Ouyang didn’t bother with the Sun God’s aftermath; he let it drift off like smoke after a bonfire. Xian and Loyin had worked him over together, so the ending would be ugly, like crows worrying a fallen stag. My sister-in-law was moved by Afrena’s devotion to the Void Church, a steady flame cupped against the wind. So after thrashing the Sun God, she chose to stay and help Afrena and Ouyang’s so‑called godson run the church.
She tugged Loyin along to help, so Ouyang left with Xi and Bai, stifling a yawn like a drowsy cat at noon.
Back then, Xian and Loyin were tight as vines on a wall, and Xian stood almost eye-to-eye with Loyin. Two little girls sprinted like swallows through alleys and hills, laughter tumbling like water over stones. Because Loyin’s strength sat there like a mountain, Ouyang didn’t worry about their safety. They roamed the slopes near Ancient Memory Town, chasing a “treasure map” Xian had scrounged up like a pirate’s rag. In that fever, the pair almost turned the mountain inside out, like badgers clawing through a hillside.
Ouyang felt Loyin’s power swell like thunder under rock, and he stopped her before she flattened the peak like wet clay.
Xian’s childhood was braided with Loyin’s, a plait of days like willow strands. As she grew, events piled like dry leaves, and their mindless play scattered like birds.
Now Ouyang saw that smile return to their faces, clear as spring water and warm as late sun—a flicker of childhood, a lantern of old friendship.
The street before them was a tide of people, a bustling river unlike Falling Rain City. The sky was porcelain-blue, clouds drifted like white sails, and sunlight fell through the trees, stitching dappled patterns across the road.
This place was under the Earth Mother’s protection, and its name was Earth City. As a firstborn race born in the Creator God’s era, the Earth Mother’s might ranks in the top ten on the Isles of the Gods. She keeps a gentle temper, like soil after rain, and if no one pokes her, she stays out of the storms.
So few gods dared offend her, and Earth City became one of the Ling World’s rare havens, a quiet pond in a land of quakes. Even when the Isles of the Gods were slammed to shards, and countless gods fought to claim the Temple of the Creator God, hoping to read its secret and crown themselves anew, the archipelago broke into a scatter of islets. Yet Earth City kept its peace, a lamp glowing through fog.
Ouyang and Xi walked a tree-lined path, leaves whispering like fish scales in light. He carried a stack of bags, all crammed with food, heavy as a harvest basket. As for Bai, Ouyang had given him a task, so only the two of them moved under the shade like twin shadows.
Annoyance bubbled in Xi’s chest like hot tea. “Ouyang, why’d you buy so much food? We said we’d shop, and you bought a mountain of snacks!”
Her small face puffed up like a steamed bun, a cloud with thunder inside. Earth City dazzled her, trinkets glittering like fireflies in a jar, and Ouyang had promised a stroll. They did stroll, but his path was a trail of skewers, fruits, and snacks, a market of flavors and no trinkets.
His arms filled like river nets, then he handed the overflow to Xi, piling the bags like bricks. In the end, both of them were hung with bundles, all Ouyang’s loot, jangling like bells on a mule. Xi hadn’t bought a thing, or rather, never got the chance; she carried, she followed, she thirsted, and she earned nothing but sore fingers.
Worse, he could have stuffed it all into his straw hat, a hat with storage as deep as a cellar. But he said, “If it’s shopping, then carrying bags is part of the feel,” a line like a pebble tossed at her forehead. Xi wanted to smash a bag of snacks on his skull like a drum.
She stood there, cheeks fallen like a wilted flower, and Ouyang finally woke up like a man splashed with cool water. “Oh. I kept buying and forgot to get you something… well, later. Let’s finish this delicious spread first.” His tone breezed off like a passing cloud, and Xi’s hands trembled like leaves, afraid she’d lose control and throw something.
Her anger smoldered like embers, but she had to admit he picked a good spot, a quiet bend in the day. A small lake lay nearby like a polished mirror, and willows ringed it with green curtains. The grass was trimmed neat as a combed field, blades glinting like threads.
Ouyang pulled a square tablecloth from the straw hat, a trick like a magpie’s stash, and spread it on the grass like a white sail. He set the food down, then leaned against a willow, the trunk cool as stone, while the breeze carried damp scent from the lake like soft mist.
Xi tossed the bags onto the cloth like shells, then ignored him, leaning against the same willow. He faced the water, and she faced away; without the trunk, they would have been back-to-back like two stones.
The wind stayed cool under the leaves like shade in a shrine, yet her heart fluttered with restlessness like caged sparrows.
Ouyang sat calm against the tree, and he picked up a fruit, smooth as a small sun. He produced a little knife from nowhere, and began peeling, drawing a long spiral like a coiled ribbon.
Xi sulked and watched, and his quiet only stoked her fire like bellows.
“Thirsty?” He lifted a peeled fruit, pale and sweet as moonlight. “Here. I’ve done the skin for you.”
Xi cupped it with both hands like a bowl, head lowered like a bowed reed. “With your power, you could make the skin vanish in a blink, yet you drag it out on purpose…” Her voice was low, a late bell at dusk. She’d thought he’d leave her to stew, but he still remembered her thirst like a promise.
“That way is easy,” he said, smiling like sunlight through leaves, “but it kills the meaning. If I peel it with godforce versus one cut at a time, which would you choose? The knife, right? It’s my heart in the slices.” The breeze lifted hair from her brow like floating silk, and he reached to smooth the stray strands like a careful gardener.
Xi stayed quiet, cradled the fruit like a small world, and bit it lightly, teeth marking it like rain on dust.
A question trembled out of her like a plucked string. “Ouyang… why are you so good to me?”
He froze for a heartbeat, a bird startled from a branch. Because you’re my wife, he thought, a vow like stone, and yet her memories were cast away like leaves in a river. He often called her “my lady” as if the sun never moved, but she bristled inside like a hedgehog; everyone said they were married, yet in her mind, he was a stranger on a road.
“Because… because I like you,” he said, simple as water in a cup.
Their shoulders touched, cloth brushing like the stroke of a brush. His shirt was black, hers white, same stripes, same cut, like twin cranes in opposite colors. Passersby on the boulevard glanced over like fish turning in a stream; anyone could see they were a couple.
An old man with a drawing board shuffled up, steps soft as dry leaves. He carried the board in his arms and a backpack on his shoulders, beard like a little goat-tail.
“Young man, that’s your girlfriend, right? Black and white suits you two, like ink on paper. She seems low, so comfort her well.” His words fell warm as tea. Xi kept her head lowered, and Ouyang could feel her sadness like cold under a blanket. He was still puzzled; he’d bought food on purpose to find a quiet corner, maybe even grill if he found supplies. Her earlier sulk made sense, but after his gestures, she seemed sadder, a riddle like mist.
“Still mad?” He asked it softly, like touching water.
He took the fruit from her hands, her bite-mark there like a crescent. He cut it into small pieces, neat as tiles, and lifted one to her lips like a white petal.
“Don’t be mad. Open up… ah…” He made the sound like a playful bird, and Xi lifted her face, a laugh slipping out like a silver bell. “Okay, don’t treat me like a child,” she said, and ate, eyes glinting red like a rim of dusk.
The old man stroked his goatee, fingers combing clouds. “May I paint this moment?” he asked, voice gentle as shade. “I’ll give you a copy, as a keepsake.”
Ouyang glanced at the old man, then turned to Xi, letting her choice rise like dawn. Her answer surprised him; she paused, then nodded hard, a bright smile unfolding like a flower. “Paint it… yes. Thank you, grandpa.” The smile felt true, a warming sun after wind, and Ouyang felt it in his bones.
They stayed shoulder to shoulder, breath mingling like two notes. Ouyang fed Xi, and she didn’t refuse; normally she’d be shy and vanish like a rabbit into a burrow. Now she stayed put; though her cheeks carried a blush like peach, she didn’t run.
Time slipped unnoticed, a shadow on water, and the fruit he’d peeled was gone.
“Still thirsty? Want another?” His voice was easy, a breeze off the lake.
“Mm, one more.” Her answer was soft, like silk.
“No problem.” He peeled slowly, each stroke careful as calligraphy, the skin unwinding like a green ribbon. When he finished, he realized Xi had fallen asleep on his shoulder, breath even as tide, a faint smile resting on her lips like a petal.
