Heaven did not announce its decisions.
It never needed to.
When punishment came, it arrived already justified.
Ling Yue stood alone at the edge of the Celestial Court, white clouds rolling endlessly beneath her feet. The sky above was too blue—too perfect—for what was about to happen.
She knelt because she was told to kneel.
She lowered her head because that was what fairies did.
She did not understand her crime.
Before her, the immortals stood in quiet rows, their expressions unreadable, sleeves heavy with authority. At the highest step sat the Mother Goddess, Hua Yun, her presence calm and unbearable all at once.
"Ling Yue," a celestial voice echoed, neither cruel nor kind. "You are charged with interfering in the cycle of fate."
Ling Yue's fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves.
"I don't remember doing such a thing," she said honestly.
A murmur rippled through the court.
"You do not remember because memory itself is the issue," the voice replied.
Her heart thudded painfully.
At the edge of the assembly, Xuan Li—the Fairy of Records—lowered her gaze, fingers tightening around the fate scroll she carried. The threads within it trembled uneasily.
Hua Yun finally spoke.
"Step forward."
Ling Yue obeyed.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
And in that instant, something unspoken passed between them—
regret, love, and resolve woven tightly together.
"You have touched a thread that should not have been touched," Hua Yun said gently. "And because of that, Heaven must respond."
Ling Yue swallowed. "What is my punishment?"
Silence fell.
Then—
"You will be sent to the Mortal World."
Her breath caught.
"You will be stripped of your memories," the voice continued. "Your divinity sealed. You will live and die as a human."
Ling Yue's knees weakened.
She had expected pain.
Perhaps confinement.
Not erasure.
She lifted her head instinctively, eyes searching for Hua Yun.
"Will I… come back?" she asked quietly.
Hua Yun did not answer immediately.
When she finally did, her voice was soft enough to break the sky.
"That depends on you."
---
Far from the Celestial Court, in the shadowed depths between realms, Ye felt the shift.
It was not thunder or fire.
It was absence.
The bond he had guarded in silence—
the light he had watched from afar—
It was being torn away.
Ye rose from his throne of obsidian, shadows recoiling around him.
"They're touching her fate," he said calmly.
Shen Luo, his general, stiffened. "My king—Heaven has no jurisdiction here."
Ye's lips curved faintly. "They never cared about jurisdiction."
Without waiting for permission, he stepped into the void.
---
Back in Heaven, Ling Yue stood within the Formation of Descent.
Golden runes circled her feet, already beginning their work.
Her memories trembled at the edges, like frost creeping inward.
She suddenly felt afraid.
Not of dying—
But of forgetting.
Hua Yun descended the steps.
She stopped just before the formation.
"Mother—" The word slipped out before Ling Yue realized she'd spoken it.
The court stilled.
Xuan Li's breath hitched.
Hua Yun's expression did not change, but her eyes softened painfully.
She raised her hand and brushed Ling Yue's forehead.
"Forgive me," she whispered, too softly for the court to hear. "This is the only path where you survive."
Light flared.
Ling Yue's vision shattered.
---
Ye arrived too late.
He saw only the remnants of light dispersing into the Mortal World.
His shadow lashed violently, cracking the air.
"Heaven," he said quietly, "you always move like cowards."
Chains descended instantly, reacting to his presence.
"You will not interfere," a celestial voice thundered.
Ye did not resist.
Instead, he smiled.
"Then punish me."
The court recoiled.
"I will descend," he continued. "Voluntarily."
Murmurs erupted.
"To follow her is forbidden!"
"To love her is forbidden!"
Ye lifted his gaze, eyes dark and steady.
"Then forbid it," he said. "I will still go."
Somewhere beyond Heaven itself, the Supreme God stirred.
For the first time—
It noticed Ye.
---
Ling Yue fell through darkness.
When she opened her eyes again, the sky was gray, the air cold, and her body unbearably heavy.
She gasped.
Cried.
Lived.
Above her, unseen, a single black feather drifted downward—
And fate rewrote itself.