The “Sun god” being recalled now by Xia Ze—and indeed, by the entirety of the Divine Domain—was none other than Hexin.

This was Hexin’s first time activating the [Sun god] character card.

Watching the golden city slowly take shape before his eyes, he couldn’t help but marvel—
So this was the calibre of one of the nine Supreme Deities?
No matter which universe it was, the entrance effect alone looked like it burned through the entire budget.

Golden light spilled down from the heavens, sweeping away the dead stillness of the land before converging around him.

Even without a mirror, Hexin could feel the changes taking place.
The most immediate was the black hair brushing his cheek—turning into strands of brilliant gold, as if sunlight had taken solid form. At some point, he’d changed into ornate robes, luxurious in colour, the gold accents gleaming in the interplay of light and shadow. Armlets, a circlet, sunwheel-shaped motifs—his entire look shimmered with divine radiance.

This outfit and styling—damn, it was way too familiar!

Hexin wasn’t a native of this universe. He came from Blue Star in the 22nd century, and he was an actor.
He had just wrapped on a massive original mythological drama called god of gods—a production so grand, with such explosive funding, powerful team, stellar script, music, and costume design, that it took the internet by storm the moment it aired, turning Blue Star upside down.

Due to the script’s structure, Hexin played all nine main gods himself, and went on to become the youngest Best Actor in Blue Star’s history.
Then a car accident threw him into this universe.

And with that came a system—self-proclaimed “Divinity Awakening System.”

It could convert faith into power, and once he gathered enough, he’d be able to return home. The system would serve as his observer, recorder, and, when necessary, aid provider.

Honestly, it was a hell of a deal. Of course, Hexin said yes.

Thanks to his acting career, he came with a decent faith reserve. The [Sun god] card was the first one he unlocked with that currency.

—Yes, that [Sun god]. The same role he had played in god of gods.

Hexin remembered the director’s words clearly when they were filming:

“This character isn’t the most beautiful, but he has to be the most striking. He’s the centrepiece, the face of the series. Every poster, every ad—he’s the one front and centre. So the costume? As flashy as we can make it. He has to be stunning. Dazzling. Overwhelming.
Accessories? Real gold. Real jewels. We’re not faking anything—we’ll show our sincerity by throwing money at it until it radiates.
And your job? Own him. Dominate the screen. Be him.”

Back then, the production spared no expense. But now that the system was the producer?

It was taking “extra” to a whole new level.

Hexin raised a hand, watching the embroidered gold thread along his sleeve catch the light—like a river of stars flowing over fabric.
Or rather… it looked as though actual stardust had been stitched into his clothing.

And then—on the system panel only he could see—the character card loading bar ticked from 1%… all the way to 100%.
The golden particles that had surrounded and shielded him burst outward like fireworks—revealing an entirely new world before him.

[Character Awakening Progress: 100%. All divine permissions verified.]

The system delivered its final line:

This form—
Is the Sun god.

---

From ten thousand years ago until now, the Divine Domain had never been this bright.

Even though the land was still a barren wasteland, the presence of sunlight gave it a majestic, desolate grandeur.
The jagged shadow-mountains that once loomed in the mist now revealed their sharp, awe-inspiring forms.

The city—newly descended—became the centrepiece of it all.
It stood alone between heaven and earth like the most arrogant of giants.
No one could force its gates.
No one could trespass its realm.
No one could mark it with their presence.

—Except for one.

The moment that golden figure appeared, the entire field—Xia Ze included—fell abruptly silent.

But it wasn’t the silence of stillness. It was the silence of magma running just beneath the surface—ready to erupt at any second.

The three great gates of the city, once tightly shut, now stood wide open for that singular arrival.
For a moment, it felt like even the proud and haughty city itself had broken into a cry of unrestrained joy.

Xia Ze watched as the figure approached from afar.
He looked at him as if staring into the sun—his eyes stung and welled with tears, yet he refused to look away.
His comms had gone dark—cut off. In a place like the Divine Domain, that was a life-threatening situation.
But he didn’t care.

In truth, Xia Ze felt like he had fallen into a dream. He was sluggish to react to anything.
He had faced death and survived. He was a warrior trained to remain calm in mortal peril.

But now—he could not stay composed.

He had, without a doubt, just failed the most basic instinct of survival.

Xia Ze tried to move his fingers—only to realize they were already trembling.
Cramped. Sore. Spasming.

—So no, this wasn’t a dream.

—He really… had met a Supreme god.

Hexin, meanwhile, had no idea Xia Ze was there—nor did he care about the state of the man’s inner world.

As the light surrounding him faded and his vision cleared, what greeted Hexin was a sky and earth crowded with myth-era beasts.

The smaller ones were too many to count.
But there were also massive creatures—each the size of a mountain—with gleaming, vertical pupils, their irises glowing with eerie light. Their eyes stung with dryness, yet not a single one dared blink. They all stared at him. Unmoving.

…To be honest, if it were anyone else standing here, they’d have pissed themselves already.

Hexin managed to hold it together solely thanks to the iron discipline of a professional actor.

Because the moment he put on this costume—
He was the Sun god.

And the Sun god… could not break character.

Then it hit him.

The creatures in front of him—their designs, the aesthetic—they looked incredibly familiar.

…Weren’t these exactly the Divine Domain monsters from god of gods??

No way he was wrong. After all, the production team had shelled out serious money for high-end CGI and a whole lineup of monster suits just to get these guys on screen. He’d even messed around wearing a few of them himself.

Which led him to one disturbing conclusion: this desolate, barren wasteland he’d landed in… was probably the actual Divine Domain.

But how the hell had the Divine Domain ended up like this?

What happened to the promised grandeur of the gods’ kingdom? Where was the epic splendour?
System, are you sure you didn’t beam me into the wrong movie set?

He could accept that [Sun City] was a summonable set piece that came with the Sun god role card—no surprise there. But the monsters, the terrain, the Divine Domain itself… Was this really a foreign universe he’d transmigrated into?

A creeping suspicion bloomed in Hexin’s mind.
A suspicion so terrifying that if he poked at it even slightly, it might explode into a blood-slick truth he wasn’t ready to face. A truth so big, so loud, so horrifying that he might laugh himself insane.

—So he decided not to think about it.
For now, he had a scene to play. (Yes, play.)

Because standing there, looking around, aside from the wilted Divine Domain and missing crowd of background gods, everything was uncannily identical to that episode in god of gods—the one where the Sun god makes his first appearance, bathed in light, receiving the pilgrimage of all living creatures.

And Hexin? He had the script memorized.

The golden-haired, golden-eyed deity stirred from what seemed like a long slumber. In the space of a breath—one moment he stood at the edge of a faraway world, the next, he crossed the threshold of the golden city.

He walked the grand avenue as if he had tread it a thousand times before, his bare feet landing soundlessly on the sunstone path. Dust dared not cling to him.

The city, towering like a giant, shuddered at the touch of its god. Its brickwork trembled with delight, and the golden bells hanging along its walls rang out in frenzied chorus.

The sound cascaded in waves, and at once, every creature gathered outside the gates awakened.

And through the opened doors, they beheld the golden god walking straight toward the high throne.

Xia Ze watched it all unfold and—somehow—he knew what the god would say.

“The sun does not pause in its journey. I intend to walk among the mortal world.”

The Supreme god’s voice sounded exactly like the records, as if whispered into Xia Ze’s ear.

“Warrior, you who have endured countless trials to reach me—if you stand now before my throne, then fate has guided your path. You shall decide where I go next.”

Hexin sat upon the throne, gazing down at the only human among the thousands of beasts.
He could see the steady stream of faith points pouring off him—and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned back in the golden sunlight, eyes half-lidded in contentment.

This one’ll do. Hello, walking ATM.
Since he had no clue about the layout of this universe, he’d just let the kid toss him a location. ASAP, please.

Xia Ze slowly looked up—
And the god was looking back.

Even across a vast distance, even through that blinding radiance, Xia Ze knew the god saw him.

The moment the god had spoken, every living creature had prostrated themselves to the ground in reverence.
The giant anaconda closest to Xia Ze trembled with such fervour that its scales buzzed—
Ah, even a scrap of attention from the divine was an honour beyond compare.

After all, in the glorious golden age—before the nine Supreme gods had slumbered—creatures like them didn’t even qualify to look upon the gods, let alone be in their presence.

Xia Ze couldn’t see his own face. But he heard the quiver in his voice.
Later, he’d realize he’d never lost composure this completely before.
He was like a sunflower—trembling, reverent—reaching for the light.

“Please… come to my planet.”

He said,

“It’s called Baihe.”

“It’s only a small, obscure border planet, but the ruler of the Baihe system’s star cluster is a newly crowned king of the Celestials.”

Technically, this wasn’t something Xia Ze should have said.
He was a warrior, yes—a good one, with top-tier combat ability. But just a warrior.
By choosing to stay behind on Baihe Star to protect his weak, impoverished homeworld, he had long since closed the door to power, to influence, to ever rubbing shoulders with those elite, untouchable beings at the top.

But this was the Sun god.
That changed everything. He could say anything.

Hexin perked up at the mention of the “Celestials.”
…Wait. Hold on. Didn’t the Sun god create a race called the “Celestials” in god of gods??

That can’t be the same ones, right? This was supposed to be an entirely different universe, wasn’t it?!

“This isn’t a different universe,” said the system breezily.
“I assumed you’d figured it out by now—this is the world of god of gods. Just… ten thousand years later.”

Surprise!

Hexin: “…You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier?!”

System: “Isn’t it so thrilling?”

So he wasn’t just in a new world.
He was in his own world.
Except now he was the legendary dirtbag god who’d ghosted his own creations for ten thousand years.

And the remaining eight role cards in the system? If they were also from the show—

What kind of cosmic misery simulator is this?!

The Sun god lowered his gaze.
His molten gold eyes shimmered with something deep—something that didn’t quite reach the surface.
When he finally spoke, there was a quiet complexity in his tone that no one could name.

“What kind of king… is he?”

Xia Ze, well-read in myth and epic, immediately understood what the god meant.
Even across such a span of time, even for a Supreme god, a creator might still hold a lingering affection for their own work. (Hexin: No, I don’t.)
Just as the Celestials, even now, still clung to the name of their divine father.

Xia Ze, moved by his own imagined poetry, gave an answer that was honest—if gently embellished:

“He is a fierce and sovereign ruler. One who rules alone. Worthy of the name you gave him.”