Despite the rumors and gossip swirling through the heavens, inside Ling Yuan Palace, all was calm.
The cold, silent halls — once untouched for countless years — now echoed softly with the sounds of a young girl's laughter and quiet learning.
Until one day, the peace was shattered by two uninvited guests.
Yanxia and Qingfeng, driven by equal parts curiosity and mischief, trailed after Wenlan like stubborn shadows.
When they stepped into Ling Yuan Palace and laid eyes on Xiao Zhu for the first time, both froze in place.
A collective gasp left their mouths.
There, seated obediently at a low jade table, was a tiny girl in soft white robes, her dark hair pooling like silk behind her, her face exquisite and pure — a pearl polished by the heavens themselves.
In an instant, they were lost.
Yanxia rushed forward first, her voice coaxing, almost pleading, "I'm Yanxia, little one. What a cutie... Why don't you become my disciple instead? I can take better care of you than that ice-block over there!"
Mo Chen's gaze darkened, sharp and cold as a blade of frozen steel.
He did not speak, but the air around him plummeted several degrees.
Yanxia, utterly immune to his deadly glare, simply beamed brighter, reaching out as if to pinch Xiao Zhu's soft cheek.
Before she could, Qingfeng — with considerably more tact — caught the back of Yanxia's robe and gently tugged her away.
"Enough," he chuckled, dragging her two steps back.
"You'll scare her, storming in like a wildfire."
Xiao Zhu blinked up at them with wide, open curiosity, her luminous eyes reflecting the soft light like still water.
Qingfeng turned his gaze to Mo Chen then, scrutinizing him with mock seriousness.
Even without words, Qingfeng's amused glance said it plainly:
"Who would've thought? The ice-block has a weakness after all."
It was a rare sight indeed — the cold god who refused all companionship now quietly hovering like an ice-coated guardian near a tiny spirit girl.
Interesting.
Qingfeng's lips curled into a teasing smile as he knelt to Xiao Zhu's eye level.
"Little one, if your Master ever bullies you, come find me," he said, voice low and teasing.
"I'm much better at sneaking treats and telling stories, you know."
Xiao Zhu tilted her head, considering it with grave seriousness.
From his seat, Mo Chen narrowed his eyes further, a dangerous chill rising.
Wenlan, patient as ever, clapped her hands lightly, cutting off any further nonsense.
"Enough," she said, her voice soft but firm. "She's in the middle of her lessons."
Yanxia pouted dramatically but retreated.
Before being properly shooed out, she bent down, grinning mischievously, "Little one, if you're ever bored, come find me! My palace is just nearby!"
Qingfeng laughed and grabbed Yanxia's wrist again, pulling her along.
As he passed Mo Chen, he shot him another teasing smile —
before vanishing with a flick of his sleeves, Yanxia in tow.
Silence settled once more over Ling Yuan Palace.
Lessons continued.
And under Wenlan's gentle, patient guidance, Xiao Zhu flourished.
She learned quickly.
Within days, she could already form proper tones when speaking — her once-stumbling pronunciations now smooth and soft as falling petals.
She grasped the basic methods of channeling spiritual energy into her body:
Opening the conduits in her meridians.
Circulating Qi slowly toward her lower dantian.
Storing it carefully like filling a shallow pond, not forcing, not rushing.
Whenever her energy trembled or strayed, Wenlan would crouch beside her, gently adjusting her hand posture or guiding her breathing with soft, encouraging words.
"Imagine the energy as water, Xiao Zhu," Wenlan explained one afternoon. "You don't seize it. You cup it — and let it flow naturally."
Xiao Zhu nodded gravely, her small brows knitted in determination.
Even Mo Chen, from his usual quiet distance, could not deny — she was exceptional.
After one particularly smooth session, Wenlan sat back and said with clear, genuine admiration, "Xiao Zhu is a natural. Give her a few thousand years — she might very well become a proper fairy."
A true fairy —
one step away from immortality,
and from there… who knew how far her path could reach.
Mo Chen remained silent at the side, his expression unreadable.
___
Wanhua Palace —
The Palace of Ten Thousand Blossoms.
Here, every flower that ever existed — and many no mortal had ever seen — bloomed in endless, deathless splendor.
Peach trees bowed heavy with fruit; plum blossoms scattered fragrance like woven silk; rare orchids, camellias, magnolias, and peonies thrived in a ceaseless cycle of eternal bloom.
Time itself seemed reluctant to touch this place.
Lower-ranked flower fairies —
Peony Fairy, Magnolia Fairy, Orchid Fairy, Lily Fairy —
tended the endless gardens, their laughter light as drifting petals.
At the heart of it all, reclining within a hall woven from crystal blooms and living vines, was Goddess Yunhua.
She reclined languidly on a chaise lounge carved from white jade, her form draped in flowing robes the color of mist-kissed petals.
In one slender hand — pale and flawless as the finest mutton-fat jade — she lifted a delicate wine cup to the light, tilting it back and forth, watching the liquid within catch the glow of a thousand blooms.
Her gaze, however, was far away.
Lost in thought.
She had always believed that no one could move Mo Chen's heart. And truthfully, that had been just fine.
If she could not have him, then no one else deserved to.
After all, she was Yunhua, Goddess of Flowers, crowned by beauty beyond compare.
Among all the heavens, who could stand beside her as an equal? Only Mo Chen — cold, untouchable, flawless as the winter moon.
No one else.
And yet...
A little girl had appeared.
Who was she?
Where had she come from?
Yunhua's grip on the wine cup tightened ever so slightly, the porcelain creaking faintly in protest.
She needed to know.
She could not — would not — allow some unknown, low-born creature to disrupt the balance she had so carefully preserved.
Her expression smoothed once more into perfect serenity.
Setting the cup aside with a graceful flick of her fingers, she turned slightly and called out:
"Peony."
From the shadows between the flowering pillars, a fairy clothed in robes of deep rose and gold hurried forward, bowing low.
"Your Highness," the Peony Fairy murmured respectfully.
Yunhua's voice was soft, even indulgent — but within it carried a quiet steel.
"Look into the rumor for me. Investigate this... disciple. I want to know everything."
Her red lips curved into a faint smile — beautiful, but cold as frost upon the spring blooms.
"Where she came from. What she is. What she intends. And above all — how to make her disappear."
The Peony Fairy trembled slightly under that smile.
"At once, Your Highness," she whispered.
With a flutter of perfumed sleeves, the fairy vanished into the gardens, her figure swallowed by endless fields of flowers.
Yunhua leaned back once more, trailing her fingers lazily through the air.
The vines above her shifted in the breeze, raining soft petals onto her hair and lap —
a picture of perfect, eternal beauty.
And yet, within her, a storm was beginning to brew.