Though Jiling looked relentless, she suddenly waved it off and stopped tangling with Anatasya’s issue, like a dragonfly skipping to a new ripple.

Anatasya hunched her neck like a timid turtle. When she saw Jiling let it go, she breathed out a thin fog of relief.

She was afraid of Jiling, the way a mortal laughs off “gods” without knowing the mountain’s weight. A Demigod near the divine feels the cliff’s height. Anatasya had peered into the river of time and learned too much, so her fear grew like frost.

“I’ll come back tomorrow…”

Head still tucked, Anatasya whispered and backed away, leaving space for Ouyang and Jiling, fleeing the pressure like mist before the sun.

“Mm. Remember to come tomorrow. Everyone will be here, lively as a festival.” Ouyang waved, and then it was just the two of them. Silence pooled between them like dusk tide.

In the end, Ouyang broke it. “Ling, how’d you know I was here? I told them the meetup is tomorrow.”

“Because…” Jiling narrowed her eyes, honey in her voice. “Because you, dummy, always come early. The First Cult burned you deep. You’d hit the beach ahead of time and rig traps in the sand.”

Her guess was almost on the nose. Why did Ouyang, Dufei, and Glenza rush here early—just to wait like stones?

Of course not. They came early to meddle with the beach where the gathering would be, like ants tunneling under a picnic.

“Ahem, ahem…” Ouyang coughed, eyes skittering like guilty fireflies. “Nonsense. Am I that kind of guy?”

“Yes.”

He had nothing. Jiling chuckled, clapped his shoulder, and spoke solemnly with a smile in her eyes. “And you didn’t tell me? That’s not very loyal. Pranks are my favorite candy.”

Seeing her eager grin, Ouyang remembered—this girl was a little witch, bright as a fox.

“I was going to tell you. Who knew you’d show up before I could?”

They stared at each other, then laughed for no reason, like wind chimes in a sudden gust. Laughing turned to tears for Jiling, and Ouyang fell into quiet shadow. “Ayang, I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I wanted to face it alone, but…”

But… She didn’t finish, yet Ouyang heard the hinge creak. Every “but” is a door: one story ends, and a new chapter opens like dawn.

He pulled her close, the way they did as kids when one cried and the other offered a small shelter. He spoke softly, a warm ember in the night. “It’s okay. We never blamed you. Because of you, we lived like legends and painted our lives in bright colors. Believe me, a few will grumble, but most won’t blame you.”

“And what must be faced still must be faced. Both I and it know that. It will face it because it can’t let go. I’ll face it because that’s how we’ve always been.”

“When we were kids, I slipped out of the orphanage one night. You found me and sat with me, shivering in the north wind till morning.”

Jiling looked at his serious face and suddenly snorted a laugh, like a spark in dry grass. “You make sense, but I still feel guilty for dragging you all down…”

If he didn’t shift the topic, she’d keep circling that guilt like a moth to a lamp.

“Ling, can there be only one Administrator?”

“Mm. One universe, one lamp on the peak.”

“No loophole?”

“None. Absolutely certain.”

That puzzled Ouyang. He remembered that guy Mapleleaf. From what he’d learned, Administrators weren’t just one, but several—maybe even double digits. So cheap?

He voiced the doubt. Jiling’s face went odd, then clicked into place. She ground her teeth. “Most likely… those bastards occupied Administrator seats in other universes.”

Not every universe has an Administrator. Only a civilization grown to a certain height births one. Her guess wasn’t smoke—it was fire.

Ouyang pictured the Eleventh Epoch ahead, cold as starlight. Those tumors would punch into other universes, find ones without an Administrator, then swap in their own, like weeds taking a garden.

Of course, it wouldn’t be that simple. You’re an outsider and want to be an Administrator? The cosmic rules would reject you like a body rejects a thorn—erase you if you’re lucky. They must have a way, but Ouyang didn’t know the key they used.

“They’re tumors, rotting wherever they go. Who knows how many universes they’ll poison in that future?” Ouyang covered his face and mourned half a heartbeat, a candle flicker for himself. If his guess was true, they were already harming other multiverses. And him?

If he didn’t push now, how would he survive when that winter came?

Jiling’s face shifted like clouds and then cleared. She exhaled a long sigh. “You’re right. Tumors. Look at this universe. They even lured that turtle out of its lair. They wrecked the Divine Continent, shook the rules to near-collapse, and when they left, they left a rupture in civilization like a broken spine.”

Ouyang’s fist tightened. If those people stood here, he had no doubt Jiling would swing first and settle accounts.

“Forget it. Enough talk. Let’s set some traps and wait.”

He switched tracks and put his prank into motion. After a while, he noticed Jiling wasn’t helping. She stood to the side, grinning like a cat at a fishbowl.

“Don’t be the peanut gallery. Get over here and help. I want this to sear into their memory.”

“Nope. I like watching you clown around.”

Ouyang: “*…%$#@”

“Alright, I’m teasing. I’m going to find Aurora to discuss something. Relax, I won’t spill a word about your mischief.” She waved and walked off, light as a breeze.

Watching her back fade like a falling leaf, Ouyang kicked the pit he’d just dug. Useless now. Counting on Jiling not to sell him out? Dream on.

In big things, Jiling knew what mattered. In small stuff, she’d absolutely throw him under the cart. Back in grade school, every prank he pulled, she stepped up and reported him, neat as a bell.

All told, Jiling loved to cross him. In others’ eyes, she was a model girl; only in front of Ouyang did her true impish face show.

After years of sparring mind to mind, Ouyang would never believe she wouldn’t sell him out on the little things.