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Shi Luoyi was already the long-awaited “little empress” of the divine realm, for whom they had waited a thousand years. Their Divine Lord had once given his life for her, and now, nestled within her precious belly, was another treasure. The entire divine realm practically revolved around her.
The process of nurturing little Qilin was a lengthy one.
Unlike cultivators or mortals, the little Qilin required an immense amount of divine power to be born.
The entire divine realm treated this as a matter of utmost urgency, fearing that the young prince might not be able to emerge safely from his mother’s womb. They scoured the world for rare treasures and divine materials, delivering them to Shi Luoyi.
Even Houmi, when seeing Shi Luoyi now, would cautiously ask: “Is Her Majesty feeling unwell today?”
He was terrified that she might grow uncomfortable and abandon the task.
Shi Luoyi shook her head.
It wasn’t she who felt unwell—it was Bian Lingyu. As the Divine Lord, he naturally bore no small burden. The Demonfall Pool’s calamity would take at least several decades to settle, and Bian Lingyu had to periodically deal with the newly conscious fallen demons emerging from beneath the seal.
Sometimes he returned late at night, and Shi Luoyi, half-asleep, would see someone by her bedside transferring divine power to her.
When she opened her eyes, he would lean down and gently kiss her cheek.
Shi Luoyi would reach out her hands to Bian Lingyu, and he would lift her up, taking her to the rooftop of the divine realm to watch the glowing lights.
This was her favorite scene after ascending as a cultivator.
In the darkest moments of the eternal daylight of the divine realm, countless glowing lights would rise from the earth, like hope blooming from the mortal world.
Beneath the glowing lights, Bian Lingyu used the World-Seeing Mirror to show her scenes of Evernight Mountain.
She saw A’Xiu successfully open her small restaurant, becoming an outstanding proprietress and escaping her fate of being married off to an old magistrate. The fox spirit and the scholar enacted stories from different tales—though the scholar wasn’t bewitched by the fox, he doted on her endlessly, often reading books with her in the mountains.
Yuewu and Cangwu had also returned to Evernight Mountain, building a cave dwelling halfway up the mountain. Cangwu clung to Yuewu obsessively, only to be playfully chased away by her shouting, “Go away!” Yet, Yuewu couldn’t help but smile afterward.
Shi Luoyi also saw her senior brother, Wei Changyuan, standing under the moonlight, gazing at Mingyou Mountain blanketed in snow.
Her gaze lingered on her senior brother’s face. Though he had become the sect master, he didn’t seem happy.
But whenever she stared at Wei Changyuan for too long, the World-Seeing Mirror would dim. At that point, Bian Lingyu would calmly inform her with feigned regret: “Divine power insufficient.”
She found it both amusing and exasperating. After all, everyone knew that the Divine Lord beside her possessed an endless reservoir of divine power.
She lunged to snatch the mirror, but Bian Lingyu would avoid her abdomen and forcibly pull her back, forbidding her from watching the glowing lights any longer.
Carrying the chill of the night, he pressed her onto the bed and kissed her, causing Shi Luoyi to burst into giggles.
Her laughter made it impossible for him to continue. The Divine Lord looked down at her with a stern expression and said: “Aren’t you supposed to be afraid?”
Perhaps sword cultivators were indeed more carefree. She gestured to him: “Little Qilin is watching.”
After all, gods became sentient upon their awakening, and it wouldn’t do to engage in anything inappropriate in front of their child.
Thinking of the little innocent inside her belly, biting his tiny fingers and observing them with wide-eyed curiosity, her heart melted.
Bian Lingyu cherished her deeply, planting kisses in her hair.
This tender treatment made Shi Luoyi feel another layer of his softness toward her, even surpassing the love he showed their little Qilin.
Even for an ascetic god, enduring for so many years was no easy feat.
But for Bian Lingyu, he had exhausted everything to catch his moon. This precious Shi Luoyi and little Qilin were his everything—the sole line he refused to cross, even as a benevolent deity.
Little Qilin seemed to understand his father’s struggles and finally arrived safely one afternoon in the temple.
Shi Luoyi named him Xiang, meaning to pacify within and without, to bring peace to the six realms.
According to the traditions of the Qilin clan, males were named Qi, while females were named Lin. Thus, the little prince was named Xiangqi.
From the moment of his birth, Xiangqi was an adorable child. Unlike human infants, divine offspring weren’t wrinkled but instead resembled delicate, perfectly sculpted little bundles.
When someone attended to him, the little Qilin would open his eyes and babble happily. When left alone, he would obediently sleep on his little bed.
Sometimes, when Shi Luoyi went to check on him, she would find the still-uncontrollable little Qilin unconsciously transformed into his true form—a tiny silver Qilin no larger than a palm, resting his chubby arms as a pillow, sleeping soundly.
Upon learning about Xi Yao’s misdeeds, Shi Luoyi found it utterly unimaginable how anyone could imprison such a cute and well-behaved little Qilin from the moment of his birth.
Xi Yao hadn’t even given him a proper name from the Qilin lineage, simply calling him Lingyu.
This angered Shi Luoyi. With the arrival of their little prince, she felt even more sympathy for the pitiful childhood of Bian Lingyu.
The little Qilin’s personality was entirely different from his father’s. If Bian Lingyu was as cold as ice, then their son was a blazing little sun.
Every time Bian Lingyu returned from purging evil spirits and transferred divine power to aid his growth, the little prince would enthusiastically grab his father’s finger, leaving a few tiny tooth marks.
For Bian Lingyu, this was an utterly novel and bewildering experience.
He would stare intently at his son, and if Shi Luoyi hadn’t intervened, he would have allowed the little prince to hold his finger all day.
Between the two, one was warm and enthusiastic, the other cool yet indulgent.
This indulgence wasn’t reserved solely for the little prince—it extended even more to Shi Luoyi. She finally understood why there were so many notorious empresses among the Qilin clan.
Not only did the divine realm treat her like a treasured ancestor, but Bian Lingyu did as well. She suspected that if she ever joked about burning down the temple, Bian Lingyu would signal the ministers to prepare divine flames for her. If she declared she wanted to jump into the Demonfall Pool, he’d feed her his divine pearl to ensure her safety.
No wonder the empresses of past generations were so unruly—gods had absolutely no principles when it came to their wives.
It also explained why Xi Yao had dared to act recklessly with a mere gatekeeper servant. She likely believed deep down that even if the Divine Lord were furious, he wouldn’t kill her.
Ever since the little Qilin was born, Shi Luoyi hardly dared to use the World-Seeing Mirror anymore, and when she did, she avoided looking at Senior Brother Wei Changyuan.
The memory-unsealed Bian Lingyu was no longer a blank slate.
After all, their childhood camaraderie was real, as were the budding feelings of youth and the heart-wrenching jealousy that once tormented Bian Lingyu.
She still remembered how her wrists had been bound to the bed, with the man above her coldly asking: “Do you still want to look at him?”
His tone was gentle, but with each question, her head was slammed against the bed.
She whimpered and shook her head, her voice choked with tears.
He lowered his gaze and softly said: “I didn’t hear you.”
“I don’t, I really don’t!” This was the only time in the divine realm where she felt like crying out of frustration.
Only then would he relent: “Alright, I heard you clearly. Remember this.”
At first, Shi Luoyi refused to believe it. She even tried to get angry about it, but the next day, when she ignored Bian Lingyu completely, he silently held the little prince and gazed at her from afar without a word.
Father and son—both wore expressions paler and more pitiful than the other, as if she had truly become like Xi Yao, abandoning them for someone else.
In his father’s arms, the little prince’s eyes brimmed with tears, his small hands clutching his father’s robe, too afraid to sob.
What could Shi Luoyi say? She could only give up using the World-Seeing Mirror to look at her senior brother and focus on comforting her precious little one instead.
She huffed and extended her hand toward Bian Lingyu.
Bian Lingyu glanced at her, sighed in relief, and immediately handed over the little Qilin. Once in his mother’s embrace, the little prince immediately wrapped his chubby, lotus-root-like arms around her.
Shi Luoyi could only sigh. She simply couldn’t stay mad at the father and son duo.
She finally understood Bian Lingyu’s limits. When she didn’t provoke him, he might let her dismantle the entire divine realm. But if she did provoke him, he would go mad.
The more he cared, the more jealous he must have been back then.
Thinking of how he had once coldly feigned indifference, all her anger dissipated. In their exchanges, she had never been at a disadvantage or suffered any hardship.
She was the weapon fate used to beat Bian Lingyu until he bled.
When the little Qilin reached the age of one or two, he became even more endearing.
Even Gongying couldn’t resist the urge to commit an act of minor insubordination by wanting to pinch his chubby little cheeks.
The older ministers of the divine realm were no exception. Seeing the little prince brought them more joy than seeing their own grandchildren, their faces lighting up with smiles.
These elderly men, despite their advanced age, were practically ready to kneel and entertain him.
The little prince would flash his tiny white teeth, curiously tugging at their beards, and they would gladly offer to cut off their beards for him if he wished.
He was a small, plump bundle, raised so well in his true Qilin form that he appeared delicate but indestructible. Even if Shi Luoyi swung her Divine Meteor Blade at him, it wouldn’t leave a scratch.
Thus, Shi Luoyi didn’t worry about him falling.
Wherever the little guy ran, squeals of adoration followed from the divine attendants and maids.
Sometimes, as he ran, he would unconsciously transform into his true form—a small silver-eyed Qilin. He looked innocent and adorable, hugging his newly sprouted tail amidst a sea of flowers, a stark contrast to his father’s cold demeanor.
Shi Luoyi finally saw the Qilin’s tail. Her son’s tail was icy blue, and when it stood upright, the fur spread out like a splendid little umbrella.
Every time her chubby little son toddled along the path of the divine temple, earnestly holding up his “little umbrella,” it made her burst into laughter.
The little bundle worked hard at his cultivation.
Shi Luoyi always feared that Bian Lingyu would spoil him, but to her surprise, when training with their son, Bian Lingyu was strict to the point of severity.
The little prince was exceptionally obedient, yet even so, he wasn’t spared from punishment.
Once, the little guy fell asleep inside the demonic energy bell, tears still clinging to his face, his body covered in injuries.
When Bian Lingyu went to retrieve him, even Shi Luoyi couldn’t hold back her tears. He was so small, and even in his sleep, he unconsciously whimpered in pain.
Bian Lingyu gently placed his son down and wiped away Shi Luoyi’s tears: “Don’t cry—it’s my fault.”
She sniffled and shook her head.
Shi Luoyi knew that this child would one day bear the responsibility of the six realms. The stricter Bian Lingyu was with him now, the safer he would be in the future, and the safer the world would be.
Gradually, she also realized that whatever suffering the little Qilin endured, Bian Lingyu would endure the same wounds.
He even allowed these injuries to linger on himself for longer.
No one loved the little Qilin more than he did.
The chubby little Qilin worked hard, though somewhat foolishly. At the time, she didn’t know why Prince Xiangqi trained so diligently. It wasn’t until one day, when an ancient demon beast awoke in the Demonfall Pool, causing many demonic creatures to spill into the divine realm, that she understood.
Bian Lingyu rushed to exterminate the beast and prevent it from descending to the mortal realm. However, some powerful demons managed to evade the gods and secretly infiltrated the temple.
When Bian Lingyu returned, blood-soaked, the little prince, who was still shorter than the bed, had a broken tail and numerous injuries. Yet, in his true form, he obediently stayed by Shi Luoyi’s side.
A silvery-blue barrier surrounded Shi Luoyi, shielding her from the chaos outside.
In the turbulent night of the divine realm, Shi Luoyi slept peacefully, unaware of the turmoil beyond.
Bian Lingyu replaced the barrier around his son, leaned down, and carefully picked up the injured little Qilin.
He carried the little Qilin out to treat his wounds.
Prince Xiangqi’s silvery-blue tail had broken for the first time, much like Bian Lingyu’s had in his youth—a near-cruel experience.
Bian Lingyu silently gazed at his son’s broken tail and hoarsely asked: “Does it hurt?”
The little prince wiped his teary eyes. He was too young to lie: “It hurts, Father.”
Before Bian Lingyu returned, he had endured the pain silently while guarding Shi Luoyi, refusing to cry.
Now that his father was back, the little prince could finally let his tears fall. His tears dripped incessantly as Bian Lingyu tended to his tail and held him close, bringing him back to Shi Luoyi’s side.
Once again, glowing lights rose from the earth of the divine realm, filling the sky with pure silver, like a great snowfall in the mortal world.
The two of them stood guard over the serene and beautiful woman on the bed.
Bian Lingyu gently patted the little Qilin’s head, knowing they shared an unspoken understanding.
This person was precious—more valuable than their lives. In his absence, his son had to take responsibility for protecting her.
They could not afford to lose her.
So it was today, and so it would be in the long years to come. Wherever they were, she would always have the safest home.
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