"What’s the Nautical Almanac? It’s just a time table!" the sleazy guy said, as obvious as noon sun. Ouyang wore a blank sky. In his mind, calendars didn’t shift unless mountains moved and empires burned.

Before the war years, they used the Demon King Era—banners of shadow over a red horizon. After the wars, in the frontier age, it became the Astral Era—new stars pinned up like milestones.

"Forget it, I’ll head home first," Ouyang said, voice drifting like ash. "I’ll write an IOU. I’ll pay you when I get back. If not, go ask Wutong. She handles the coffers." But when he dropped Wutong’s name, the crowd stayed still as stone.

That shouldn’t be right. The Demon King coinage was Wutong’s handiwork; her name rang through the Panworld Alliance like bells in fog. Short of the untouchable Void Messenger, no one outshone Wutong’s presence.

Hunger hit first, an empty drum in his gut. "Hey, got more food? I’m not full," Ouyang said. He wasn’t kidding. Ever since that law of causality coiled around him, his state was off—like a compass near lightning. Even this hunger felt scripted by that thread.

Seeing his expectant eyes, the sleazy guy crab-stepped back. He had food, sure, but food was coin. Ouyang still owed him for a Pula Swan. Before that debt cleared, he didn’t dare hand over another bite.

"Kid, you think I can’t pay?" Ouyang’s grin flashed like a knife. "Listen, my home? Miracle City..."

Talk of the Astral Era or Wutong hadn’t moved the man. But Miracle City cracked him like thunder. "Miracle City? The most ancient city in Eternal Slumber? They say only High Gods come and go. You’re really from there?"

"No kidding. I lived there when it was founded," Ouyang said, casual as a breeze. "Don’t believe it? Fine. I’ll take you for a stroll. I’ll grab cash and settle that Pula Swan."

The sleazy guy and the five he’d called in just stared, eyes wide as saucers, minds blank as fresh snow.

"Boss, you really lived in Miracle City back then?" Lab Coat clenched his syringe like a banner and looked at Ouyang with starry eyes. Ouyang chuckled, a low drumbeat, then noticed the someone dangling from the sleazy guy’s grip. He narrowed his eyes; pieces fell like leaves.

He’d sent Qihe to fetch the Realm Envoy, to ask questions. Now Qihe was the one being lugged like a carp. That made the other side’s identity clear as daylight.

"What’s with this one?" Ouyang pointed at Qihe. The sleazy guy waved it off like smoke. "He says a Demon King sent him to bother me. My bros pounded him."

"Hold it. Who’s your bro? You still haven’t paid protection," Lab Coat said, syringe gleaming like a fang. He was here to collect, not to clasp shoulders.

The sleazy guy coughed, dry leaves in wind. "Big bro, don’t get heated. I’ll pay when I’m back."

Ouyang cut in, voice smooth as still water. "So you came to settle with that Demon King?"

"That’s right!" Qihe glared at Ouyang, eyes like knives. If he had to sink, he wanted Ouyang to drown beside him.

"I see..." Ouyang said, sky-clear. He pointed into the hall. "Your Demon King’s inside—the silver-haired one. Just… don’t sell me out later."

The words left his mouth, and the air cooled like dusk. He turned and caught a cold gaze pinned on him like a spear.

"Glorious Moon, morning..." Ouyang said, playing deadpan like a cracked lute. "You’ve got a grudge? Go settle it. I’ve pointed her out." Since Glorious Moon had spotted him, he might as well tip the pot. She didn’t strike him then. She shot him a look that promised later storms.

Glorious Moon’s eyes rested on the group, winter-still.

"You lot… came to take revenge on me?" Ouyang had tossed the blame her way, yet Glorious Moon shouldered the black pot without a word, like snow on pine.

The men glanced at one another, hearts fluttering like sparrows. They couldn’t gauge her strength, but that aura wasn’t something weak things wore. That star-overlooking gaze belonged only to High Gods.

"Uh… m-mis—misunderstanding…" Lab Coat got the word out, then a starlight flicked from Glorious Moon’s fingertip. It smacked him skyward; he burned into a meteor in the deep blue. The rest followed, one by one, flung like stones into the firmament. Seven figures arced, and at the horizon they became seven cold stars.

Qihe’s unwilling shout drifted back like wind through reeds: "I’ll be back!"

After Glorious Moon’s lesson, they turned meek, like dogs in rain. Ouyang followed them into Second Space. It was still Second Space, yet everything had shifted. Trees lined the road like green banners. People flowed past like a river.

Worry came first, a stone in his chest. The nearer they drew, the heavier it sank. Original Sin’s appearance kept his mind from settling; he feared for Loyin. "Please let this have nothing to do with that girl," he thought. A Tiered Being shouldn’t pray. He did, quietly, like incense in a storm.

Closer. Closer. Footsteps drummed like rain.

A vast station rose ahead, a hive of roofs. On the floor, buyers and sellers haggled like sparrows in a market. Crowds pressed like a tide. Some headed for the teleportation arrays at the center, stepping into Eternal Slumber. Others stepped out from Eternal Slumber into Second Space. More lingered in the station, ducking into shops, arguing price under hanging lamps.

They stepped onto an array. Seven-colored light twisted like a whirlpool. In the next heartbeat, the world flipped its face.

"Here is… Astral Plaza?" Where Ouyang stood, there were no world-gates—just open ground like a calm sea. In the distance, world-gates stood dense as a stone forest. It had to be Astral Plaza.

Newbie Qihe went slack-jawed, a frog under thunder. Anywhere he looked, power towered higher than his. What kind of place was this?

"Alright, from here I know the road. You coming with me to Miracle City?" Ouyang asked. The sleazy guy’s crew clamored like gulls to go. Qihe, lost as a drifting leaf, stuck with the group. As the weakest, if he got separated in a place where gods walked like commoners, he’d be dead.

"Cool. Let’s move. I’ll show you around my castle," Ouyang said, smile cutting like moonlight.