Yuèyi stood and lifted Xīng Yû from the sofa.
Instead of carrying him out, she returned to her seat and settled the boy on her lap. He remained asleep, head resting against her chest, curled into the instinctive comfort children sought when held by their mothers.
The butler stood waiting, documents in hand.
Tiānyuán watched his wife and felt the world tilt slightly.
The roles were reversed. She was supposed to be the one pleading to preserve what remained of Yû's childhood. But she was demanding acceleration. He was hesitating.
When had that changed?
He pushed the thought aside and gestured for the butler to continue.
Valeor, turned through several pages. His expression tightened, just enough for someone who'd served the family for decades to recognize as distress.
"There has been no news from the royal family," he said carefully. "His Majesty Bai Tiānlóng has made no public appearances since the mass drafting five years ago. Our intelligence suggests there is a high probability that he has been... severely affected by the loss of one of his sons."
"Which son?" Tiānyuán asked, though he already knew.
"Prince Bai Zixian, Your Grace. Drafted five years ago at age nine. No confirmed status since."
Tiānyuán sighed and looked at his wife.
None of them were okay. Every noble family that had lost children carried the same wounds. But the king had been shaken worst of all.
When a ruler couldn't control his grief well enough to govern, the entire social order began to fracture.
Officials and nobles had stepped in. Tiānyuán himself had spent months calming panicked citizens, maintaining order, ensuring the kingdom didn't collapse while their king mourned in isolation.
He'd done it while grieving his own daughter.
"That's right," Yuèyi said, her voice cutting through. "If the king cannot control his city, his people, then are we safe? Can we rely on stability when the next drafting comes?"
Her arms tightened around Yû.
"We need to prepare him. So he at least has a chance when they take him."
Tiānyuán looked at the butler, then back at his wife.
"I know you miss Xīng Hé," he said quietly. "But why do you keep behaving as if she's dead?"
The words came out harsher than he'd intended.
"Because she probably is," Yuèyi replied.
"Last I heard, she was in the Space God's realm. And the Space God is dead. There's a high probability she didn't survive."
"You don't know that—"
"She's probably dead, Tiānyuán. That's the most likely outcome. Believing otherwise just makes the grief harder when confirmation finally comes."
Tiānyuán stood.
He moved behind his wife's chair and bent down, ignoring the butler's presence entirely. His hand cupped Yuèyi's cheek, tilted her face upward, and he kissed her.
With fierce desperation, someone trying to anchor himself and her against the tide threatening to drown them both.
When he broke the kiss, he pressed his lips to her forehead instead.
"Sweetheart," he said, his voice rough. "It's probably best for you to think of her as dead. Everyone handles grief differently. I understand that."
He pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes.
"But please, please, I need you to support me in this. Xīng Hé is still alive. I know it. Because my Xīng wouldn't let me down. She's too stubborn to die."
His hands trembled as he released her face.
"So hold on to my hope. Even if you can't hold your own. Just... don't let me believe alone."
Yuèyi's expression didn't change. But something shifted in her eyes.
Tiānyuán returned to his seat before she could respond.
He gestured to Valeor. "Continue."
The butler consulted his documents, visibly relieved.
"The liaison Chén Yè was confirmed to have departed for the divine realm three days before the battle."
Tiānyuán's expression darkened.
He remembered the battle, or rather, its effects. Space compressing over the city. Reality bending. Lightning from clear skies. Extreme cold. Death.
Livestock dropping in fields. Commoners collapsing in streets. The chilling aura claiming lives indiscriminately.
Even before official news arrived, the entire world had known. Something catastrophic had happened.
"So you're saying the traitor escaped?" Tiānyuán asked, his voice cold.
The butler stiffened.
Chén Yè. He had been drafted alongside Xīng Hé, he who failed to awaken after telling on Xīng for a reward. Assigned to liaison duties.
"For all we know, he could be dead, Your Grace," the butler said carefully. "He never ascended past Awakened stage. The pressures of that battle would have killed him instantly if he was anywhere nearby."
Tiānyuán nodded slowly. "That's possible."
But before he could signal the butler to continue, Yuèyi spoke.
"Before the end of the week, I want every detail of his activities. The people he met. Those he had connections to. Everything he did during his time in the mortal world."
Her voice was cold. Controlled.
"If he can't pay for what he did, his family will. Death isn't going to save him from accountability."
Tiānyuán smiled despite the circumstances.
This meant his wife hadn't completely lost hope. She was forcing herself to believe Xīng Hé was dead as armor against disappointment. But underneath, some part of her still fought.
The butler nodded and moved to the final item.
"The last news, Your Grace." He paused. "The lifetime ritual for the Evil Mad Goddess is approaching."
"Oh?" Tiānyuán's expression lightened slightly. "That old geezer is finally on his deathbed?"
The butler nodded.
Tiānyuán laughed, genuine this time. "That geezer finally agreed to leave this world. We should make it grand. Speak to the accountant. We'll attend personally."
The Evil Mad Goddess. A figure from another era. Not one of the eleven Transcendents—"evil" and "mad" were titles earned through methods that made even other gods uncomfortable.
Her follower, her descendant, had to make an offering ritual to pass on the destiny of the Xian household to the next patriarch.
His death would mark the end of an era.
On Yuèyi's lap, Xīng Yû stirred.
His eyes opened slowly. He saw his mother's face first and smiled with uncomplicated joy.
"Mom," he said, his voice still rough with sleep. "I dreamt about elder sister."
Yuèyi's grip tightened. Her breathing hitched. But her voice remained steady.
"Tell me what happened in the dream."
Yû's expression scrunched. He shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Mommy. I can't remember."
"It's okay," Yuèyi said, pulling him closer.
"Mommy, wait—" Yû's expression brightened. "I remember! She said she loves you. She said you should wait for her."
Yuèyi's breathing grew rapid.
The room tilted. Darkness crept at the edges of her vision. She tightened her grip, not enough to hurt, but enough that he squirmed.
"Mommy?" Yû's voice carried concern. "Where did sister Xīng go?"
Tears welled in Yuèyi's eyes. Her throat constricted. She opened her mouth to answer and found herself unable to form words.
Tiānyuán stood and moved to his wife's side.
He knelt beside her chair and spoke to their son with gentle authority.
"She's on a journey to godhood, son. To become a ruler."
Yû's eyes lit up with wonder.
"I want to go too!" he said.
Yuèyi's dam broke.
Tears spilled down her cheeks in paths carved by five years of suppressed grief. Her voice came out rasped, broken.
"No, dear. No."
But Yû didn't understand. He just hugged his mother tighter, pressing his small face against her chest.
"I'll become a god, Mom," he said with absolute certainty. "Just like sister. I'll be strong."
Tiānyuán sighed and wrapped his arms around both his wife and son.
"It's alright," he murmured. "One day at a time, dear."
He pulled back slightly and looked at Yû. His son gazed up at him with the most innocent smile possible—pure, unmarred.
Tiānyuán smiled back despite the ache in his chest.
"Wherever you go," he said quietly, "remember that we always love you."
"You guys are making me cry," Yû said, his own eyes growing teary.
Tiānyuán held his family closer.
In the corner, the butler's eyes grew wet as well.
He'd served this family for decades. Watched Xīng Hé grow from infant to the young girl who'd been taken five years ago. Delivered the news of her drafting. Stood witness to the patriarch's rage and the matriarch's grief.
And now he was watching it happen again.
Watching parents prepare to lose another child. Watching them harden themselves against future pain. Watching them try to armor their son for a battle he shouldn't have to fight.
The butler looked away and blinked rapidly.
He was just a servant.
This grief wasn't his to share openly.
But he shared it anyway.