The news of the Heavenly Demon's newborn sons spread throughout the inner palace in a single day, and across all of Tai'an by the next. To ensure the world would hear of it, sect servants stood before the countless Taoist pilgrims at Mount Tai and shouted the announcement—an act that demonstrated the sect's power and scorned its enemies.
The First Lady sat in her villa, gazing at the spring scenery. A large pond lay in her courtyard, where attendants tended to lotus flowers from small boats. For the First Lady, everything had to be flawless.
A servant approached with news: the Third Lady requested an audience. The First Lady had expected visitors. She turned to the servant and said, "Prepare the pavilion."
The servant hesitantly reminded her that the Third Lady was waiting, but the First Lady replied, "If someone seeks something from me, the least they can do is stand on their feet a little longer."
Now she waited in the pavilion as a beautiful but discontented woman approached, greeting her reluctantly before sitting down.
"Greetings and blessings upon the sect and its leader," the Third Lady began. "You must have heard the news as well."
The First Lady answered with a confident smile, "You mean the birth of Ling Yue's children. Not only did she fail to produce a daughter, but she gave birth to sons—two strong, healthy boys at once. Someone who had no children now has two sons." She paused. "But why are you upset? Your son is already four years old. Though I understand—if he were fourteen, he might still be scorned by two ten-year-olds, just as his mother was scorned before Ling Yue."
The Third Lady, after gritting her teeth for a moment, turned to the First Lady and asked, "Why are you so confident in your daughter? If you side with my son, in the end, we can divide the spoils between us. But Ling Yue was never truly part of the sect from the beginning. She and her sons will show no mercy."
Without hesitation, the First Lady pointed toward the large pond. A young girl stood upon a lotus leaf and, at her mother's silent command, dashed twenty paces across the water's surface to the pavilion. The First Lady placed a hand on the young girl's head and said, "My daughter, escort the Lady to the villa's entrance."
Now the Third Lady understood the source of her confidence. As she reached the gate, she knew: a child of twelve had already reached the rank of a first stage warrior.
In the Fourth Lady's quarters, the midwife was alone with the infants, dressing them while chanting their names like a rhythmic poem: "Zhan and Lan. Sun and mist. War and storm."
And in their minds, the twins shared a single thought: Shut up, you hag.
Zhan suddenly smiled. Lan thought to himself, Maybe he really is just a baby. But Zhan was simply happy to have realized, after two whole days, that he was truly a boy. Still, he had no patience for the midwife's poetry.