Rain continued to fall from the sky like a divine curse.
Not even the sacred formations of the Celestial Palace could stop it. No barrier held. No array dispersed it. No divine flame could burn it away. It soaked into stardust jade, dripped from divine lotuses, and painted the immortal robes of emperors and empresses in shades of guilt.
The laughter stopped. The music was gone. A silence spread so heavy it crushed even the most prideful hearts.
Thousands of people turned their heads to the sky, searching for the origin of the sudden rain. The heavens, long silent and oppressive since that day of execution, had finally begun to weep. But the sky's sorrow was too late, too cruel — and far too confusing.
Even the Dragon Clan, known for their pride, stopped mid-flight. One by one, colossal beasts transformed in the sky, scales vanishing into human flesh as they descended silently to palace roofs and watchtowers.
In the vast stillness of the Celestial Realm, only the sound of blood rain could be heard—soft, steady, and unending. Countless beings stood frozen in silence, confusion etched into every gaze. And then, after an eternity wrapped in dread, a voice finally… broke the hush.
"This is no natural rain," muttered Elder Long Xu of the Eastern Wing, his eyes flickering golden. His voice was low, but his tone carried the weight of ancient knowledge — as if the very fabric of the cosmos trembled with his words.
General Wu Gang emerged from the southern barracks, steel-clad and alert, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "All units, maintain order! Protect the Empresses. Prepare for the worst."
The other generals, still gripping the memory of the executed "monster," stood watchful, confused.
"Is this some divine punishment?" one asked in a hushed voice, the tremor in his words betraying the uncertainty that gripped even the strongest.
Whispers spread swiftly.
"Is it the Great Dao's wrath?"
"Has the balance truly broken?"
"What darkness has seeped into the heavens?"
The air thickened with fear and speculation.
Then, from the top of the marble stairs of the Celestial Court, Celestial Emperor Xiao Feng let out a sharp laugh, echoing like thunder.
"Innocent? That monster? If he's innocent… then I must be the reincarnation of a saint."
The crowd went still. The Emperor's voice, cold and scornful, seemed to echo with finality — yet beneath it stirred a current of unease.
Closest to Emperor Feng stood the Second Empress, Xu Lele, known as the Empress of Falling Snow. Her white robes were soaked through, clinging to her trembling frame. The rain stung her skin like needles—but it was the memories it stirred that made her blood run cold.
Her eyes were bloodshot, not from crying, but from years of sleepless nights, haunted by the monster's shadow that violated her in the dark.
As the droplets fell, a distant scream—her own—echoed in her ears, sharp and raw, trapped in a place with no windows, no light. A void without light or mercy, where time blurred into pain and shame. Her body remembered what the world chose to forget. She bore the unseen scars of the monster's cruelty. Her soul, ravaged by violation, frayed with each recalled touch that stole her dignity.
The cold stone beneath her, the acrid stench of decay, the endless hours where time dissolved into pain—no one ever saw. No one ever knew. Except…
the monster.
She had landed the final blow — her blade severing the last line of resistance in the monster's body. She had watched him fall. She had stood there, silently, as he was hung and left to be tortured, eternally displayed as a warning.
"Relax, Sister Lele," whispered , Yang Gho the Seventh Empress also the Empress of the Starlit Veil, her voice cold and controlled. "That demon is dead. This must be another curse… another trick to haunt us."
Xu Lele didn't respond. Her lips barely moved. "Yeah… I know." But the way her shoulders trembled betrayed the memories she still couldn't silence.
Not far from them, a woman stood with arms crossed, blood rain beading and steaming against her crimson-red armor. She was tall, sharp-eyed, and fearsome in stillness—the Sixth Empress Lei Yuxia, known across the Immortal Realms as the Crimson Thunder Empress. Her body pulsed faintly with dormant lightning, her presence crackling like a charged storm cloud that hadn't yet chosen its target.
Lei Yuxia scoffed — loud and sharp, like lightning tearing through calm. "Let the rain fall. If it's a curse, we'll crush it like we crushed him."
No one answered. The silence between words was now louder than the rain itself.
Somewhere nearby, someone muttered, "How dare anyone call that thing innocent…"
No one disagreed.
Not one soul wept.
The people around them shifted nervously. The elders, the divine immortals, the scholars — all unsure whether to panic or bow. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
The Celestial Emperor's mother, Zhu Lin, stood still beside her son. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes carried an ancient confusion. She had lived long enough to trust her instincts — and they now screamed that something had cracked the order of the world.
High above, watching from her black obsidian tower, the Jade Queen, Lu Qing, stared at the rain as it hit the edges of the palace roofs and slid down like the blood of a forgotten wound. Her eyes were cold. Her heart was colder.
She didn't speak. She didn't blink. No confusion. No grief. No regret. She had purged those emotions long ago — the day the monster's screams finally stopped.
Down in the imperial barracks, a general stepped forward. His armor clinked as he knelt before the Emperor.
"Your Majesty," he said cautiously, "What is going on?"
But the Celestial Emperor had no answer.
He stood frozen, eyes narrowed, staring into the clouds — as if trying to see the truth written between the raindrops.
The courtiers around him shifted nervously. Whispers began to spread — soft at first, but growing louder with every heartbeat.
"Why doesn't the Emperor speak?" one noblewoman whispered, clutching her jade pendant tightly. "Is he afraid? Confused? Or is there something he cannot say?"
A young scholar frowned deeply, murmuring, "The Emperor's silence… it unsettles me more than the rain itself."
The generals exchanged uneasy glances. Some tightened their grips on their weapons; others glanced toward the Empresses, seeking unspoken guidance.
Even the usually stern Mother Zhu Lin's calm began to waver, her fingers curling into fists. "His Majesty's silence… it signals a fracture deeper than any blood rain."
The crowd's murmur swelled into a wave of anxiety. Eyes darted between each other, seeking answers that did not come.
In this growing storm of uncertainty, the air itself seemed charged—thick with tension and fear.
Far in the west, atop the throne of the Sapphire Cosmos, a woman watched in silence.
Cold and divine, her beauty could silence wars and bend emperors. She was known simply as Celestial Lady Yue — the most beautiful woman in all existence.
But her beauty was not mortal.
It was carved from starlight and sculpted by time, a serenity so absolute that it humbled gods.
Her skin gleamed like frozen moonlight—flawless, untouched, ethereal.
Her eyes, twin galaxies, held the weight of forgotten aeons — and the sorrow of every wish ever whispered to the stars.
Her hair flowed like a river of obsidian night, jeweled with tiny stars that shimmered as if heaven itself had crowned her.
Even her breath seemed to slow the winds, and where her feet touched, reality dared not tremble.
The blood rain streaked her crystal windows, yet she did not move.
Her expression remained blank, eyes distant.
Not in sorrow. Not in fear.
Just… stillness.
For she, too, bore wounds not seen, not spoken of. Wounds carved into the silence between screams in a dark place no history dared remember.She had once knelt before that monster, not as a queen, not as a legend — but as prey.
And now, as blood fell from the heavens, she felt nothing.
Not triumph. Not grief.
Only a question, rising quietly in her chest:
"Why now?".
-End of Chapter 2.