No matter how the ages turned, Miracle City stayed itself—an ancient cradle of memories, hanging quiet in the vault of heaven like a sleeping lantern.

Later, the Panworld Alliance spread like a widening canopy, and more people entered Eternal Slumber.

After a unanimous council, they chose to hide Miracle City.

Now, Miracle City still hangs over Midcourt, yet it’s unseen and untouchable, like a moon veiled by cloud.

That’s why Ouyang saw no trace of Miracle City when he reached Midcourt.

Once he got the gist, Ouyang handed Loyin and little Sin to Glorious Moon. Among them, only she could rein in those two little storms.

“Watch these two brats for me. Don’t let them turn the house upside down with feathers and fur flying. I’m heading upstairs to break causality.”

Glorious Moon hated babysitting; a chill rose like frost on glass. But hearing Ouyang would seek a cure for causality, she nodded, bright as a shard of moon.

If Ouyang cut his causal tether sooner, she’d slip free sooner—like a bird from a snare.

“Big bro, is she your future sister-in-law? This woman’s too cold. I don’t like her!” Loyin puffed like a ruffled sparrow.

Even stone-faced Glorious Moon showed an I’ve-had-enough look. Loyin and Sin traded glances like sparrows plotting; trouble fluttered. Ouyang felt the storm coming and left fast.

On the second floor, Ouyang pushed a familiar door. A world woven of lines unfurled, like threads strung across a calm sky.

“Back?”

“Mm. Back.”

Their reunion shunned melodrama—no tearful clutching, no speeches of longing. A simple greeting was enough. Smiling, Ouyang walked over like a breeze across a still lake.

They sat in that wide, thread-woven void, shoulder to shoulder. Ouyang told Xi everything, word by word; Xi stayed quiet, a patient candle listening.

“Glorious Moon’s on the castle’s first floor. Check on her later. Any way to deal with that causality? If I go, she gets dragged after—anyone would resent that.”

Uncertainty pricked Ouyang’s chest like a tight knot. He didn’t know how Glorious Moon felt about him.

If some nameless rule chained him to someone, he’d chafe too.

If it were him and Xi, he’d rush less; but Glorious Moon was still an outsider.

Xi nodded, violet eyes soft as dusk, then set her hand over Ouyang’s heart like cool moonlight, eyes closed, thoughts deep and quiet.

In a blink, Ouyang’s inner world fell silent. Stray thoughts faded like dust in rain. His racing mind smoothed, a lake without wind.

Chains—one by one, chains appeared from every direction, iron lines glinting like cold rivers in night.

To be exact, they surfaced from Ouyang himself, each chain’s end vanishing into uncharted distance.

One chain differed. Ouyang’s sense followed its far end; there, at the terminus, stood Glorious Moon. That chain was the causality between them.

He tugged, gentle as a breath. The chain snapped with a quiet finality.

On the first floor, Glorious Moon felt the binding cause dissolve, like a clasp opened. Yet something slipped away, a hollow note in her chest.

A face in her mind blurred like a portrait in mist, until even its features faded beyond recall.

“I meant to borrow her third-rung strength against the Ancient Turtle. But pulling her into our war feels unfair.”

“She’s a Star Spirit who just wants to watch life’s tides in peace. This cruel war… I don’t want her swept in.”

Ouyang toyed with Xi’s long hair, strands flowing like a night river, his voice low as a hush.

Yes, with someone like Glorious Moon, their chances rose. Yet a quiet feeling shadowed him.

“Maybe I won’t even be there by then. Why… why should she gamble everything for us?”

Xi shook her head, a small tide of dissent. “Be honest—you don’t want her hurt, right? Don’t try to fool me. I’m jealous now.”

Silence settled, heavy as a stone in water. He wasn’t guilty, and he wasn’t at a loss.

He simply hadn’t figured out her place in his heart—friend, or stranger?

Was it duty—she had no obligation to fight beside them? Or was it ache—he didn’t want her harmed? Xi’s words pulled him inward. He faced the question at last.

“Whatever the reason, she should stay a Star Spirit at peace. Let us fight the war that’s ours.”

“Afraid to face it? Fine… but you’re right—it’s our war.”

Xi’s violet eyes searched him, amethyst lanterns probing mist. Then a smile touched her lips, and she let their knot go.

“Xi, send me to the First Continent. I’ll talk life with the Ancient Turtle…”

The sudden request left Xi fogged, like dawn over river water. She didn’t see why Ouyang chose this, yet she trusted him.

He wasn’t the boy who needed her constant care. He stood where she stood—on the third rung. He had his reasons.

She kissed his cheek, fingers smoothing his face like silk. “Go and come back quick. I’ll start dinner. Be home so we all eat together.”

Eating wasn’t necessary for them. A meal meant more than food; it meant a circle closed, a hearth lit, warmth shared.

—

A broken sky, a torn earth—the First Continent stayed unchanged, a dead hush since the Night King invaded.

Ouyang looked toward the horizon, eyes skimming ruins like drift over ash. He didn’t know where the Ancient Turtle waited. He still couldn’t muster any power.

In the Void Illusion Realm, he’d only solved Glorious Moon’s problem. Causality kept her from straying far, so he cut that causal chain.

His own core issue remained, a knot uncut.

As Ouyang wandered, searching without a trail, a one-meter-tall giant turtle appeared ahead—small, yet heavy as a boulder in time.

Before, the Ancient Turtle was mountain-mass, a ridge that walked. Now it was only one meter high, compact as a coiled world.

It came on slowly, eyes old as tides, irises holding ages like silted rivers. One look, and Ouyang felt himself slip toward the long river of time.

It wasn’t an illusion. Another soul would have drowned. Ouyang’s soul was strong, so he didn’t drift away.

The fear lay in this—Ancient Turtle used no power. Those eyes let you sink because they’d watched too many years, like stars burning through eons.

What span of ages births eyes like that?

“Long time no see… Lord Azathoth.” In the starry sky, the oldest living being—so the Other Shore held. In all their searching, none out-aged the Ancient Turtle.

The Ancient Turtle gave Ouyang a small nod.

“Watching yesterday’s children grow up—it’s a deep comfort. You feel it too, don’t you?”

“Just like the Panworld Alliance in your hands—walking rugged years, growing step by step.”

“Falling, rising again; lost, then finding the path…”

Ouyang didn’t deny it. Other Shore’s flourishing bore the Turtle’s effort. To him, those people were his children.

“Can’t you let it go?” Ouyang asked, voice low as a wind through ruins.

“Let go…” The Ancient Turtle didn’t look at Ouyang. He gazed at the broken sky like a caged horizon.

“You don’t know how I long to leap beyond this starry cage.”

The folk of Other Shore plotted for millions of years and finally left this sky, returning to their home beyond.

He plotted longer than them. Could he not do the same?

He could—in principle.

The people of Other Shore didn’t belong to this sky at their core. So they could leave and go home.

The Ancient Turtle couldn’t. His soul bore this sky’s brand, burned in like a seal.

To leave, there are only two roads.

First, gain the administrator’s permission.

Second, become the administrator.

“I was born in a time… a cosmic era I can’t even name. Back then, the previous administrator hadn’t appeared.”

“It was a different age… Years dragged. Era after era fell. I can’t count how many have passed.”

A cosmic era lasts long enough to rot divine souls. He had lasted longer.

How did he endure—companioned by solitude, ally to silence?

“Yet pity this—my years outlasted administrators. One fell, another rose…”

“But I still can’t leave.”

“This starry sky—I’ve seen through it. I’m tired of it.”