He dragged his two buddies aside, tossed them onto the beach like sacks of grain, then flopped down with them in the warm, rice-soft sand; Angsester chose a spot and lay down too—four bodies in all.

They stared up at a porcelain-blue sky and cotton-sail clouds; Kuyas, Sholasos, and Angsester all felt the storm under Ouyang’s calm, a weight hidden like stone under clear water.

“You’ve got something on your mind?” Angsester asked, voice soft as wind over dunes.

A sigh first, like tide slipping back. “Yeah. I’ve got things to handle. I may vanish for a long while. When that happens, I’m leaving this world to you.”

Angsester frowned, a shadow under noon sun. “Aren’t there big shots for that?”

“This world isn’t anyone’s property—it’s everyone’s,” Ouyang said, like a bell struck at dusk. “All our memories live here. You’re old hands now. Keep loving this land like spring rain.”

He sounded like a man tying red strings to old trees before a journey, and the air went strange and still, like a wind that forgot to blow.

After a stretch of quiet, he rose, brushed off clinging sand grains like stubborn stars. “Alright. The world’s yours for now. I’ve got old friends to visit while the light holds.”

He walked away without looking back; to the three, that carefree back looked heavy as a coat of iron, every step like a cliff-edge.

He strolled the shore like a drifting leaf, then stooped to collect his lounge chair and parasol, shadows neat as folded cranes.

“Ou-yang, over here—we’ve been waiting!” Eunice’s lively voice rang out like a bellbuoy over waves. He followed the sound; rows of loungers sat ready like shells set in a line.

A jet-black skeleton lounged on one, a straw between its teeth sipping juice; Ouyang didn’t even bother to snark, the absurdity plain as a fish on land.

Jue, Youlan, Glenza, Wutong, Feges, Devila, Moqi, Dufei, Eunice, and finally Ouyang—the gang was all here, like constellations taking attendance.

“Thanks for waiting, everyone!” he said, dropping his chair and umbrella like anchors, then jogged to Dufei’s grill, smoke curling up like ink in water.

Leaving Dufei alone felt like trusting a fox with a henhouse; he’d turn a seaside feast into a tasting of cursed cuisine, and Ouyang wasn’t having it.

Dufei clicked his tongue, a pebble on shale. “You really don’t trust me to cook? What about basic human trust, man?”

Ouyang ignored the whining like wind past reeds, checked Dufei’s spices, then tossed the whole lot into the bin, clean as a sword cut.

“Nabelia! Set us up with proper barbecue seasonings!” he called; the head maid answered like a bell and dashed off, skirts fluttering like gull wings. Leticia and Snow glanced over, then returned with platter after platter of fruit, a rainbow of cool sweetness.

“Here, fruit goes here!” Jiling popped up like a spring sparrow, Xi’s hand in hers, and directed the trays with a general’s crisp gestures.

Dufei’s sneaky hands moved like crabs under sand; Ouyang rapped his skull with a knuckle-flick, a pop like cracking a date. “You damn fatty, cut it out. After this party, I might be gone for years. By the time I’m back, it could be the Eleventh Epoch.”

That quiet hit first, like a cloud before thunder. Then Dufei slapped Ouyang’s shoulder with mock gravity, grin bright as a thief’s lantern. “Brother, safe travels. I’ll watch the girls for you.”

Murder flashed up like flint and steel in Ouyang’s chest. He didn’t have to act—karma came running. Jiling and Xi had heard it, and doom rolled in like a stormfront.

“Wait, you two, listen to me—it’s a mis—”

Ouyang waved lazily, sea-breeze in his hand. “Farewell, fatty. I’ll make sure to spend what’s left of your inheritance.”

With Dufei out of the way, Ouyang whistled for the rabbit that was drifting like a white leaf on the sea to handle the grilling. The distant Jade Rabbit’s long ears twitched, then a geyser of spray blew up; it skimmed the surface at supersonic speed, feet stitching ripples like silk.

White Cat sprawled on the sea as if it were polished jade, tail sunk like a hook into the deep. It gave Jade Rabbit a lazy glance, flicked its tail, and a fish arced up like silver lightning.

“Rabbit, grill this for me too,” it called, lounging like a lord on a summer veranda.

That effortless ease stung Ouyang sweet as envy; he too wanted to idle under sun and salt, but knowledge is a net—every knot a duty. Sometimes ignorance is a bamboo shade; know too much, and you carry mountains.

He was still envying that cloudless mindset when White Cat’s tail flicked again, and a white strip shot up like a ribboned eel.

“Meow~” The sound went sharp as a torn sail; fur stood like grass in a sudden gust. It was a snake, arm-thick and a meter long, white as bleached bone, jaws clamped on White Cat’s tail. No amount of tail-whipping shook it loose.

White Cat exploded, claws out like daggers. “You damn earthworm! What do you take my tail for? Let go of Lord Cat, now!”

Ouyang laughed, a pebble skipping. Who’d have thought that tail-fishing would pull up a Demon King? The “earthworm” was Moqi, once the Tenth Seat, and every bit the stubborn barnacle.

Moqi clamped down like a limpet, shameless as gum on a shoe. White Cat had the edge in raw power, but a bitten tail is a cursed anchor. Worse, the peanut gallery had benches and melon seeds ready, their stares a ring of lanterns. White Cat was not amused—in fact, it was volcanic.

“Meoow~” The tail whipped like a storm lash, but the snake’s jaws stayed locked, iron on silk.

Crowd three-deep around cat and snake, Ouyang claimed his lounger like a raft and closed his eyes. Warm drops hit his face, sticky as sap, and a rot-stench curled in like swamp fog.

He snapped his eyes open. “You f—ing idiot!”

His fist sent the Man-eating Flower flying, petals scattering like torn flags. He swept his gaze through the crowd like a falcon, hunting the culprit. A wish-sprite darted away, fleet as a dragonfly—not fleeing him, it seemed, but someone on her heels.

Feges, the dark elf, pursued like shadow to flame; she was slick with Man-eating Flower slime, steam rising like breath on winter glass.

Looked like Youlan’s plant had swallowed Feges earlier; otherwise the scene made no sense. Devila, meanwhile, cheered both sides from the sidelines, her voice two-faced as a weathervane—urging Youlan not to get caught, then telling Feges to nab the culprit.

That wind-following act won her no friends; both hunters marked her like hawks circling the same hare.

Kanofia could only sigh, a leaf’s tremor. Her “big bro” had been around the wrong influence too long, talking one way to people and another to ghosts. She didn’t warn him; lessons hit harder when the river’s cold.

Sure enough, Feges and Youlan braked, traded a look like crossed blades, then sheathed them and turned as one toward Devila, storm now braided into a single whip.

“Wait, you two, I was just cheering—” Devila squawked, disaster overhead like a falling star. Kanofia crossed her legs, all theater-box poise. “Run, bro, run,” she called, tossing pebbles into the pond. “Serves you right—of all habits, you picked up Ouyang’s weird ones.”

Flat on his lounger, just watching the waves, Ouyang still caught a stray, the blame landing like bird droppings from a clear sky.