Under a sky veined with black lightning, the earth lay like a burned plain; Tilafei and the army she led were swallowed to nothing under that ink-dark storm.

On the other side, under Ouyang and Ouyang Xinxue’s gaze, Glorious Moon’s body thinned like mist at dawn, paled like moonlight in fog, and vanished.

“Dad, do you think Mom will succeed?” Her voice trembled like a plucked string before a storm, and Ouyang’s heart tightened like a drawn bow.

He wasn’t close to Glorious Moon, like a traveler guessing a mountain beyond clouds; he didn’t know if she could push open the Gate of Truth and glimpse the blaze of Truth.

But seeing the hope in his daughter’s eyes, soft as a lantern in night wind, he patted her head and smiled. “Succeed? That’s a given, isn’t it? You came from the future like a shooting star; in that future you should know today’s result, so what’s left to worry about?”

His words rang with sense, like a bell across water; Ouyang Xinxue had crossed from the future, and her arrival was itself a verdict written in the sand of time.

“No… Dad, I feel wrong, like gravel in my shoe.” Panic rose like cold tide. “Maybe because I barged in, this scene doesn’t match history. What happens today should’ve been delayed by thousands of years… my meddling kicked up a butterfly storm.”

In the original track of history, this moment belonged to a far horizon; by then Glorious Moon would be a mountain in full snow, strong enough to push that door as expected. Now it was different, her power not yet at a god’s height, and the chance was a candle in rain.

Guilt flooded her like winter rain, and Ouyang saw it at a glance, sharp as lightning on a dark ridge; he lifted her and held her to calm the tremor. “It’s okay, Xiaoxue. Your mom will make it—believe in her. She’s the strongest Star Spirit in all the annals.” His voice was warm as a hearth, though his mind stayed cool as stone; none of this lay at her feet, and that so-called butterfly storm was smoke in wind.

Because this was another world, not the past she knew; if everything matched her memory like mirror to mirror, that would be the real crack in the sky.

After soothing his daughter, Ouyang noticed Xi swaying like a willow in a hot wind; she clutched her head, pain crowding her face like thunderheads.

Helplessness bit first, cold as iron; he didn’t know what to do, trapped like a bird between two nets, because helping one would cut the other like a knife.

“Dad, what’s wrong with Aunt Aurora? She’s an out-of-scale being like a comet off the charts; can she get sick too?” Ouyang Xinxue blinked, eyes clear as spring water, and Ouyang could only give a wry smile like a crease in old paper.

Maybe in the history she knew, Xi never had this “illness,” like a page missing from a scroll; or the Ouyang of that parallel world kept this past sealed like a jar.

He chose silence, heavy as snow on a bamboo leaf; if her world never held this chapter, telling it now would clash with her knowledge like flint on steel, and she might glimpse the buried truth.

He didn’t want her to know so early; that truth was a blade of frost. If he could, he’d hide it for life like a pebble under moss. But that wish was a rainbow you can’t touch; she couldn’t go back, and her parallel world—by her own words—had turned to ash on the wind.

She would have to stay in this universe, which stitched a new knot in fate; when another Ouyang Xinxue is born in the future, what then? Go back and watch her own sunrise, and call the younger her “sister” like a swallow calling to its reflection?

All that was worry from her side of the river; in truth there was only one fear, that she’d pierce the veil and see the truth, bright as lightning.

So the truth could not be buried forever like a seed; yet Ouyang refused to plant it today.

After a while, Xi felt her state slip like sand through fingers; without even a greeting, she withdrew like dusk draining from the sky. Ouyang still cradled Ouyang Xinxue; he shook his head with a sigh like wind in pines. “Xiaoxue, your Aunt Aurora just came back from a far, unknown space like a cold sea; she’s unwell, so she returned to rest.”

“Oh.” Relief opened on her face like sunlight after rain; if she’d just come back from that exiled unknown space, the trouble made sense like tide to the moon.

When the black thunder finally peeled away like a night tide, Ouyang felt countless presences peeping like eyes behind reeds at this scar of land. Most only watched, weighing friend from foe like hands on a scale, but one familiar soul sensed his breath and rushed over like an arrow.

Across the barren ground, a man flew in dragging another like a kite on a rough wind. It was Aililais, the “Redhair” Ouyang called friend, and in his grip was Sade, a member of Future Star.

Feeling a known hand stir up such a storm, Aililais had grabbed Sade and shot over at sonic speed, not sparing a whisper for Sade’s wishes, like a hawk ignoring a sparrow’s chirp.

It showed something plain as footprints in mud; though Aililais was Sade’s contractor, the title meant little. Just look—Sade being hauled at sonic speed—who held the reins was clear as noon.

“Bro, why kick up a ruckus this big?” Aililais landed with a thud like a falling boulder. “The water in this world’s getting real deep.” He tossed half-dead Sade aside like a sack of grain.

In Ouyang’s arms, Ouyang Xinxue waved, bright as a small banner in wind. “Uncle Redhair, long time no see… and when did my dad become your little bro? You should call my dad big bro.”

She struck before Ouyang could parry, her words clean as a slap of spring water, and took the wind out of Aililais’s sails.

Ouyang stroked his daughter’s hair, a smile blooming like a small flower; what a valiant girl—no need for him to speak when she KO’d Aililais in one breath. Arguing with an eleven- or twelve-year-old would be sinking to the mud; Aililais closed his mouth at once, the cheap advantage dying like a spark in rain.

On one hand, wrangling with a child was low as dust; on the other, he truly feared this little firebrand, like a cat wary of a fierce chick.

Seeing him yield, Ouyang let teasing drift away like smoke and returned to business. “Yo, Redhair, want in on a big job?”

“Big?” The word hung like a drumbeat.

Before Ouyang could unfold his plan, a colossal hand surfaced in the sky like a god’s palm through cloud; a giant hand of white cloud swept down toward Ouyang’s position like a glacier falling.

Boom—thunder tore the air, and a mushroom cloud rose like a poisonous flower from the earth.

“If this land weren’t under the blessing of a Star Spirit, that one slap wouldn’t just erase this planet; it might wipe this star system,” Ouyang thought, breath tight as a knot. In the dust, he held Ouyang Xinxue in a shielded embrace, arms locked like iron, sheltering her in his chest like a cave in a storm.

Aililais shielded Sade as well, movements sharp as a whip; for all his earlier bluster, time together had warmed his view of the kid like sun on frost. Wiping blood from his lip with a backhand stroke, Ouyang narrowed his eyes like a blade. He knew the road behind was gone, burned like a bridge in fire.

“Redhair, those two out-of-scale beings won’t let me go like wolves scenting blood. And because you stand with me, they won’t spare you either.”

“I knew following you meant no quiet days,” Aililais grumbled, voice rough as gravel, yet a spark of excitement flickered like flint in his tone. “Now you’ve poked out-of-scale beings?”

“So we’ve got no retreat; just a cliff and wind. They just came back from the unknown Sea of Time, and they’re still jet-lagged by eternity. If they can pull half their full power, it’s already good.” Ouyang’s gaze steadied like a spear. “Wanna bet? We stall them. As long as we hold, we wait for reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements?” The word popped like a bubble.

“Of course.” Ouyang answered crisp as steel, though doubt coiled inside like a cold snake. If Litian and the Three Eternal Artifacts were here, he’d fear nothing, a mountain under lightning. But Litian hadn’t returned, and Xi’s condition was clouded like a stormed moon.

Even so, there was no turning back, only forward like a boat on a flood. One question still needled him like a thorn: why had those two out-of-scale ones fixed on him?

“Xiaoxue, go back and call for help.”

“I got it, Dad. You hold on,” she said, resolve bright as a drawn sword; a brutal war in another parallel world had tempered her like steel, and she knew what to do.

Ouyang hurled her toward Eternal Slumber like a star to safe harbor, shedding a burden like a cloak. Now one worry remained like a stone in his shoe—the planet. If they fought here, this world would crack like thin ice. He couldn’t accept that; if the planet fell, Glorious Moon, a Star Spirit bound to it, would be wounded to the bone even if she lived.

He still hoped she’d push open the Gate of Truth, glimpse the marrow of Truth like lightning in a night sea, and help him drive back those two out-of-scale beings.

He fretted for this world like a farmer for his field; those two thought the same, their desire sharp as a hook. They wanted this whole, untouched world, to use its strategic value like a keystone and revive a dead civilization.

With that grim, wordless pact hanging like a storm front, the four of them streaked toward the end of the sky like arrows loosed at the horizon.