She didn’t know how long she’d drifted; when Xi swam back to waking, sunset had brushed the sky crimson like spilled wine, proof she’d slept the whole afternoon.

“Mm...” She rubbed her eyes, fog thick as lake mist. “It’s already this late? Where’s that old painter?” Her worry fluttered like a moth at a lamp.

Ouyang saw her expectant gaze, warm as starlight on water. He smiled and drew out two paintings like doors opening to a memory.

“They’re done. He painted two,” he said, voice smooth as night wind. The canvases were huge, tall as a river gate and wide as a half moon.

Xi snatched them like a sparrow grabbing seed. The first showed Ouyang holding little fruit cubes to her lips, a scene bright as spring dew.

In the painting, black and white clothes leaned together like yin and yang. The moment froze as the fruit touched her parted lips, sweet as dawn.

The man’s face was earnest, careful, gentle, steady as a mountain in rain. The girl’s cheeks held a faint blush, shy as a plum blossom.

The second showed Xi sleeping, head nestled on Ouyang’s shoulder like a sleepy dove. Her smile glowed, soft as a warm ember.

Beside her, Ouyang watched that sleeping face, tenderness clear as moonlight on a quiet pond. His gaze wrapped the moment like silk.

Xi hugged both paintings, cheeks flushing like ripe peaches. From a third-person window, everything felt embarrassingly bright, like lanterns suddenly lit.

“Happy with them?” His voice drifted, light as a reed flute.

“Not... happy!” she huffed, puffed up like a little hedgehog.

“But you looked pretty happy,” he teased, tone gentle as a breeze.

Xi lifted her head, lips pouting like cherry buds. She covered Ouyang’s eyes with both hands, palms warm as bread from an oven.

“Hallucination. Totally your hallucination,” she declared, voice quick as a sparrow. “Why do the paintings include you? That’s a terrible flaw!”

Her small, warm hands pressed around his eyes, rubbing lightly like soft rain on stone. Mischief flowed, bright as a brook in spring.

“Huh... you’ve got a tsundere streak,” Ouyang said, mouth tilted like a crescent moon, yet he didn’t push her hands away, patient as old pine.

“Tsundere? What’s that?” Her confusion blinked like a firefly.

She withdrew her hands, eyes fixed on him like arrows. If he didn’t explain, she’d dig in like a stubborn root.

“A tsundere,” he said, voice steady as a bell, “means someone who says no while their heart says yes. They act cold but care, like frost hiding spring.”

He stopped there and winked, smile hovering like a cat at cream. Xi huffed, turning away with a foot-stamp sharp as a drumbeat.

“I—I’m not tsundere,” she spit, words flying like startled swallows. “I don’t like you; I don’t want to be with you!”

“Huh... but I never said you liked me,” he said, calm as snow. “I never said you wanted to be with me. I was just giving an example.”

His half-smile lingered like dawn fog, and Xi’s face burned redder, hot as sunrise. She clapped her hands over her ears and curled in, small as a pebble.

“Not listening, not listening,” she muttered, voice spinning like a top. She buried her head against her knees, stubborn as a little ox.

Ouyang watched and felt his worldview tip like a boat in sudden wind. So tsundere was her true grain, pure as unvarnished wood.

Back when they met, she had a touch of that spice, faint as rain scent. It didn’t flare hard because her soul held Lian, and the White Queen’s shadow cooled it like snow.

Then came Aurora, and the weight deepened like ancient stone. With the Aurora Goddess awakened, millions of years of memory dulled edges like sea smoothing rock.

Only now, with her memories exiled like leaves blown to sea, she stood powerless, ordinary as bread, honest as morning light.

He ruffled Xi’s hair, a knuckle soft as a cloud. She felt the gentle touch and lowered her hands, cheeks pink as apple skins.

“Alright,” he murmured, tone warm as tea. “Tonight we’ll wander the night market, then tomorrow we’ll play by the sea.”

“I’ll take you through the world’s splendor like a river through valleys; I’ll let you taste the turn of seasons like tea in four cups.”

“We’ll step onto isles where gods dwell, and in gardens angels pass, we’ll listen to wind speak like a thousand strings.”

His voice lay soft, light as silk; a breeze lifted, combing grass like a quiet hand. Wind tousled the fringe on Xi’s forehead, messy as wild wheat.

Ouyang patiently smoothed her hair, fingers neat as a comb. He worked until stray strands lay like quiet reeds.

“You promised,” she whispered, hope bright as a paper lantern.

“Mm. I promised,” he said, firm as a knot. “If you don’t trust me, we’ll pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise,” she echoed, sweet as honey.

Their little fingers hooked together like a red thread curling. Night deepened for real, and stars rose like seeds strewn across velvet.

On the street, Ouyang held Xi’s hand, steady as an anchor. He walked beside her and watched in silence, calm as winter light.

Xi looked left and right, her wonder popping like firecrackers. One moment she cooed over a cute doll; the next she darted to baubles bright as frost.

“Ouyang, look, this doll’s so cute, pink as sunrise,” she chirped, eyes shining like polished jade. Her left hand held him; her right held a pink rabbit.

Pink sweetness hits girls like sugar on tongue; Xi’s gaze stuck to the toy like sap to bark. Her smile glowed, warm as a hearth.

The shop sold all kinds of dolls, stacked like clouds. The owner, a woman in her thirties, wore fatigue like extra winter years.

She glanced at the black-and-white couple, balance like brush and ink. The man’s faint smile felt steady as a stone bridge; the girl’s joy rang pure as bell chimes.

Xi lifted the pink rabbit before Ouyang like a curtain. She waggled its back and pitched her voice, bright as a puppet stage.

“Dear handsome customer,” the rabbit seemed to say, words fluttery as paper birds, “please buy adorable me for that beautiful girl.”

From Ouyang’s angle, the doll blocked his sight like a round moon. It looked like the pink rabbit talked, cheeky as a sprite.

The owner covered her mouth, laugh soft as silk. What a sweet pair, warm as spring after frost.

In the end, she couldn’t resist; breaking the moment felt like stepping on thin ice, but she stepped with care like a cat.

“You two,” she said, voice kind as bread, “with your black-and-white outfits—why not buy a matching pair? We’ve rabbits in black and white.”

She pulled two rabbits from the heap, one dark as ink, one pale as snow. They weren’t as cute as the pink, but they matched like moon and shadow.

Xi studied them, thought drawing lines like brushstrokes. The owner made sense like a clear stream; the pair fit their clothes like rhyme.

She set down the pink rabbit, gentle as placing a leaf. She took the two rabbits, one in each hand, black and white like twin reeds.

She lifted them before her face like twin masks. She pitched her voice sharp as a reed pipe: “Dear customer, please take us home.”

She shook the black one like a little drum, hinting it spoke. Then she switched to a softer tone like water, letting the white one chime in.

“Yes, yes, respected customer, we’re very cute,” she trilled, as playful as finches. Then she lowered both, meeting Ouyang’s gaze like moon meeting lake.

“Ouyang, I want these,” she said, desire clear as starlight.

Ouyang didn’t refuse; he wouldn’t, steadfast as an oak. He drew a gold ingot, fist-sized, heavy as a sunfruit, and set it in the owner’s hand.

“Don’t bother with change,” he said, generosity light as wind. “Her happiness is worth it; this belongs with you like rain to fields.”

In the Ling world, long ago, the common coin was Demon King script, dark as iron. War dragged on; the Creator God slept, silence deep as caves.

Without the Creator God’s restraint, gods fought like storms; mortals were caught like leaves in gale. Demon King coin faded; gold and silver returned like old rivers.

For Ouyang, drawing gold was easy as breathing. He used alchemy and pulled gold essence from the air like thread from flax.

The owner felt the ingot was too much, heavy as a brick. Ouyang’s next words eased her mind like sun on frost.

“Gold’s useless to me,” he said, tone light as dust. “If you won’t take it, I’ll toss it. Carrying it’s heavy like wet clothes.”

Xi chimed in, voice sweet as lychee. “Boss, please accept it. As for money, he has lots and lots, like stars.”

The owner didn’t know what “lots and lots” meant, but the ingot felt like a roadside stone to this black-clad man. She accepted it, hands steady as bowls.

“Hey, young man, young lady, may you be happy,” she said, blessing soft as rain.

She watched their backs leave, silhouettes like cranes at dusk. Envy rose, gentle as a tide; she wished them well like lanterns on water.

Far off, Xi heard the blessing, clear as a bell. She turned, waved to the shop like a willow swaying.

Night stretched long, deep as a river. On the Eternal Sleep Continent, stars were scarce, veil thick as ash; the sky felt muted, dull as smoke.

Xi wanted a quiet place to watch the sky, wish light as a feather. Ouyang bought snacks, simple as bread, then led her to a patch of grass.

Not far away, crowds flowed like a street river, voices buzzing like bees. Here, it was calm, an island of hush, lake-still and green.

By Ouyang’s doing, people drifted away like sand from tide. They avoided this spot without knowing, parting like split streams.

It felt like two worlds, divided by a breath, day on one side and garden dusk on the other. Peace pooled like a clear spring.

Xi kept staring at the two rabbit dolls, eyes bright as stars. Ouyang smiled, knowing her joy like sun on his palm. He took the toys gently.

“Want to give them life?” he asked, voice as soft as moss.

“Give them life...” she echoed, wonder sparking like flint.

Suddenly, the star-filled sky twisted like silk wrung in water. The pattern flickered for a heartbeat, then smoothed like ironed cloth.

Xi didn’t notice; her gaze stayed on Ouyang’s hands like a moth to flame. What he did startled her, shock bright as lightning.

Starlight gathered around his fingers like fireflies. Threads of light drifted to the dolls, pouring in like rain into thirsty earth.

After countless sparks sank in, the dolls woke, one hop at a time, springs lively as grasshoppers. They danced on his palm, bouncing like peas.

“Let’s call them Xiao Hei and Xiao Bai,” Ouyang said, casual as a whistle. Naming felt troublesome, weeds tangled as vines.

The rabbit dolls hopped around his hand like little moons circling a planet. Their tiny paws tapped, rhythm crisp as rain on tiles.

“Xiao Hei greets our two masters!” came a bright boyish voice, fresh as a breeze.

“Xiao Bai greets our two masters!” chimed a gentle girl voice, soft as snow.

Xi agreed without thinking, quick as a swallow’s dive. If this were usual, she’d pick prettier names like petals arranged on silk.

Tonight, she was captured by the two, caught like fish in a net. Names could wait; joy ran ahead like a kite on wind.

“Hee-hee, they’re so cute,” she laughed, sound tinkling like beads. She watched Xiao Hei chase Xiao Bai across the grass like twin comets.

Whether by chance or design, Xiao Hei spoke with a boy tone like a drumbeat; Xiao Bai spoke with a girl tone like a flute line.

One black, one white, they mirrored Xi and Ouyang like yin paired with yang. Their play stitched the scene like threads in brocade.

“Xi,” Ouyang said, voice deep as a well, “do you know? When we met back then, that year... we were so young, green as spring shoots.”