Chapter 8: The day the tree opened

The Heavenly Realm had been quiet and peaceful since the death of Sixuan and Yingyuan.

Or so they liked to believe.

Some beings whispered that the lovers had been wronged—that death was too cruel a sentence. Perhaps exile to the mortal realm would have sufficed.

But no one dared speak such thoughts aloud. The Heavenly King had changed. On certain days, he appeared distant, grieving, like a shell of his former self. Whatever the truth was, none dared question it.

Peace, they claimed, reigned in the realm. Yet chaos visited unannounced.

With no Protector Leader to guide them, new soldiers were drawn from the ranks of lesser beings—tasked with defending the realm against demons and other threats. All it took was one death for the world to shift.

All it took was a mighty warrior dying.

The Protectors, the once revered warriors, were often seen in silent prayer. Some had retreated to the mortal world. Others gave up cultivation entirely. A few went into hiding. But all of them remembered. They believed Sixuan had been wronged, even in death.

They believed their leader had been treated unfairly.

“Like a stray dog,” some had muttered over quiet dinners, at tables now stripped of the leader’s presence—the warmth, the weight, the power.

I’ll never forgive the Heavenly King. That serpent,” a Protector spat, his voice sharp with fury.

“Don’t say that. He loved her too.”

“Love? Who in the Six Realms treats someone they love like that? No wonder you’re still alone.”

“How dare you—!”

They snapped like lightning, anger overtaking grief.

But then…

Silence.

A shared breath.

The same thought struck them both, unspoken but loud in their hearts.

If Sixuan had been there, she would’ve stepped between them with that look. That smile. That quiet power that made them feel like children.

She’d say, with that soft, teasing tone:

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“别吵了，好丢脸。”

(Bié chǎo le, hǎo diūliǎn.)

“Stop fighting. It’s embarrassing.”

And they’d shut up.

Not out of fear, but out of respect—for her, for each other, for the memory that was quickly slipping through their fingers.

They sighed.

Because she wasn’t there to stop them.

Not anymore.

A century passed.

The once watercolor-streaked skies—pink, purple, almost blue—had dulled into a golden hue. A new Sovereign King now ruled. No one knew where he came from, just as none had known the origins of Yingyuan. He was just as powerful—and perhaps more terrifying.

Whispers spread that he’d wielded hellfire within the Heavenly Realm itself.

"I know what I saw," an orchid spirit whispered to her dandelion companion. "Hellfire. The real thing."

"It doesn't matter what you saw," her friend replied. "The realm has changed. Keep quiet if you value your life."

Orchids had always been brave—often to the point of stupidity.

One of them, foolish beyond saving, dared to spy on the Heavenly and Sovereign Kings.

"Curiosity kills," Tingyuan murmured with a cold smirk before tearing out her spirit core and crushing it without hesitation.

A prophecy had arrived. One that unsettled even the Sovereign King: when the Chosen One awakens, disaster shall follow. The kings would fall, and the realms would suffer.

Who was the Chosen One?

Only time would tell.

Then, the tree—the sacred, ancient tree at the heart of the Protectors’ home—began to glow. It pulsed violently, then cracked, spilling radiant light through its bark.

With a thunderous shatter, something fell from its trunk.

It was not quite beast, not quite mortal—its skin was marred with scars, patches of green scales glimmered across its body. Its eyes opened, revealing red pupils that glowed like burning embers as a dark mist wrapped around it.

The guard at the gate collapsed, trembling as fear overtook him. He ran, stumbling and screaming, toward the elders’ pavilion.

The elders—silver-haired, robed in grace and wisdom—were in the middle of quiet remembrance.

"What troubles you, Xai?" asked one with shoulder-length silver waves.

"A beast—it has scales, red eyes, Demon magic—it's terrifying!" the guard cried, falling to his knees.

"Breathe," Elder Shu said gently. "Are we under attack?"

"No—no. It fell from the sacred tree... it—it’s..." he gasped.

Ling's eyes widened. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her robe.

"We understand, Xai. Leave this place—and speak of it to no one."

He nodded and crawled away.

"It’s her child," Ling whispered. "It’s here."

They rushed to the tree.

There, on the cold ground, lay what the guard called a beast. But the elders saw differently.

Long black hair streaked with silver. Scales tracing the curves of her skin. And when Shu lifted her gently, the dark mist shivering around her dispersed at a single whispered blessing:

"Let light seep into your bones and core, that darkness may disappear."

The mist faded. A faint smile curved on the girl's lips. Her eyes opened, and the elders gasped.

Icy blue on the left. Warm honey-gold on the right.

Yingyuan. Sixuan.

The child resembled them both.

She wasn't a newborn. Perhaps three years old, by mortal standards. As her hand rose, the dark mist pulsed outward—flowers withered, waterfalls ceased, skies darkened, and silence gripped the land.

Still, not one elder looked upon her with disgust.

"She is a gift," Shu whispered.

They brought her inside and laid her down. A heady fragrance drifted from her body—flowers, musk, incense—it made them dizzy.

"We need a seal," Tang said, producing a hairband. "The Sovereign King used this before his death. It was meant for Sixuan’s grave. But the daughter… she must wear it."

They tied it to her hair.

The world righted itself.

"She’ll wear Sixuan’s Phoenix Jade pin when she’s old enough," Ling said, voice low.

"好 (Good)," Shu nodded.

Ling stared at the child. "What shall we name her?"

A golden-haired elder stepped forward, eyes shimmering with memory.

"In the silence between stars, she was born— a jade that weeps with wisdom, moonlight drenched in longing... She is 思璇 (Sixuan) — the Thoughtful Star-Jade, whose heart once guarded realms and broke them too."

Tang added, voice like stone wrapped in silk:

"When the wind carried her name, mountains trembled— Born of sacrifice, written in stars, veiled in fire... She is 子璇 (Zixuan)—the Starborn Child, fated to awaken what even the Heavens forgot."

Shu smiled faintly. "‘Zi’—pure as a morning star. ‘Xuan’—deep as sacred spring water."

Ling nodded, a rare smirk forming. "It’s not a name—it’s a prophecy. A gem born of chaos, yet unbroken. The heavens will know her."

"She will carry her mother’s will... and shake the skies," the golden elder finished.

Together, they declared:

"Let the heavens bear witness to the naming of Yingyuan and Sixuan's child. Zixuan."