Dawn arrived quietly, brushing pale gold across the mist-wrapped plains. A soft drizzle had fallen in the early hours, leaving dew clinging to every blade of grass in the Meng family's backyard. The small guest house they had been given sat against the slope of a green field that stretched endlessly, dotted with young bamboo and wild chrysanthemums.
Jiang Lu Ci leaned against the window sill, arms folded loosely, his gaze tracing the curve of the distant mountains. Morning light scattered through the mist, laying a gentle shimmer across the fields below. He had seen countless peaks from the Heaven Cloud Woven—peaks gilded with celestial aura, draped in divine radiance—but none of them breathed the way this mortal landscape did. There was no perfection here, only life. Imperfect, unpredictable, yet quietly beautiful.
Behind him, Xing Yue lay on the bed, perfectly still, pretending not to meditate. The book in her hand glowed faintly from its inner pages—Chronicles of Legends.
The cover bore a faded golden sigil, one she recognized. A symbol she had once seen etched into the stone walls of a forgotten temple above the Eastern Clouds.
It wasn't exactly a Buddhist book—though mortals might call it so—it was a compilation of ancient battles, lost dynasties, and the rise and fall of celestial heroes. Each page told a story not of gods, but of men who once defied them.
Xing Yue turned a page, frowning slightly. "Lu Ci," she called.
He didn't turn. "Why?" His tone sounded like a sigh.
"Who is General Chu in the mortal philosophy?"
"I don't know," he muttered. "I never cared for their history. My master already nags me for not understanding celestial law—why would I fill my head with mortal names?"
Xing Yue smirked. "That's right. You only know how to drink yourself into stupidity with Monarch Lu Shen."
He shot her a look over his shoulder. "And here you are, reading a mortal's book like it's a heavenly scripture. Shouldn't it be telling you who General Chu is?"
The silence that followed was peaceful, punctuated only by the rustling of the wind outside.
"Still," Lu Ci said after a moment, his tone softer. "You should see this. The mountains—look at how they breathe."
She glanced up from the book, following his gaze. The slopes were wrapped in sheets of green mist, each movement of the wind revealing new folds and ridges, like the sleeping back of some colossal dragon.
Xing Yue blinked, unimpressed. "We have mountains that float in the Heaven Cloud Woven. Why are you fascinated by this?"
"I think I've found my calling."
"Your calling?"
"Yes. This place… it feels older than the world itself, yet it still stands. Beautiful in its imperfection."
"You're boring," she muttered, going back to her book.
Before Lu Ci could retort, a soft knock sounded at the door.
When they opened it, a young maid stood outside, bowing politely. She couldn't have been more than eighteen, her plain cotton dress still damp from the morning mist. She held neatly folded garments in both hands.
"Forgive the disturbance," she said in a lilting tone. "My mistress sent me to deliver these. The gatekeeper told her you arrived hungry and weary last night. The master invites you to breakfast with the family."
Xing Yue's face brightened immediately. "Please, thank your master for his kindness. Tell him we will be honored to join." She bowed deeply, and Jiang Lu Ci followed with a nod.
The maid smiled. "Then I shall prepare your seats." She curtsied and left, leaving behind the faint scent of jasmine soap.
A little later, they emerged from the guest house, clad in the garments the maid had brought. The fabric was coarse and simple, dyed a pale blue, but comfortable. For immortals accustomed to robes of cloud silk and celestial threads, this simplicity was oddly grounding.
They followed the maid through a narrow garden path bordered by lotus ponds and moss-covered stones. Morning glories crept along the fences, and a paper lantern swayed gently in the breeze.
When they reached the main hall, the aroma struck them first—warm, savory, and rich.
Inside, a long wooden table stood in the center, already filled with dishes of every kind. The Meng family sat waiting: the master of the house, a tall man with streaks of gray in his hair; his wife, pale but radiant despite her recent childbirth; their five other kids already eating, and two young maids bustling about, refilling teapots and arranging bowls.
Xing Yue blinked. "This… is breakfast?"
It was a feast.
Before them were plates of steamed mandarin fish, glazed with ginger and scallions; braised pork belly shimmering in a honey-sweet glaze; lotus root soup with red dates and goji berries; fried tofu with five-spice sauce, and a platter of jade dumplings that glistened like pearls.
Beside them, the dessert trays offered sweet osmanthus cakes, sesame balls filled with lotus paste, honeyed chestnuts, glutinous rice rolls dusted with coconut, and crispy almond pastries.
The fragrance filled the entire hall — a blend of soy, ginger, sugar, and tea.
Jiang Lu Ci hesitated before sitting. Xing Yue, on the other hand, had already forgotten her celestial composure. She clasped her hands, thanked the hosts politely, and began tasting everything within reach.
The mistress of the house laughed softly. "You must be hungry, young one. Please, eat as you wish."
Lu Ci exhaled and finally sat, eating more carefully.
After a while, the mistress asked gently, "I heard from the gatekeeper that you arrived late at night?"
Lu Ci placed his cup down and rose, tugging Xing Yue up with him. "Yes, that's correct. We apologize for the disturbance."
He paused, then added with solemn courtesy, "And congratulations on your safe delivery."
The Meng couple exchanged confused looks.
"The old man at the gate mentioned your condition," Lu Ci explained quickly. "He told us to keep quiet for the mistress's rest. We meant no intrusion."
The woman's confusion melted into laughter. "Ah, that's kind of you to say. Thank you. Sit, both of you. Please, eat."
Relieved, they obeyed.
The breakfast carried on pleasantly. Xing Yue chatted brightly, asking harmless questions about the town, while Lu Ci listened quietly, his eyes occasionally flicking to the courtyard beyond. There, he could see a faint golden glow flicker behind the curtains of a distant room — where the newborn child rested.
As the scent of tea filled the hall and mortal laughter echoed faintly through the air, both immortals knew one thing: this was no ordinary family.
The essence they felt last night had not faded. If anything, it had grown stronger.
___
By the time breakfast ended, a thin veil of sunlight had slipped through the wooden screens, painting soft gold upon the Mengs' dining hall. The laughter of servants echoed faintly from the courtyard, and the faint smell of tea leaves lingered in the air long after the cups had been emptied.
Xing Yue dabbed the corners of her lips with the linen cloth offered by a maid. "That was splendid," she sighed. "If mortals eat like this every day, perhaps reincarnation wouldn't be so terrible."
Jiang Lu Ci gave her a look. "You'd get tired of it by the third bowl."
The mistress of the house chuckled at their banter. "If it pleases the two of you, you are welcome to stay until your journey calls you onward."
They bowed again with polite gratitude, offering words of thanks before being escorted back toward the small guest house.
The courtyard beyond the main hall was alive with morning. Servants hung freshly washed sheets, chickens pecked the gravel, and the breeze carried the faint tinkle of a wind chime. Yet beneath it all, Lu Ci could still feel it—that hum beneath the air, soft but insistent, like the vibration of an unseen string.
He slowed his steps.
"Do you feel that?" he murmured.
Xing Yue tilted her head. "Feel what?"
"The air." He glanced toward the corridor to their right, where a set of silken curtains swayed lazily. "There's a resonance here… faintly spiritual."
She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, her irises glimmered faintly with silver qi. "You're right. It's coming from the inner room."
The maid walking ahead of them turned. "Is something wrong, honored guests?"
Lu Ci smiled, the polite, disarming kind. "Nothing at all. Just admiring your courtyard's tranquility."
The girl blushed and hurried forward again.
Only when she was out of earshot did Xing Yue whisper, "The energy is too refined for a mortal household. It's not demonic, but it's… restrained. Like something sealed."
"Or someone." Lu Ci's tone lowered.
They continued walking until they reached the turn where the path split—one way leading back to their guest quarters, the other deeper into the Meng residence. The faint pulse of energy beckoned from the latter.
"We can't be reckless," Xing Yue said, though her curiosity burned. "The Heavenly Emperor gave us orders to observe mortals, not terrify them."
Lu Ci's lips curved slightly. "Observation often requires proximity."
She groaned softly. "You're going to ignore me again, aren't you?"
But he was already moving.
They stopped before a modest chamber. From the carved beams above the door hung red silk charms, fluttering in the draft. Tiny runes shimmered along the threads—protective seals, simple but ancient, drawn not by a priest but by someone who understood balance between qi and mortal breath.
"A mortal drew these?" Xing Yue murmured, inspecting one. "Impossible. These markings belong to the Era of Celestial Pulse, five thousand years gone."
Lu Ci reached out a hand and felt the faint vibration against his fingertips. "Whoever placed this, they knew the old ways. Look—see this curvature? It's used to mask aura, not repel it. Someone's hiding something here."
Inside, a faint cry sounded—a baby's.
The two exchanged a glance.
Xing Yue hesitated first. "If we enter, we risk altering fate lines. The child's essence could still be forming."
"Then we'll look, not touch."
He lifted a hand, forming a light veil of invisibility—nothing powerful, just enough to blur mortal eyes. They slipped silently through the thin crack between the sliding doors.
The room within was dim, lit only by the faint flicker of an oil lamp. The scent of sandalwood lingered, mixing with that gentle sweetness unique to infants.
On the bed, the child slept wrapped in pale silk. His face was serene, but there was a faint glow around him—not golden, not white, but a soft shifting hue that changed with every breath: azure, crimson, then silver.
"The Five-Elemental Flow," Xing Yue whispered. "No mortal child should have this essence. Not even newborn spirits exhibit such balance."
Lu Ci stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "This is no ordinary birth."
Suddenly, the glow flared briefly—as if sensing them. The oil lamp flickered, shadows leaping across the wall. From the air, a protective talisman activated, faint symbols swirling like gentle fireflies before fading again.
Xing Yue stepped back instinctively. "The house has a guardian ward!"
Lu Ci frowned. "A ward that reacts only to divine energy. Which means—someone expected immortals to come."
The baby shifted, a tiny smile forming on his lips even in sleep. The glow softened again, retreating inward, as if he were aware of their gaze and amused by it.
They stood there in silence, unsure whether to bow or flee.
Finally, Xing Yue whispered, "What manner of being laughs at birth and dreams of qi five colors deep?"
Lu Ci's answer came quiet and grave. "One born between heavens and earth… or one returning from them."
They retreated quietly, sealing the door behind them.
As they walked back through the courtyard, the morning sun had climbed high, scattering the mist. Everything seemed ordinary again—servants tending flowers, the sound of distant chatter, the clatter of pots in the kitchen.
Yet, for both immortals, the scent of that room lingered in their memory—like old incense burning before a shrine of forgotten gods.
"Lu Ci," Xing Yue said softly, "do you think this was the reason the Heavenly Emperor sent us here?"
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes were still on the sky, where faint traces of divine energy were already dissipating.
"No," he said finally. "But I think the reason is about to find us."