The child was ridiculously adorable, though his personality was 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 was 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 drifting down from his wings. “What?”
“You’re Lucifer’s son, aren’t you?”
The little angel frowned. “Who said that?”
“No one. I figured it out myself. You look a lot like him. You’re not his son?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh, good. What a relief.”
The little angel arched a brow, his expression suddenly far more seasoned than his years should allow. “Oh? And why’s that?”
“He’s so full of himself.” But the moment I said it, I realized this kid wasn’t exactly a model of humility either. So I chuckled and added with a wink, “Listen, li’l 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 like me who’s always had a soft spot for kids, was seriously disarming.
I couldn’t help but recall a girl I once pursued 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 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 what that girl’s words, a warmth welled up in my heart. I reached out to pat the little angel on the head:
“Where do you live? I’ll walk you back.”
He paused for a moment, then subtly 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 a long stare—making sure I wasn’t joking—he finally lifted his tiny chin and said, “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 fond you are of kids, there’s a limit. I grabbed a binder clip from the table and clamped it onto three of his right-side 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 strange 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.
The little rascal 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 he wasn’t there. Seemed like he 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 something about the atmosphere today felt… off. The way people looked at me didn’t seem quite right either. Maybe I was 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,” they replied.
I quickly stopped another one. “Excuse me, do you know the class schedule for the Level-Six angels?”
“Sorry, I don’t know.”
“Then do you know where I could check it?”
The angel still wore a faint smile. “No idea.”
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.” What was more unsettling—every angel around me was smiling. Their eyes flicked toward me, deliberately yet subtly. Some even pointed at me. But whenever I looked at them directly, they’d pretend to be chatting 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-winged angels, 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 been today? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Caro didn’t seem to hear me. He kept talking to the angel next to him.
I walked closer. “Caro—”
He didn’t look at me, just 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. Then 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 moved too fast and slipped out of reach.
The others around us, some left, but many kept watching. A few even stopped mid-step to stare.
“First it was buttering up to Lord Metatron, now it’s Lord Raphael—wonder who he’ll cozy up to next.”
“I guess I’ve been wrong about Caro all along…”
“Yeah, poor Caro, ending up with a friend like Isar.”
“Have you heard? Isar disappeared for a whole month—no one knows where he went. But apparently, even Lord Raphael didn’t get mad about it. So maybe…”
They exchanged knowing smiles.
It was clearly still morning, yet I felt completely drained.
Just where had these rumors come from?
I was clearly doing nothing, yet rumors like this were already flying—just what kind of enemies had that dummy Isar made in the past… I skipped my 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 was face-to-face with a pair of enormous blue eyes.
Startled, I shot upright. “You again?!”
“What are you up to?”
The little angel had his left arm cradling his right elbow, his right hand’s knuckle gently propping up his chin, and his body tilted just so. If a beautiful girl posed like this, it would drip with charm. If a handsome young man did it, it would exude elegance. But done by a four-head-tall kid…
My face froze into a Mona Lisa smile. I held back laughter so hard I nearly gave myself a stroke. “You are way too cute.”
Hearing my praise, the little angel’s face darkened like soot. 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-girlfriend once told me it’s best not to sigh—because every time you sigh, an angel dies. I remembered a buddy once told me it’s best not to sigh—because every time you sigh, a million white blood cells die.
And I remembered someone once told me: don’t sigh, because every sigh chips away at your confidence. Always remind yourself—you are capable of anything.
“Don’t sigh,” said the little angel. “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—you are capable of anything.”
I… did I mishear? Did this child just read my mind?
His lips curled into a smile, but there was 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 ten times in return, do you think he’ll still pretend you aren’t there?”
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,” he said, calm as still water, “I’ll kill 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. He made my skin crawl. I was still trying to figure out how to respond when he turned his gaze on me, as if looking down on something utterly beyond saving:
“I know you could never do something like that. But at the very least, remember this: Pursue your own dream. What others think doesn’t matter.”
Pursue my own dream?
As Li Bin, my dream was simple: graduate smoothly, pass the ACCA exam abroad, then return home to earn a million-yuan salary and marry a beautiful, independent woman, living 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 was 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. His blue eyes were clear and bright, yet carried an unexpectedly elusive depth.
“…Ruthfel.”
Ruthfel. It felt like I’d heard that name somewhere before.
He must be destined to become a famous archangel one day—that was probably why it sounded so familiar.
Ruthfel 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 fully 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, Ruthfel 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.
Ruthfel 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—it’s that I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand something this simple? You can cast a fireball, right?” Clearly, that last part was sarcasm.
But I really couldn’t. I shook my head honestly.
Ruthfel was expressionless. “Then how did you even become a Power?”
Now that was a deep question.
I yawned, took out a mirror, squatted down to untie my boot laces, 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.”
Ruthfel 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. Ruthfel 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 smiling 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 Ruthfel’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 Ruthfel 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 it could possibly 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, the rich, creamy scent filled my nostrils.
Ruthfel 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 were struggling 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 that’d be easy. Heavenly Language, Divine Numerics, and Celestial History only require written exams. But for magic, it’s all practicum. How much do you know about fire magic?”
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.”
Ruthfel 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,” Ruthfel 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’d 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 child.
Ruthfel paused for a moment, then opened his palm—five slender, tiny fingers. “Different types of magic focus energy in different ways. If you pay close attention when casting, you’ll notice the power flows from the heart to the 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, slid into his palm. A burst of fire flared up, as intense and vibrant as midsummer blossoms.
I stared at the flame in awe. “Amazing! What spell is that? It’s beautiful!”
“It’s 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. And yet he pulls off every element like a master, far better than me, the so-called “professional.” Ruthfel 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?”
Ruthfel 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 currently creating humans?”
“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?”
Ruthfel 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. Hurriedly, I changed 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 force 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 Ruthfel’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.
Ruthfel didn’t seem thrilled to let me touch them. He shivered and pulled them back. “That’s because my power’s still too weak.”
“Ah, I see…” I mumbled, sprawled out on the bed, my eyelids already too heavy to keep open. “You sure know a lot for a li’l farthead… tell me more about Heaven…”
Ruthfel 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 Ruthfel.
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 the Lower Realm, each one 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 moved into the Hall of Radiance 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 was worn and faded in places. Yet every line, every stroke seemed to carry a yearning that crossed the ages.
Author: Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
~
