The Sunlit Coast lay in the southwest of the Central Realm, a ribbon of gold where sky kissed water. The sea it faced was the Nameless Sea, a blank page under the sun. Nameless didn’t mean its name was “Nameless.” No one had ever named it, so the horizon wore anonymity like a mist.

In time, everyone called it the Nameless Sea, a silent title drifting like foam.

No one knew where that sea ended, the way no one knew how vast the Prairie of Wishes spread. Both felt like edges of a dream that never woke.

On the beach, Ouyang lounged in a deck chair, a parasol rooted beside him like a tame palm. A small table bloomed with fruit juices, glass catching sun like petals. He wore sunglasses and stared up at blue and cloud, sky like silk over porcelain.

Who pitched this trip, anyway? The memory bobbed like driftwood. Dufei—the chubby camera hog—had puffed the idea out. Ouyang agreed first, a spark in dry grass. Glenza wrote the detailed plan, ink steady as tide. The three planned to stroll the shore, simple as shells.

Then Ou Xinxue arrived from Ancient Memory Town, and Xian heard, two sparks leaping to lanterns. Loyin and Little Sin heard next, gossip rolling like surf.

Then, out of nowhere, the other Demon Kings knew, thunder traveling faster than feet. And then even Augustine knew, as if a gull cried it over cities.

A tidy three-person day trip turned into a group meetup, a kite suddenly caught by a crowd. The trio went slack-jawed, like fish hauled into sun. A date was picked, and a swarm dropped work to chase this party like fireflies chasing dusk.

Ouyang, Glenza, and Dufei were the first to arrive, like early birds on a warm pier. The real gathering was tomorrow, but their shameless trio would never wait; they were sparks that refused buckets.

They said it, they did it. At midnight—deep night in Miracle City—they slipped out like cats. That mattered because many lands here lived in eternal day or eternal night; Miracle City breathed in dawn and dusk like a normal chest.

That night, the three hooligans smashed a window with a laugh and mounted broomsticks, bristles biting wind. They drag-raced the sky, leaving whooshing threads and moon-pale wakes, until the Sunlit Coast rose like a silver plate.

Humming, Glenza—clad in pure-black bone—buried himself in sand like a fossil. Far off, Dufei hugged a giant watermelon, green as a pond. He saw Glenza unguarded, sand swallowing skull like a gentle grave. He scraped his feet on the beach, grit sparking under soles, a runner coiling before the gun.

Suddenly, Dufei’s legs sped up. From afar, he was a gust lifting a curtain of grit. A hulking mass fell from the sky, and—boom—the earth answered, sand splashing like a startled flock over Glenza’s spot.

“You fat pig, you trying to kill me?!”

Glenza’s roar rolled across the beach like thunder over dunes. Ouyang, sky-drunk, flinched; his hand jerked, and his sunglasses flew, a black gull vanishing into glare. He turned and saw Dufei’s over-limit weight pinning Glenza like a landslide. Dufei wiggled his hips, chuckled like a bubbling pot, then ran like a spooked boar.

In flight, Dufei saw Glenza gaining, bones like spears in the wind. He hurled the watermelon behind him, green comet turning red. “Skeleton freak, don’t be so petty. I’m compensating you with a giant melon!”

“Like hell I want your damn melon!”

Glenza’s bone claw flashed, and the watermelon spun off, fate flicked by knuckles, destined for someone’s story.

Bored, Ouyang ignored the two jerks, dog against dog under the sun. His attention hooked on the watermelon, that green moon flying and flying.

It dropped, then burst on someone’s head, a red flower opening. Scarlet juice ran, and flesh scattered like rubies in sand. The victim was a handsome man, sunlight cutting him like marble, flanked by pretty women like lilies at a pond. He’d had left and right in his arms, a winner sipping sweet wind. Then, from the sky, came a watermelon, a blunt omen.

“Who was that? So rude! Lord Morris, are you alright?” one woman snapped at the air, eyes sharp as knives, yet turned soft for the man like water warmed by tea.

“I’m fine.” Morris brushed off rinds and seeds, sticky summer stars on his hair.

In a world where gods walked like mountains, a mere watermelon wouldn’t wound. Yet she worried, eyes melting, ready to spill like rain.

Ouyang burned at the sight, a spark hitting a dry pine. He slapped his palms and barked, “Bold! Doing that in broad daylight? Morals are rotting like fish left on shore. You stain the sea’s clean line!”

The woman glared at Ouyang, face dark as a storm shelf. Just then, Dufei and Glenza, mid “tag-you’re-it,” heard Ouyang’s shout. Their hatred paused like a blade held back, and their eyes locked on the man and woman, targets lit by noon.

“Normies should explode!”

Dufei seethed, a stove roaring, and flicked a fireball. It hissed through air like a wasp. Glenza yelled, “Rise, my sons!” Sand split, and a squad of skeletons in FFF Brotherhood cloaks charged, bone banners snapping like crows.

“You people are impossible!”

The woman shook with rage, a kettle rattling. She readied a strike, but Morris tugged her and ran, feet drumming like drums. Some women still blinked in confusion, deer caught by lanterns, but two—Belle and Jiangxue—called out and pulled the rest into motion, the group flowing like a brook fleeing fire.

“Belle, Jiangxue, why are we running?” other women asked, breath fraying, eyes wide as saucers. It looked like those maniacs were at fault. Why run when wind should favor them?

Belle went pale, color leaving like a tide. “They’re the least reasonable beings alive.”

They had stolen time to travel the Eternal Slumber with Aupu, that ancient name dressed in floral shorts. Who knew they’d run into three unreasonable jerks, thorn-bushes in bare feet? Morris knew the danger; he knew their folklore like wolves in the wood. Run now, or drown in nonsense. Arguing would be stones thrown at a storm.

“Lord Aupu!” Morris’s harem spotted Aupu ahead, swaggering by in bright trunks, sun painting him bronze. They cried for help, voices flapping like flags. They didn’t know why they ran, but what reason remained? If the Lord of their Civilization was here, fear should melt like frost.

Aupu glanced at Morris and the women, eyes like polished obsidian. Behind them, shouts flared—“Normies explode!” “Burn the cheaters!” “Judge them!”—like torches over a night field.

“Lord Aupu, save us!”

Finding a backbone, the harem hid behind him, chicks behind a rooster’s shadow. Yet Morris, Belle, and Jiangxue never slowed. They brushed past Aupu, no time for greetings, not even for their own civilization’s lord, urgency like a knife at their backs.

The harem didn’t know. Morris did. Those were three Demon Kings, storms wearing grins. With respect, could a single Aupu save them from that tide?

Then came the jaw-drop. Aupu, lord of the Aupu Civilization, ancient as buried roots—saw skeletons charging and a fat man barreling like a boulder. He blurted, “Holy f—!” the word cracking like thunder.

He turned and ran. No hesitation. No second glance. Just legs, sand, and speed.

Confusion lingered, but seeing Aupu run, the harem ran too, fear spreading like smoke.

“What day is this? Why did we meet them?” Morris wanted to cry, dignity slipping like a wet bar of soap. He’d heard of the FFF Brotherhood’s terror, but had never met their fire. Now he had a lesson carved like a chisel in bone.

If he had known, he would never have brought his harem to strut.

He couldn’t match Augustine in strength. Augustine was ancient god-tier, on par with a civilization’s lord, a mountain beside a hill. Morris hovered at the peak of godhood, still short of that sky. He lacked power, but he had charm; he was good at women, a fisherman with many lines.

So he’d thought to flaunt his harem before Augustine, to let envy buzz like midsummer flies.

A single watermelon sparked a disaster, a green fuse lit by sun.

Ouyang didn’t track the aftermath of the dog-and-harlot uproar that Dufei’s melon birthed. His focus hooked the sunglasses he’d thrown, a small black bird in a bright storm.

Throwing things at random proved wrong, like littering into a temple pool. Dufei’s watermelon smashed a scene full of dog-and-harlot energy. Ouyang’s sunglasses smashed into—

“Huh? Boss Ouyang?!”

The sleazy guy and Qihe had been invited to Ouyang’s castle not long ago, a brief festival under high walls. Besides Qihe, the others got hauled off by city guards for “tea,” a polite rain under iron roofs. Rabbit rescued them later, a swift white streak in the alleys, and they went wild in Miracle City for days, a carnival of neon and night-breeze.

Qihe, an outsider, finally chose to stick with the sleazy guy. Ouyang seemed promising, a man with a castle in Miracle City, a beacon on a cliff. But days in that castle showed monsters behind silk. Loyin and Little Sin, two brats with storms in their fists. Rabbit, bad-tempered, sharp as frost. And Xi, calling herself the heroine, a comet with teeth.

They were big shots one couldn’t afford to offend, thunder wearing smiles. Qihe could only leave with the sleazy guy, enemies turned buddies by bruises.