The kid’s ridiculously adorable, but his personality is a handful. And with a face so strikingly similar to Lucifer’s, I couldn’t help but grow more certain of my suspicion that he’s Lucifer’s illegitimate son. Before long, he’d relaxed and was buzzing around the room like a little bee. While I casually tidied up the bed, I asked offhandedly, “Why don’t you go back to Lucifer?”
He abruptly braked midair, a few soft baby feathers drifted down: “What?”
“You’re Lucifer’s son, aren’t you?”
The little angel frowned: “Who said that?”
I smoothed out his willow-leaf brows: “Figured it out myself. You look a lot like him. You aren’t his son?”
“Of course not.”
“Ah. What a relief.”
The little angel arched a brow, his expression suddenly far more seasoned than his years should allow. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“He’s so full of himself.” But right then, I realized this kid wasn’t exactly a model of humility either. So I said, all smiles, “Lil bro, being all high and mighty isn’t something to be proud of. Don’t go picking up his habits, okay?”
“I think he’d be very interested in hearing what you just said.”
The little angel’s sky-blue eyes curved into two crescent moons, a look that, to someone who’s always had a soft spot for kids, was seriously disarming. I remembered a girl I once went after for half a year. She had always been distant and indifferent, until one day she saw me out shopping with my little cousin in my arms. After that, she suddenly invited me to dinner. She eventually went abroad, but before leaving, she still said to me, “I think a man as kindhearted as you is bound to find happiness someday.”
I still believe that no matter what one goes through, one must hold on to kindness and compassion. Remembering that girl’s words, a warmth welled up in my heart. I patted the little angel on the head and smiled gently:
“Where do you live? I’ll walk you back.”
He paused, then dodged my hand. “No need.”
“Then sleep here? I’ll take you home tomorrow.”
“I said, no need!”
“Either I walk you home, or you stay here tonight. Pick one. Don’t give me this ‘no need’ nonsense.”
“You can’t win against me in a fight.”
“Fine, then knock me out and sneak off, or I’ll feel too guilty if someone kidnaps you.”
The little angel’s lips pressed into a tight line. After staring long and making sure I wasn’t joking, he finally lifted his tiny chin: “Bring me a separate bed.”
I pointed to my own: “I’m skinny, and you’re so small. There’s room.”
“No. Find me another one, or I’m leaving.”
I shoved him onto the bed, but he fluttered his wings and flew right back up. I pushed again, he flew again. No matter how much you like kids, there’s a limit. I grabbed a binder clip from the table and clamped it onto three of his right wings. Off balance, he flapped a few times with the left but couldn’t stay airborne and plummeted straight onto the bed.
I hung up his jacket, chuckling when I saw the six wing-holes neatly stitched into the back of that fine little coat. Ignoring the weird look he shot me, I turned off the lights and climbed into bed.
In the darkness, those big eyes blinked at me. The little angel lay flat on his back, hands resting outside the blanket, and muttered like a grumpy old man: “This bed isn’t comfortable.”
“Quit whining and go to sleep,” I shoved his hand back under the covers.
Little farthead was as fast at running off as he was at throwing lightning. By the next morning, he was already gone.
I got up, ran my fingers through my messy hair, cleaned up and went to look for Caro, only to find him not there. Probably had gone to school early.
I didn’t have friends at Divine Law, so as soon as I arrived, I started looking around for him. There were still plenty of angels comparing themselves to each other, as usual, but the atmosphere felt off. The way people looked at me didn’t seem quite right either… Maybe I’m just paranoid.
Just then, an angel walked toward me. I stepped up and stopped him. “Excuse me, do you know where the Level-Six angels—”
“Sorry, I don’t have time,” the angel smiled lightly.
I quickly stopped another one. “Excuse me, do you know the class schedule for Level-Six angels?”
“Sorry, don’t know.”
“Then do you know where I’d find it?”
The angel still wore that small smile: “Don’t know.”
I went on to ask several other passing angels, but nearly all their answers were the same: “Don’t know,” “No time,” “Don’t bother me.” And every angel around me was smiling. Their eyes flicked toward me, deliberate yet subtle (TLN: “若有若无” – like “it’s there but it’s not there”). Some even pointed. But whenever I looked at them directly, they’d pretend to chat about something else.
Even with my thick skin, being brushed off this many times was starting to get under my nerves.
Just then, Caro walked by with a group of four-wings, chatting and laughing as they went. I was so excited I almost ran up to hug him. From quite a distance away, I called out, “Caro! Where you’ve been today? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Caro didn’t seem to hear me and kept talking to the angel next to him.
I walked closer. “Caro -”
He didn’t look at me, yet continued gesturing animatedly to his companion. “Really? I didn’t even see him last time I was in Jerusalem. Are you sure? Under Lord Lucifer’s statue? No way. I must’ve been blind…”
I had never seen him talk so much. His expression looked forced too. And then, when we were finally face to face, he sidestepped me, walking right past.
I reached to grab his sleeve.
But he walked too fast and slipped out of reach.
Some of those around and staring at me had left, but many kept watching, a few even stopped mid-step.
“First it was sucking up to Lord Metatron, now it’s Lord Raphael. Wonder who he’s going for next.”
“So I was wrong about Caro this whole time…”
“Yeah, poor Caro, ending up with a friend like Isar.”
“Haven’t you heard? Isar disappeared for a whole month to who-knows-where, and Lord Raphael didn’t even get mad. So maybe…”
They exchanged knowing smiles. It was clearly still morning yet I already felt drained.
Just where had these rumors come from?
I haven’t even done anything and rumors were already flying; just what kind of enemies did this dumbo Isar make in the past…
I skipped the first class and sprawled out in a big X-shape on the lawn, thinking over a mess of things that only left me more and more lost. When I finally opened my eyes from a dazed half-sleep, I came face-to-face with two enormous blue eyes.
That jumpscared me right back up. “You again?!”
“What do you think now?”
The little angel’s left arm cradled his right elbow, his right hand’s knuckle gently propping up his chin, his body tilted just so. If a bishoujo posed like this, it’d drip with charm; if a bishounen did it, it’d exude elegance, but done by a four-head-tall kid…
Wearing Mona Lisa’s smile on my face, I held back laughter so hard I nearly gave myself a stroke. “Lil bro, you’re way too cute.”
Hearing my praise, the little angel’s face darkened to charcoal. I sat up straight, pulled him onto my lap, hugged his neck tightly, and ruffled his fluffy hair with my fist. But no matter what, my mood just wouldn’t lift. I sighed.
I remembered an ex telling me it’s best not to sigh, because every time you sigh, an angel dies. I also remembered a buddy telling me it’s best not to sigh, because every time you sigh, a million white blood cells die.
And I remembered someone telling me: Don’t sigh, every sigh chips away at your confidence. Always remind yourself: I can do anything.
“Don’t sigh,” the little angel said. “Every sigh chips away at your confidence.” He didn’t like looking up at people so he only lifted his gaze slightly. “Always remind yourself: I can do anything.”
I… did I mishear? Did this kid just read my mind?
His lips curled into a smile, but there was absolutely no mirth in his eyes:
“They hate me. They don’t want me to exist. So, tell me, does that mean I’ll disappear?”
I shook my head.
“If someone slaps you, and you stab him back ten times, do you think he can keep on ignoring your existence?”
Hearing that, I couldn’t help but shiver. Then I bonked his round little head with a flick: “Farthead, you’re seriously out of line. What if the whole world does something to hurt you? You can’t go around getting revenge on everyone.”
“If the world disappoints me, then I’ll kill it.” (TLN: It really isn’t “then I’ll destroy it.” He says ‘杀 (i.e. kill)了它 (it)’, not ‘毁(destroy)了它(it）)
The little angel’s smile deepened but instead of warmth, it exuded a predator’s indifference. For a second, he no longer looked cute at all but made my skin crawl instead. I was still trying to figure out how to respond when he looked at me like I was something utterly beyond saving:
“I know you’d never do something like that. But at the very least, remember: Go after your own dreams. What other people think doesn’t matter.”
Go after my own dreams?
As Li Bin, my dream was just: graduate smoothly, pass the ACCA exam abroad then return home to earn a million-yuan salary and marry a beautiful, independent woman, live the life of a rising star in a developing market economy.
But Isar… his dream was probably to follow the Supreme One unto death.
Neither of these dreams are very realistic, yet somehow, the little angel’s words made me feel better. I reached out and patted his head, smiling:
“You still haven’t told me your name.”
He paused for a moment, blue eyes clear and bright, yet carrying an unexpectedly elusive depth: “…Rucifel.”
Rucifel. It feels like I’ve heard that name somewhere.
He must be destined to become a famous archangel one day, that’s probably why it sounds so familiar.
Rucifel turned into a total tagalong that afternoon. No matter how many hints I dropped, he refused to leave. And since Heaven’s education system is totally free, anyone can audit a class as long as there’s a seat, I couldn’t even use “going to class” as an excuse to shake him off.
I entered the Fire Magic classroom with him in tow. Calling it a classroom didn’t quite do it justice; it was more of a circular hall. The professor stood at the center, delivering her lecture through a three-dimensional projection of magical theory, while students sat in a ring of seats around her, completely surrounding the space.
We sat in the front row, Rucifel next to me. He was so short that, from the edge of the desk, only his big round blue eyes and half of his fluffy head were visible. He looked so pitiful that I simply pulled him onto my lap. He stopped talking, probably resenting that this compromised his masculine dignity.
Once he sat higher, people around us started turning their heads to look. They whispered to each other about how miraculous it was that such a small, beautiful child was attending an advanced magic class. What they didn’t know was—this kid’s magic was advanced enough to teach the professor…
The lecture began. Within half an hour, I had completely collapsed.
“The founder of Burning Hand was His Highness Jesus, the Left Wing of God. The key to mastering this magic lies in the second clause of Timothy’s Law: extracting immense heat from high concentrations of fire elements to stimulate intense movement and transformation of the primordial magic within the divine race.
Please note that the constitution of divine beings is entirely different from that of demons, and thus the fundamental nature and principles of fire magic differ as well. Most fire magic used by demons originates from the lunar-based flames of Hell, whereas ours stems from the solar-based fire of Heaven. Therefore, do not purchase books on demonic magic.
Additionally, you all know that fire is the most aggressive and extreme of the four elements—its strengths and weaknesses are equally pronounced. This is why we often use it in offensive magic…”
Who said magic is some mysterious force full of immense power? Here, everyone could use magic. If someone couldn’t, people would look at them the way they’d look at a talking toad. And with the instructor explaining the theory so clearly, so dryly, whatever lingering sense of mystery magic once had completely evaporated.
Rucifel tapped my hand with his knuckle. “If you don’t want to listen, then leave. Stop wasting time.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to. I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand something this simple? You can cast fireball, right?” That last part clearly sarcastic.
But I really couldn’t. I shook my head honestly.
Rucifel was expressionless. “Then how did you even become a Power?”
Now that’s a deep question.
I yawned, took out a mirror, and squatted down to untie my boot laces. I tied the mirror to the top of my foot, then stood up and whispered in his ear, “Let me teach you how to be a real man instead.”
Rucifel still looked confused.
I lay on the table, playing with a quill.
Before long, the female lecturer wearing glasses came over. I grinned and stretched out my foot.
“The power of Burning Hand is equivalent to the energy of a volcanic eruption. It stimulates the internal energies of the body to collide with each other. When one side cannot withstand the force, it dives downward and melts under the high temperature. The molten byproducts, lighter ones rise, heavier ones sink. As the energy continues to compress, even more powerful energy is produced…”
The lecturer stopped beside me and began reading from the textbook to our section.
I winked and pointed at the top of my foot, taking in the scenery beneath the professor’s skirt. Rucifel leaned over, looked at me helplessly, before clearing his throat in his cute voice:
“Professor, your shoelace is untied.”
The professor turned to him, eyes widening at first, then smiled slightly. “It’s not good to lie, little one. My shoes don’t have lace… lace…”
I pulled my foot back.
But not fast enough.
What followed was a rapid alternation between burning heat and icy cold across my face, repeated about ten times. The professor turned her severe face toward me.
“Isar, stay after class.”
Smiling and nodding, I pinched Rucifel’s hand hard under the table.
I was kept behind for about an hour, half-listening to an extra lecture on common decency while mentally plotting how to make Rucifel suffer for it later. But by the time I finally came out the hall, that little brat was already gone.
Then came rehearsal. Metatron wasn’t around, so the atmosphere was as awkward as could be. Especially during the scenes with Gabriel. Things were so tense, the very air felt frozen.
At last, when I was free, I went to talk to Caro about what had happened earlier. But the moment he opened the door and saw me, he slammed it shut.
Honestly, communicating with Caro was important under the circumstances, but after such a long day, I was too exhausted to even form words, so I gave up and just went back to my room to crash for the day.
The moment I opened my door, a rich, creamy scent filled my nostrils.
Rucifel was sitting on my bed, dressed in loose white pajamas, sipping a cup of milk. He was flipping through my Celestial History at lightning speed, faster than Caro could flip his mood. A whole stack of papers had piled next to him, and his little legs looked like they about to give out under the weight of the massive book.
This brat was getting bolder by the minute; he’d already started treating my place like his own home.
Seeing me enter, he even put on the airs of a host, lifting his chin. “Sit.”
I walked over slowly and sat down, doing my best to suppress the overwhelming urge to give him a good thrashing. I forced a smile. “What are you doing here, li’l farthead?”
“Which subject do you find the hardest?” he asked without even looking up.
“Everything except Divine Numerics.”
“Then it’ll be easy. Heavenly Language, Divine Numerics, and Celestial History only require written exams. But for magic, it’s all practicum. How much fire magic do you know?”
I held out my hand and, after thinking hard for a while, finally recalled a spell Caro had taught me. A small flame ignited in my palm. “Just this.”
Rucifel stared at me for a long time.
I smiled back at him for just as long.
Truth be told, I’d heard bits and pieces about Isar’s academic performance from others. Supposedly, because of his excessive ambition, he studied with a kind of reckless intensity. Not only was his magic among the strongest of his rank, its temperament was also exceptional. If not, no amount of bootlicking would’ve stirred up that much resentment.
Reaching Isar’s level probably required a patience I didn’t have.
“You don’t have to teach me all this. Even if I fail the exams, it’s not a big deal.”
“If you pass the exams, you’ll be a Virtue and earn your four wings,” Rucifel said. Seeing my twisted expression, he added, “Of course, unlike last time, you’ll earn them through your own strength. The wings will be bestowed through prayers and blessings.”
——Even he’s heard of Isar’s past?
He closed the book and took a sip of milk. A ring of it clung to his lips. I wiped it away for him, unable to help thinking that for all the maturity he tries to put on, he’s still just a kid.
Rucifel paused for a moment, then opened his palm—five slender, tiny fingers. “Different types of magic focus energy differently. If you pay close attention when casting, you’ll notice the power flowing from heart to fingertips, and then to the release point. For example, with fire magic, it’s most obvious in the beginner spells.”
As he spoke, he quietly muttered an incantation. Suddenly, a crimson glow lit up his index finger then slid into his palm in a blink. A burst of fire flared up, intense and vibrant as midsummer blossoms.
I stared at the flame in awe. “Amazing! What magic is that? It’s so pretty!”
“The same fire spell you casted earlier.”
I froze.
How old is this kid? Judging by his demeanor, he doesn’t even specialize in fire magic. Last time he zapped me, I’m pretty sure it was thunder-based. Yet he pulls off every element like a master, far better than me, the so-called “professional.”
Rucifel closed his hand and said, “Your exam’s coming soon. Passing it in a short time isn’t impossible, just follow my instructions.”
“If I fail… does that mean I’ll be sent back to Jerusalem?”
Rucifel nodded without hesitation.
I shut my eyes in despair. It felt just like Adam and Eve being cast out of Eden… That thought suddenly sparked a question: “By the way, is God creating humans recently?”
“He’s assigned the related tasks. Jesus has already gone to search for the ideal plain on which to establish Eden.”
“Has the man’s name been decided yet?”
“Yes. Adam—he’s already been created. Lilith’s appearance, however, hasn’t been finalized.”
“What about Eve, then?”
Rucifel looked puzzled. “What Eve?”
Right, I guess in this world, Lilith was the first woman. But for some reason she eventually left Eden and became the consort of the fallen Lucifer. Then God created Eve. I nearly let that slip. I hurried to change the subject: “So what does Adam look like?”
“Like Lucifer. Nothing to see there.”
Wasn’t it said that Adam looked like God?
“Then what does God look like?”
“God is the supreme power of the entire universe. He has no fixed form. Even when He occasionally takes shape, He never lets anyone see His face.”
“So you’re saying God can appear however He wants?”
“Not just God. All archangels can change their appearance too. But for recognition’s sake, everyone tends to stick with their natural form.”
I’d heard something like that from Caro before, but Rucifel’s background made it all even more intriguing. “…How do you know all this?”
“Because I have six wings.”
“Why are your feathers that color?” I gently pulled one of his wings forward and ran my fingers through it. Six small wings, soft and velvety like silk, comforting to the touch.
Rucifel didn’t seem thrilled to let me touch them. He shivered and pulled them back. “Because my power’s still insufficient.”
“Ah, I see…” I mumbled, sprawled out on the bed, eyelids already too heavy to keep open. “You sure know a lot for a li’l farthead… tell me more about Heaven…”
Rucifel poked my shoulder with his small hand. “Don’t sleep yet. Finish reading your textbooks first.”
“You continue. I’ll listen…”
I could only feel the faint tremble of my eyelashes before my eyes closed for good.
Just as I was slipping into sleep, I vaguely heard a soft rustling beside me, like the quiet scratch of a pencil gliding over paper.
It seems I’ve spoiled Rucifel.
Ever since then, he’s started showing up at my place every couple of days, and honestly, I didn’t have the heart to turn away such a cute kid, so I let him stay. It wasn’t until later that I realized the little guy had a passion for drawing.
One day, I was curious and decided to check out what he’d been doodling, planning to offer some praise that would inspire a learning child. But the moment I saw his work, every word of encouragement died in my throat: most of his drawings were grand portrayals of the majestic architecture of Heaven and desolate landscapes of Demon Realm, each so fine it could be displayed in the Louvre. I eagerly pinned a few on my wall, only for him to look at me like I was some kind of peasant.
Tens of millions of years later, I would move into the Hall of Splendor where Lucifer had once lived. From time to time, I would admire the murals that adorned the vast palace, gaze out at the mist beyond the windows, and take in the brilliance scattered among white clouds and blue skies… In the end, my eyes would drift back to a single penciled sketch at the very center of that painted vista: a young man curled up with a pillow, lying at the edge of a bed, his short, wavy hair tousled, quietly asleep, lost in a dream as sweet and innocent as youth itself.
The paper is worn and faded. Yet every line, every stroke seemed to carry a yearning that crossed the ages.
Translator’s notes:
- Rucifel’s name: [includes identity spoiler, only scroll and read if you don’t mind]
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[note on translation of name, spoiler] The original is 路西斐尔 (lu-xi-fei-er / “Lucifel”, or “Lucifeeeeeeelle” if you really want to drag out the 斐尔) which, ahem, yes, is only one extra character away from 路西法 (lu-xi-fa / “Lucifer”). While it’s much more reasonable / believable to miss the wordplay in Chinese due to the names having 4 syllables vs 3, I could not in good conscience render it “Lucifel” in this translation because… well, if you’re a college-educated MC, would you really not immediately make the connection between “Lucifel” and “Lucifer”?? T^T Isar can’t be that dumb (right…? xD jk we love bby)
Author: A fan of TLZY & JZYZ
Translating
