After much fussing—and a few final touches applied by Yanxia—Xiao Zhu was finally ready.
Wenlan, smiling softly, adjusted a few loose strands of her hair. Yanxia stood proudly, hands on her hips, as if she had orchestrated the entire look herself.
At last, they each took one of Xiao Zhu's hands and walked with her toward the main hall of Ling Yuan Palace.
There, waiting, stood Mo Chen.
Dressed simply—as he always was—yet if one looked closer, details emerged. His light-blue robe, understated at first glance, was embroidered with silver thread in drifting cloud motifs, visible only when the light caught them just right.
His long black hair, usually left loose, was gathered with a silk ribbon the color of frost-veiled skies.
He looked unapproachable, distant—ethereal, like a god sculpted from frost and ice.
Laughter echoed behind him. Mo Chen turned, and in that moment—time stilled.
Xiao Zhu stood like a celestial rabbit descended from the moon—a young maiden sculpted from pure light and starlit snow.
She was breathtaking, like a flower on the verge of bloom—delicate, ethereal, untouched.
Her eyes, wide and dark as polished inkstone, held the clarity of still water under moonlight. Fringed by long lashes curved like butterfly wings poised for flight, they shimmered with quiet curiosity.
Her face, soft and finely shaped, gleamed like carved white jade. A vermilion mole bloomed beneath her right eye—like a single petal fallen upon porcelain, an accidental grace. And on her brow, the faint pearl mark pulsed with soft light, adding a layer of divine mystery.
Though her stature was small compared to many gods and fairies who would soon surround her, she carried a quiet presence—like new bamboo, slender but unwavering.
She was beauty at its purest—not adorned to dazzle, not crafted to conquer—but quiet, instinctive, impossible to forget.
Wenlan coughed lightly.
Mo Chen blinked.
Then, with practiced ease, he exhaled quietly, the motion barely visible, shoulders straightening as if resetting his thoughts.
Xiao Zhu stepped forward with a soft smile, fingers gently clasping the sleeve of his robe.
"I'm sorry, Master," she said sweetly, a trace of guilt lacing her voice. "I tried to match you, but… nothing I had felt quite right."
Mo Chen looked down.
Only now did he truly take in the gown—not just its beauty, but the pattern itself.
Moon petals. Starlight embroidery.
This was not Xiao Zhu's choice. Nor was it Yanxia's style.
His gaze flickered—only for an instant.
Then, a subtle chill settled into the hall.
This… this was Xingyao's work.
Behind the sleeve of his robe, his fingers curled, caught between emotions he could neither name nor dismiss.
For a brief moment, a feeling unsettled him, slipping beneath his skin like a shift in the wind.
"Master?" Xiao Zhu tugged lightly on his sleeve. "Aren't we going soon?"
He looked down, meeting her gaze—the same wide, trusting eyes as always.
And in spite of himself, he softened.
The tension dissolved.
"…Mn." He nodded once.
He held out his hand, and without hesitation, Xiao Zhu placed hers into his. Her eyes curved into bright crescents.
From behind, Wenlan and Yanxia exchanged a knowing glance.
They smiled—the quiet, knowing smile of women who had seen hearts thaw without a single word spoken.
And so, they departed.
___
The journey was brief—riding clouds laced with spiritual wind, guided by talismans sent from the Celestial Court.
Xiao Zhu, cradling Yuebao in her arms, could barely contain her wonder.
Her gaze swept in every direction, marveling at floating palaces, celestial birds, and rivers that shimmered through clouds like molten crystal.
Mo Chen watched her, silently.
He had seen all of this before.
Yet, through her eyes—it felt new again.
Before long, they arrived at the heart of the heavens—Yu Huang Palace.
Suspended between heaven and eternity, the palace floated atop the sacred peaks of Kunlun, its towers pulsing with jade light. Walls were inscribed with ancient celestial scripts, glowing softly with protective qi.
The entryway to the banquet hall was guarded by twelve divine beasts, an archway carved from meteorite crystal, constellations embedded deep into its surface.
Inside, the scent of heavenly incense lingered—soft, calming—while the vaulted ceilings above swirled like galaxies shifting in motion.
Here, the gods gathered.
Lesser immortals in fine robes, fairies draped in silks that shimmered like moonlight on water, high gods whose presence bent the very light around them.
At the far end, atop a throne carved from lotus crystal, sat the Jade Emperor—the ruler of the celestial realms.
Xiao Zhu's eyes, wide with wonder, taking everything in.
Her footsteps slowed.
The anxiety pressed against her skin before she even understood it.
Mo Chen, sensing her hesitation, adjusted his pace—just enough for her to stay close.
Then the air shifted.
A hush swept through the hall like a frost-dusted wind.
Whispers bloomed across the banquet like flame.
"Is that—"
"Lord Mo Chen…"
"He came?"
Heads turned.
Eyes widened.
Even those who called themselves high gods paused.
It had been centuries since Mo Chen last graced a banquet with his presence. Wrapped in robes of frost-blue embroidered with silver threads that caught the light like ice over moonlit lakes, his tall figure radiated quiet power. Cold, refined, untouchable.
But it was the girl walking beside him that drew every gaze.
"Who is that?"
"A new fairy?"
"Did he finally take a disciple?"
"She's wearing moonloom silk—look at that gown."
Xiao Zhu felt the stares —felt the anxiety building up within her chest.
She looked up at Mo Chen in alarm, only to find that his expression hadn't changed. Calm. Cold. Unshaken.
And yet, when he glanced down at her, just for a moment—something in his gaze softened, almost imperceptibly.
A quiet reassurance.
"Stay close to me."
The moment passed. The whispers continued behind fluttering fans and half-covered sleeves.
And then—
A second wave rippled through the air.
This one is brighter, lighter, like starlight brushing across water.
A different kind of hush.
A different kind of awe.
Xingyao had arrived.
He descended not by cloud nor beast, but by light itself—trailing the shimmer of distant constellations, his long white hair flowing like silver threads unspooled from the heavens
As he walked, stars flickered in the wake of his steps, leaving behind an imperceptible glow, as if the universe itself recognized him.
If Mo Chen was the silence of a snowbound lake, Xingyao was the night sky over it.
Fairies gasped.
Several goddesses stood.
"Lord Xingyao—"
"He never comes to these—"
At first, his gaze was distant, scanning the banquet hall without emotion.
And then—
He saw her.
Xiao Zhu.
Beside Mo Chen.
Dressed in the starlight gown he had chosen.
Smiling with soft wonder, unaware of the threads of fate knotting invisibly around her.
A rare shift passed through him.
Small.
Almost imperceptible.
But for those watching closely—
A starlit smile curved Xingyao's lips.
Light. Fleeting.
And devastatingly beautiful.