Ouyang dug into Original Sin and found almost nothing, like fishing in a dry well. From Qihe he learned only scraps, dry leaves in a wind. Qihe had birthed a colossal grudge, a storm wanting to erase the world. Once that thought bloomed, a strange presence approached him, a shadow with an open hand. It promised power like molten iron and asked for payment like winter famine. The price: keep wars burning year after year, spread despair like frost into every heart, blind the world’s eyes with a smoke of hate.
Put simply: imagine a grade-schooler always dead last, test after test. Every subject failed, chalk dust raining like cold ash from the teacher’s scolding. Classmates jeered like sparrows on a wire, the school blasted his name over speakers like a siren. He went home to the board, blows falling like hail.
Right when the kid’s grudge swelled like a black tide, a mysterious caller reached out, a voice like static rain. He offered weapons, a pocket armory, so the kid could shoot anyone he couldn’t stand, like lightning from a toy storm. But the price: stir trouble every day, turn the school into a den of panic, keep everyone living under a cloud.
Qihe himself didn’t know what that force was, a nameless star hitching to his hate. Because his resentment towered like a mountain, the mysterious presence chose him, like a hawk choosing a bleeding rabbit.
Ouyang’s trail hit a wall, a corridor ending in stone. To learn more, he’d need to survey other worlds, like a traveler chasing night markets across realms. He thought going home would be hard, a road erased by wind. Glorious Moon can’t stray far from Ouyang; her power only holds within a set distance, like a lantern’s circle. There’s no way for Glorious Moon to sense Stellar Courtyard’s coordinates and return; that gate was mist.
But this world had something unexpected: a Resident Ambassador, like a flag planted at a crossroads. That concept was Ouyang’s, a seed he’d named. If another civilization used it, they must have touched the Panworld Alliance, like ships brushing in the fog. If luck shone, if this world sat under the Panworld Alliance, going back would be a stroll under sun.
“Qihe, I’ve got a job for you…”
“Boss, not one job—give me a million. I’ll walk through fire and wade through knives, like a bull through rain.”
He’d been taught with cudgels like midnight thunder and bricks like falling meteors; he’d grown a shadow in his heart. For any task Ouyang spoke, he answered before thinking, a reflex beat on a drum. As long as he could leave this Demon King, he was content, like a bird freed from a snare.
“Good. Go find that Resident Ambassador, bring him to me like a courier bringing a seal. If he dares not come, beat him down and carry him over your shoulder like a sack.”
Resident Ambassador? Qihe’s heart leaped like a drum. That weakling was his defeated foe, a leaf he’d already crushed. Before, he feared the high civilization behind him, a thundercloud over his head. Now, even if that lofty power complained, Qihe could throw the blame onto Ouyang, like tossing a hot potato. He could rough up the Ambassador without fearing revenge; joy nearly broke from his throat like a whistle.
Say less—Qihe bolted from the First Demon King like an arrow leaving string. If he had celebrating to do, he’d do it after he’d run far.
Leaving Anyao’s capital, that nest of trouble, Qihe headed for a mountain like a lone wolf to a ridge. He knew the Resident Ambassador was shameless, and not his match, like a fox in front of a tiger. Armies couldn’t stop him; they were scarecrows in a storm. If he cut through the ranks to kill the man, the troops would be decoration. So the Ambassador wouldn’t hide at the Multination Alliance headquarters and pin hope on mortals, straw against fire.
One week ago, Qihe’s scouts finally sniffed out the Ambassador’s lair, like dogs finding a den. He was ready to borrow that mysterious power and blast him in one go, like thunder striking a pine. Then the First Demon King popped out, that monster leaping like a shadow from a well.
At the mountain, Qihe drew a deep breath, wind filling his chest like bellows. He shouted with his throat like a drum: “You damn creep, get out here!”
“Creep?” Yeah—creep. Since the guy couldn’t beat Qihe, he always used sleazy tactics, like snakes under grass. Qihe, too pissed to swallow it, called him the Creep, a name hammered in battle.
Qihe was ready to level the surrounding mountains and rivers, turn them to flat clay. The title “Creep” was earned by force; if he didn’t flatten the terrain, that damn creep would never come out, like a rat hugging a wall.
But oddly, the creep didn’t hide, like a turtle refusing its shell.
“Eh? Brother Qihe? Let’s talk this out, like rain softening dust. We fought, we met; no fight, no acquaintance. Whatever it is, take it slow…” A skinny man smiled, sleazy as oil on water.
Seeing that smile, Qihe felt his gut tighten like a knotted rope. That smile was poison, sweet as rot.
“Damn it, who wants to talk? Get over here and let me pound you. Once I’m satisfied, we’ll talk business, like tea after the brawl.”
He’d been all smiles, but Qihe gave him no face, like flipping a table. He… smiled even brighter, his teeth like frost.
“Haha… Brother Qihe, truth time. I’m not a Resident Ambassador; I’m just a merchant, a hawker under the stars. A merchant… heh… I’ve got stock piled like mountains. You’ve got divine power, but not divine insight, like a spear without a tip. And your power is bestowed, its source unstable, like fire borrowed from a neighbor. I’ve got divine sparks for sale.”
He drew out a gem glowing with seven-colored mist, a dawn trapped in stone. “From lower-tier sub-god sparks up to the Creator God’s Divine Kingdom, I can sell the ladder of heaven. As long as you can pay in Demon King coins, forget buying a single world— You could buy a civilization and crown yourself its God-King, like a star on a throne. A chance missed won’t return; during our Star Merchants Alliance promotion, everything’s thirty percent off. Why not strike now, like a falcon diving?”
Qihe froze, thunder stuck mid-sky. What the hell was this?
“Selling divine sparks? Selling Divine Kingdoms? You kidding me?”
“Kid, do I look stupid?” Qihe slapped his palm, the sound like a clap of wood.
The sleazy man nodded solemnly, his face like a stone mask. Qihe’s anger spiked, a firework in noon. A mere defeated foe dared try to con him?
He was about to swing when the sleazy man raised a hand, a stop sign like a fan. “Brother, let’s talk—”
“We’ve got nothing to talk about.”
“Grass, you think I’m easy to bully? Don’t push me. If you push me, even if I get punished and lose my job, I can still take you down, like a hammer on glass.”
“Push you then what? You think Qihe scares easy?”
“You maniac, why can’t you just negotiate? I’m in my internship—jobs are scarce, like rain in drought. Let me go permanent, get a stable post, and I’ll gift you a planet—basically a whole world. Do whatever you want with it, like carving your name in stone.”
As he talked, Qihe got angrier, his temples drumming like war sticks. “You think I, Qihe—sharp and fearless—am that easy to fool? If you’re going to lie, at least spin one a child won’t laugh at. This junk wouldn’t trick a three-year-old; you using it on me says I’m less than that?”
“Trash. Watch me rip that mouth of yours.” His words snapped like a whip.
“Damn it! Don’t force me!” The sleazy man finally got angry, heat rising like red clouds.
He’d finally landed an internship with the Star Merchants Alliance, a door like a gilded gate. And he ran into Qihe, a wrench in gears. If it weren’t for the Alliance’s customer-first rule, would he be smiling like a painted mask? In their creed, every living thing is a potential customer, a coin waiting in a pocket. He and Qihe weren’t locked in a death feud; there was room to work, like a bridge over water. Turn an enemy into a client, and your score shoots up like fireworks. If he pulled it off, among that year’s interns he’d be top ten, easy.
Otherwise, would a fresh graduate fear Qihe? During a sale, striking a customer is taboo, a black mark like ink spilled on a ledger. If this idiot insisted on fighting, he might as well give up star merchanting and interview for Astral Envoy, a civil post like a moonlit badge. But Astral Envoy was too hot, competition fierce like winter wolves.
“I’m forcing you. So what?” Qihe snarled like a tiger. “Come on, mutual harm. Stop fleeing—face me head-on.”
Hearing that, the sleazy man almost spat blood, anger fluttering like a torn flag. He swore Qihe had real cultist potential. Throw him into the First Cult for a few years and he’d come out someone who can’t breathe unless he’s stirring trouble, like wind in a wasp nest.
“Fine. Wait there—”
The sleazy man pulled out a terminal, a slab like a black mirror. “Hey, brothers from the First Cult? Me… yeah, it’s me. Right now I’m at… There’s an idiot making trouble here, and I need a hand. If I throw a punch, my score gets docked, like sand slipping from a scale. What? Protection fee? Fine, fine—get here fast. This idiot is making me sick, like sour milk.”
