Lingwen? Xi eyed the girl in a Mystic Priestess robe; the name brushed her memory like a leaf on water.

Xiao Hei fixed on Lingwen, circling her like a curious crow under a clear sky.

Lingwen saw Xiao Hei and wasn’t shocked; she watched him with the calm of a pond at dawn.

Xiao Hei looped her again and again, then halted like a kite cut loose. He faced Xi and said, respectful as kneeling snow, "Master, appraisal complete. Combat strength is very weak. Overall rating: harmless to man and beast."

"Harmless to man and beast…" Lingwen stared at the ragdoll like a cat at a paper lantern; her mood turned oddly knotted.

Then Xiao Hei fell quiet for no clear reason, like wind dropping before rain. He left the time to Xi and Lingwen.

After a stretch of talk, Xi learned a little about Lingwen, like reading inked lines under moonlight.

This era is torn by gods like a season of storms. Above, islands of gods hang like shattered constellations, and the gods split into factions like broken ice.

One faction kept faith like a steady flame, believing the Creator God would return. In mortal lands, they founded this small town like a seed planted in ash.

War kept swelling like a rising tide; gods fell like stars from a bruised sky. The task of waiting passed to their descendants like a torch in wind.

This town was raised by those children of gods, stones laid like prayers on earth. They’ve waited for the Creator God to awaken, day by day like beads on a string.

Across generations, the shrine’s Mystic Priestesses had a rare closeness to the Creator God, an affinity like warm light on snow. They were said to carry the power to speak with Him.

Yet none ever truly spoke; they only sensed Him faintly, like hearing a bell through fog. Lingwen, closest of them all, bore a heavy burden like a mountain on slim shoulders.

Only she could wake the sleeping Creator God and end this war-scoured age like a storm breaking to clear skies.

But though she’s the closest, she can’t sense the Creator God at all, like reaching for a star that won’t answer.

Because of that, many suspect the Creator God has utterly fallen, like a pillar snapped in an earthquake. Only that explains why the most attuned feels nothing.

If the Creator God’s gone for good, who saves this world ravaged by gods, this field trampled by wild thunder?

Just moments ago, Lingwen saw Xiao Bai’s strange “equivalent exchange,” like scales balancing in a rain-wet market. In wartime, a full meal is joy like fire in winter.

No—getting any food is already joy like dew on cracked lips. Maybe Xiao Bai’s power could save countless refugees, like bread scattered to a hungry flock.

Because she thought of that, she acted, hope rising like a kite in spring wind.

Seeing her expectant eyes, Xi asked Xiao Bai’s opinion, like tapping a locked door. That power belonged to him, not her.

Xiao Bai didn’t refuse, but didn’t agree, his voice smooth as river stone. "Master, do you want to save the world, or just feed some refugees? If it’s food, I can do that now."

Xi quickly grasped the split like a path dividing at a fork. Feeding them is a bandage, not a cure; as long as war rages, refugees multiply like smoke.

But if we choose the first, we cut to the root, like pulling the thorn from the lion’s paw.

"But hasn’t the Creator God fallen? Without Him, how do we end this chaos?" Xi’s doubt pricked like cold rain.

"Master, did you forget? The Master is the great supreme True God. With His power, ending…" Xiao Bai’s words rose like thunder on a far ridge.

Before he finished, Xi turned away with a huff like winter wind. "Hmph. I don’t want to hear about that guy."

Seeing her flare, Xiao Hei and Xiao Bai shut their mouths, silence dropping like night. She refused to name him, yet the Mystic Priestess clung to that last light.

"True God? Is that the same as the great Creator God?" Lingwen asked, eyes bright like stars in a deep pool. In this world, there’s no notion of a true god yet.

So to her, a True God must be a being like the Creator God, a height of sky only few can touch.

"Sorry, Master told me not to mention His Excellency, the great Void Messenger…" Xiao Bai said it straight, face calm as carved jade.

On the side, Xi seethed, words knotting like thorns. If you know I forbade it, why say it out loud?

After that, no matter how Lingwen asked, Xiao Bai kept silent about that True God, lips sealed like a locked shrine door.

It was hard to find even a sliver of dawn to end the war. Lingwen made her choice like a traveler choosing a long road—she would follow Xi.

In her mind, as long as she stayed with Xi, one day she’d meet the True God who could still the storm. Even the cool Mystic Priestess dropped her pride, sticking close like ivy on stone.

Xi understood a little of her urgency, a heartbeat stomping like drums. The girl wanted the war to end, no matter the cost.

But Xi was angry too, a heat like sand in shoes. She’d “run away from home,” yet Ouyang stayed unmoved, quiet as an empty courtyard.

If he’d come, said a few soft words like rain on dust, she would have swallowed it and gone back. Clearly, he didn’t follow.

Had he decided to abandon her, like a boat cutting its rope?

Xi wanted to help Lingwen, yet had no way, hands empty like bare branches.

She was already on edge, and Lingwen clinging made it worse, a buzz like gnats at dusk. Since Lingwen’s a Mystic Priestess, maybe leaving the shrine’s boundary would shake her off like water off a goose.

After all, she’s a Priestess of the shrine; she can leave, but not for long, like a moon that must return to its path.

With that thought, Xi hugged the two ragdolls and left the shrine, steps quick as a stream.

Seeing that, Lingwen hesitated a breath like a catching leaf, then set her jaw and followed, shadow close as a second heartbeat.

They walked a long while, distance stretching like a pale road under the sun.

"I mean… Miss Priestess, can you not do this? We’ve gone far beyond the town…" Xi’s voice carried her mixed feelings like a cloud that won’t rain.

She had thought leaving the shrine would end it, like slipping a leash. She miscalculated; Lingwen kept pace, steady as a drumbeat.

Fine. Leave the town, then. She did, and Lingwen still followed, her feet sure as migrating geese. Except for a brief hesitation at the shrine, Lingwen never faltered.

What karmic debt did I owe in a past life, like ink I can’t wash off?

Gritting her teeth, Xi kept walking, stubborn as a rock in the stream. She didn’t believe a Mystic Priestess would stay away forever.

Hours later, the sun slid west, light drowsy like embers. Evening pressed close.

"Miss Priestess, shouldn’t you head back? If you don’t now, later it’ll be dark," Xi said, worry a thin thread like smoke.

Lingwen’s reply was firm, voice like a blade laid on wood. "The one hope to end the war… I won’t give it up."

Hearing that, Xi’s restless heart smoothed like raked sand. The girl’s resolve burned bright, like a lantern in wind.

Back in the shrine, Xi had heard much from others, stories like ashes drifting. This world is war upon war; living things wander uprooted like trees torn from soil.

She had given up saving it because of a spat with Ouyang, a pettiness like salt in tea. Was that too selfish?

Her mood tangled, a skein like knotted silk. When she “ran away,” Ouyang didn’t even try to stop her, eyes like closed doors.

He let her go like a stranger passing by. And now she would ask him to end the war, words like stones in her mouth.

She wrestled inside, then held onto Lingwen’s determined gaze like a rope in rapids. For the sake of ending this war, she would risk her pride.

Just as Xi was about to agree, a cold snort cut the air, sharp as a nail. Ahead, an old man leaned on a cane and blocked their path like a fallen tree.

The instant she saw him, Lingwen stepped back a few paces, instinctive as a deer flinching. "Lord Kamen!"

From her reaction, Xi knew they were acquainted, like neighbors across a fence. That eased her a little—then a memory flashed, and her gut dropped like a stone.

Lingwen had stepped back without thinking, fear like frost on grass. Kamen?

Xi sifted her memory like sand and found it. Back at the shrine, Lingwen had mentioned Kamen.

Kamen—no one knows how long he’s lived, or from where he came, a cloud with no birth. He’s stayed in the shrine, and he chooses every Mystic Priestess like a judge with a dark seal.

They say he’s a direct descendant of gods, so he doesn’t die, a winter pine among withered leaves.

That’s all Xi had heard from Lingwen, whispers like smoke. In some sense, Kamen is her mentor, a shadow behind the lamp.

"Ling Young Lady, did you forget the rules I set? You dare leave the shrine without leave?" The old man’s face stayed cold, a slab of stone.

For some reason, the moment Xi saw him, her heart felt wrong, a bitter taste like iron. She hated him.

In her mind, grandfathers should be kind, warm as sun on a porch. Like that painter grandpa who drew for her and Ouyang—he had gentle eyes like spring water.

In Kamen’s eyes, Lingwen would usually obey and return, a tame cat to the cushion. This time, she stood her ground despite fear, a reed in strong wind.

"Sorry, Lord Kamen. This time, I have my own reasons," Lingwen said, voice steady as a string drawn.

She’d finally found a thin ray of hope, like dawn at the horizon, and she refused to go back.

Her answer surprised Kamen; his look shifted like a calm pool suddenly rippled. He tapped his cane on the ground, wood on earth like a drum.

The ground shuddered, a ripple like quakes; stones bulged up and fused, growing into a stone giant like a mountain walking.

"I meant to persuade you, but I lack time," he said, words quickening like a river in flood. "Whether you found that secret or something else—that’s irrelevant. As long as I drag you back… I’ll bear the Genesis Crown and be crowned king."

The more he spoke, the more fevered he became, eyes bright like burning coals. Even Xi saw the wrongness, a scent like rot under flowers.

She’d thought a familiar face meant safety, like a hearth in rain. But the way he stood and spoke felt crooked, like a blade with a kink.

"Master, I get it," Xiao Hei said, clapping once like a sparrow’s wing. "He wants the Genesis Crown, to become the new Creator God."

"And he’s at the peak of the gods, a height like a cliff. He’s only one step from Realm God. With the Genesis Crown, his odds of breaking through are high."

Xi didn’t grasp all the terms, clouds of power like maps she hadn’t read. She cared only for one thing, a single spark like a firefly.

"Xiao Hei, will Lingwen and I be in danger?"

"He’s at the peak of the divine, a storm to most," Xiao Hei said, tone crisp as glass. "To you, not a shred of threat. But that human, Lingwen—she’s in danger."