finally understood Mo Rain a little; in the world of Aurela, she knew those worlds were only parallel shards, like mirrored lakes.

She still tried, even if it was only one shard of sky.

If you gave Ouyang a chance to step into a parallel world, he’d burn his ships and go—change that ending, even if this world stayed unmoved like a mountain.

All of it, only to mend that crack in the heart, a fissure that whistled with wind.

Now those old scenes had blown away like ash. Yulan no longer planted Man‑eating Flowers everywhere; Feges no longer sparred in words with her.

Wutong buried herself in alchemy like a bee in a blossom. On vacations, he and Xi would invite Irina and Kooson; those days were songs on a string—now the string lay silent.

Just as he thought that, he spotted Yulan and Feges squared off ahead, sparks bright as flint; Yulan lifted her hands and called a flock of Man‑eating Flowers, drool oozing between teeth like syrupy resin.

“You damned flower demon, where’s the promised one‑on‑one?”

“You’re just a pointy‑eared bug… you said you’d take us all on alone, didn’t you?”

So much for never seeing that duel of tongues again; his own thought slapped him like cold water. Still, his chest warmed; if Feges could bicker, she was stepping out of grief’s shadow like dawn over frost.

He was about to cut in when Yulan, back to him, made a “stop” sign behind her like a quiet fan; don’t come over.

He understood in a heartbeat, swift as a bird turning midair.

The wish‑weaving Yulan rarely spoke, a quiet pond among friends, second only to Jue in silence.

Except when facing Feges—then words flowed like a river, and she could duel for hours without repeating a line.

Besides Tangela the titan, no one knew Feges better. Yulan was doing it on purpose, a craftsperson of moods; she was shifting Feges’s gaze, sanding away the rough edges of memory, helping her forget the hurt bit by bit.

Watching those two besties fence with petals and barbs, Ouyang shook his head again, a smile and a sigh braided together.

He reached the old plaza, once a hub where countless worlds braided like rivers; in this quiet Miracle City, the plaza was unexpectedly lively, a kettle beginning to sing.

“Collin, what are you all doing? Planning a square dance to chase sorrow away?” He grabbed Collin, first Pope of the Void Church, but before Collin could answer, another voice fluttered in.

“Brother, brother… I heard Pulis is cooking a grand feast on the plaza to celebrate the victory!” Loyin tugged Ouyang’s sleeve like a playful breeze; beside her, Bai folded her silver wings, star‑pupils bright with joy.

Pulis?!

Ouyang remembered—the prince from the Land of Light during the Empire era, who later ran with Augustine, a member of the team that hunted the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts.

He’d visited the Mythic Age with Augustine’s crew, and even served as a mentor at the Demon King Academy; an old oak among their group.

None of that mattered now. Dufei had told Ouyang a thing or two—Pulis had fallen in love with cooking, and sought Dufei out.

Damn it. If he learned from that fat menace Dufei, could the food be eaten? Or would it bite back like a pot of living ink?

Face stiff as carved wood, Ouyang turned mechanically; he kept his expression flat as a calm lake, lest anyone read the storm underneath.

He slipped away like a shadow at noon, letting them taste Pulis’s lineage of dark cuisine and discover how deep that night ran.

Of course, while he ghosted off, he scooped up Bai and Loyin like treasures into his sleeves; his two darlings weren’t going to test Dufei’s handed‑down abyss on their tongues.