The world’s heart is called the Atrium, a city like a lantern hive, brightest and loudest where all roads flow like rivers into one basin.

Legend says that at the sky’s far rim hung a city like a floating island, the oldest stone in the world’s crown. Then, like mist after dawn, it faded from sight. Now, when people tilt their chins to the clouds, that island is gone. Only old tales carry its shadow.

Ouyang arrived in the Atrium, and his gut sank like a stone dropped in a well. At the sky’s edge, there was no familiar city. Worse, karma coiled around him like ivy; his power couldn’t catch a single thread of Miracle City.

Panic bubbled first, then thought. He’d sworn to those juniors he’d take them strolling through Miracle City, teacups and starlight. Now he stared at a snag in the tapestry.

He looked to Glorious Moon, hoping for a breeze of help. Her face was cool as frost on jade. She’d never set foot in this world, much less in Miracle City. More crucial, her power was tethered to him like a silk cord; throw a fireball, and once it flew more than ten meters from Ouyang, the flame blinked out like a firefly. With her strength, that vanishing act should’ve been apprentice-tier nonsense. Yet reality held like iron.

She could cast her mind like a net across the Atrium’s sky and feel for Miracle City’s pulse. But the net frayed fast; stray too far from Ouyang, and her spirit thread snapped, vanishing like smoke in wind.

Glorious Moon’s frosty stare carried a hint of disdain. Ouyang scratched his head, heartbeat knocking against his ribs. What now? What now?

The Creeper and the man in the Labcoat, plus the rest, watched Ouyang with doubt like stormclouds gathering. He’d boasted, full of sunlight, that he’d take them wandering through a myth. That confidence had felt like a beacon, so they believed. But now, seeing him frown and stall, suspicion rose like thorns. Was he playing them?

They kept calm only because Glorious Moon stood beside him like a quiet avalanche. Even if this was a prank, they had no way to wring Ouyang’s neck.

“Got it.” Ouyang’s eyes flicked around like sparrows. He snapped his fingers. “Open sesame!”

Then…

Then…

A beat later…

“Ahem.” With no response, Ouyang coughed, cheeks tight. He straightened, voice steady as a bell. “Saya, I know you’ve already spotted me. Pull me back. I’m… having a small problem.”

Saya. Yes, Saya. He should’ve thought of her sooner. Within the Panworld Alliance’s dominion, Saya is everywhere, like moonlight on water. And this is the Atrium—center stage under her brightest spotlight. If anyone claimed she hadn’t noticed him, Ouyang would sooner swallow a knife than believe it.

Watching Ouyang talk to the thin air, Qihe tugged the Creeper’s sleeve. “Brothers, you think his head’s a little… loose?”

Labcoat squinted, then—thock—jabbed a syringe into Qihe’s belly like a stinger. “Idiot. Who’s your brother?” The Creeper played dirty too; he kicked Qihe in the jewels with a grin like a wolf.

Pain exploded like thunder. Qihe tried to scream, but the man with the big cleaver moved faster than a lightning snap. He stripped off his shoe, yanked out a sock, and stuffed it into Qihe’s mouth. He even patted Qihe’s shoulder, utterly matter-of-fact. “Kid, this is the Atrium’s very center. No shouting.”

One hand clamped his punctured abdomen, the other shielded his groin. Mouth gagged by a swampy sock, Qihe wanted to die. Life felt like a long road lined with thorns.

Ouyang’s call ended, and a phantom unfurled at his side like moonlight through leaves. A girl. Years hadn’t moved her face; she was the one in his memory, green hair drifting like willow strands. Somewhere along the way, emerald wings had unfurled behind her.

“Ah-Yang… welcome back.”

The phantom faded like dew. Then a rainbow bridge arched into existence, pouring away toward the sky’s rim like a river of light.

“Sorted. Come on. I’ll take you home for tea.” Whatever else, these people had helped bring him back fast; a stroll through Miracle City would settle that debt like pouring wine for guests.

The rainbow bridge’s birth split the Atrium like a thunderclap. Miracle City had always been a rumor, a mirage. But with the bridge blazing, the sky now showed a city, faint and flickering like a reflection on water. The legend took on stone and breath.

Crowds surged like a tide, rushing for the bridge. But no matter how they pushed, the near seemed far, the grasp slipped like sand. None could approach.

A few were exceptions.

Ouyang stepped onto the rainbow first, light pooling underfoot. Glorious Moon followed, a calm shadow. Ouyang walked a few paces, then glanced back. The Creeper’s crew stood frozen like statues. “You coming or not? If not, I’m going.”

Qihe spat out the salty sock, gagging like a fish. Hearing Ouyang shout, he scampered like a puppy, heart racing. He swore this was the most eager he’d ever been. He had resented Ouyang earlier, sure, but Ouyang only beat him once and left no scars. Look at the Creeper’s gang—kicks to the family jewels, needles in the gut, blood siphoned like wine. Worst of all, that sock’s stink was a swamp he never wanted to revisit.

“Boss, First Demon King, wait for me! I’m your loyal little brother!” Qihe stumbled forward, wailing, face crumpled like wet paper. It took getting bullied by the Creeper’s lot to see who treated him like a person.

Even if Ouyang punished him, Ouyang would give a reason like a judge with balance scales. The Creeper’s gang? They struck on a whim, mood swinging like summer storms, no reason, no mercy.

Seeing Qihe scamper, the Creeper’s crew snapped awake. They traded looks, then bolted—whoosh—like startled hares.

It was breathtaking. Too breathtaking.

Given their standing, Miracle City wasn’t a fairy fog to them, but getting inside had always been like scaling glass. Now—open road?

They charged onto the bridge, veins singing. Below, faces tilted up with envy like knives. The five from the First Cult looked down with pride, chests high as mountain ridges.

“Boss, the bridge behind us is fading. If we keep posing, when it vanishes, we might fall.” The guy with the giant shears nudged Labcoat. Labcoat glanced back. The path they’d trod was dimming, segments already winking out like dying embers.

“Move! We finally got a shot at Miracle City. If we fall because we preened too long, we’ll be the punchline.”

So the five cult bros sprinted like deer driven by wind. The Creeper and the “seriously wounded” Qihe walked side by side. A chill gust blew, and in a blink the five were specks far ahead.

“Street racing? Who’s afraid? Driver up front, wait up, let me draft!” The Creeper pulled a broom from nowhere, swung a leg over, and—whoosh—shot forward, tailwind screaming. He caught the five in a snap, leaving Qihe, the “injured,” staring, dumbfounded on the bright path.

Seeing the Creeper blaze past on a broom, the five bristled. Labcoat had never been overtaken in all his First Cult years. He grabbed his own broom and planted himself like a king. “Brothers, race! Don’t let that rookie driver pass!”

Thus began the broom-racing saga of veteran drivers and one shameless rookie. A gust pressed Ouyang’s back, and in a blink, that pack streaked ahead. Stranger still, every broom spewed tailfire—purple, blue, red, green—flames waving like carnival flags.

Behind, Qihe staggered up to Ouyang and Glorious Moon, breath shredded like torn paper. “Boss, what are those artifacts? They’re so fast.” Exhaustion dulled him, but desire burned like a small hearth. He wanted a broom, to chase and howl in the wind.

“Oh, those? Magic brooms. Should be cheap.” Ouyang’s voice was mild as tea steam. “I’ve been away awhile, though. Not sure if they’re still bargain bin. Also…” He watched six streaks vanish into the bridge’s light. “I should’ve warned them. Miracle City forbids racing.”

They wouldn’t hear that now. By the look of it, they’d already blasted off the rainbow. If nothing went awry, Ouyang would be visiting the city wardens to fish them out like hooked carp.

Qihe trailed Ouyang. Hearing that, his eyes jolted wide as moons. He didn’t really understand, mist fogging his mind. But he put on a face that said, Wow, that sounds powerful.

Ouyang strolled, unhurried, like walking a garden path after rain, and stepped off the rainbow. Ahead rose a giant gate, a mouth of stone. Skeleton soldiers patrolled each flank like wind-up sentries. The “gate” was a sheet of black flame, standing like midnight.

Coming from the bridge, they met no bone-guard resistance. They passed through the dark fire smooth as a fish through water and slipped into the city.

Inside, the air felt cooler, quieter, like twilight in a temple. The Atrium is the loudest bazaar under heaven. Miracle City barred casual visitors, so its pulse ran calm, not frantic.

“This is Miracle City? Feels… meh.” Qihe’s lip curled, seeking noise like a stray dog seeks scraps.

Ouyang slapped the back of Qihe’s head, palm cracking like a fan. His glare was a knife. “Shut it. The old man selling sesame cakes on that corner? Drop him in the Atrium, he’s nearly invincible. The aunt with a veggie basket? One punch, and she’d shatter the world you came from. Even that snot-nosed kid could swat you like a fly.”

Qihe’s face drained white as paper. Mom, what is this place? Terrifying.