By the eighteenth dawn, the first leg of the journey ended. The flying ship descended in a swirl of qi, landing at the docks of Brightwater City—a bustling hub where East and West met through trade. Its towers glistened with jade inlays, the harbor crowded with ships of every shape, from ordinary sailboats to rune-etched leviathans hovering in midair.
Haotian stepped down with the crowd, his steps steady, his gaze already drawn to the largest ship moored at the central dock.
It was a colossus—five times the length of the vessel he had just left. Its hull was carved from black spiritwood reinforced with veins of silver ore, every plank humming faintly with embedded runes. Along its flanks glowed arrays of protection and attack formations—spirit cannons shaped like dragon mouths, sigils of warding that shimmered like liquid light. Its sails, vast as storm clouds, were woven from silk imbued with wind-essence, crackling faintly with lightning.
Even Haotian, who had faced demons and wielded three cores to summon a Saint Realm avatar, felt a stir of awe. When will I reach the point where I can own such a vessel myself? he wondered, fingers brushing the jade token at his waist.
He approached the dockmaster, presented his spirit stones without fuss, and received a polished jade slip in return—a boarding token engraved with his berth number. Without delay, he joined the stream of passengers ascending the glowing gangplank.
The moment the ship took flight, Haotian retreated to his private chamber. He had no interest in mingling with sect heirs or merchants flaunting their wealth. The room was sparse—a low bed, a meditation mat, and a narrow window looking out over the endless sea. It was more than enough.
Each day, he sat cross-legged upon the mat, his breathing steady as he cycled his qi. In his sea of consciousness, the ninety-nine flood dragons spiraled ever faster, their roars weaving into a resonance that bathed his damaged meridians in light. One by one they dove into his body, repairing, strengthening, tempering.
The backlash of the Sea Bridge had left his three cores battered, their resonance uneven. Yet slowly, with each session, the rhythm steadied. The gaps between pulses narrowed. The pain in his chest dulled, then quieted.
At night, when storms buffeted the ship and lightning danced along the protective wards, Haotian remained in meditation. The thunder was nothing compared to the roars in his inner world.
Time blurred into the steady rhythm of cultivation. When Haotian finally opened his eyes fifteen days later, the horizon had changed. The seas below sparkled with a different hue, and far in the distance, shrouded in mist, loomed the first peaks of the Western Continent.
His lips curved faintly. "At last."
The fifteenth dawn broke with a blaze of gold spilling across the endless sea. As the flying ship descended through the clouds, the mist parted to reveal a sprawling coastline unlike any Haotian had seen in years.
Vast cliffs of blackstone jutted from the ocean, crowned with fortresses that gleamed like stars. Spirit-beast banners whipped in the wind, and grand formations pulsed faintly along the shoreline, casting a veil of protection over the docks. Beyond, the Western Continent stretched outward—a land of rolling mountains, forests dense with ancient qi, and cities that shimmered like constellations fallen to earth.
The ship's bell tolled, a deep, resonant chime. Passengers surged toward the rails, pointing and exclaiming in awe. "The West! We've arrived!"
Haotian stood among them, silent. His hands curled faintly at his sides. The sight was at once familiar and distant—his homeland, and yet a place he had abandoned in his broken state. Now he returned, not as the wandering alchemist of the North, but carrying the weight of what he had become.
The vessel descended smoothly, runes flaring as it settled into the great harbor. Ropes shot out, anchors locked into place. The gangplank unfolded with a hiss of qi.
One by one, passengers disembarked—wealthy merchants, minor sect disciples, wanderers eager for fortune. When Haotian stepped onto the dock, his boots striking solid stone, a faint tremor rippled through him.
Home.
The air was heavier here, dense with qi. The very ground seemed to hum with ancestral resonance. He inhaled deeply, the taste of his youth returning to him in fragments—the scent of dragon-blooded forests, the whisper of ancient legacies buried deep in the mountains.
For a long moment he simply stood, his gaze sweeping across the horizon. Somewhere in this vast land waited the Azure Dragon Sky Sect. Somewhere, beyond walls and layers of protection, Lianhua waited with his child.
His chest tightened faintly.
At last, he lifted his head and began to walk forward.
The Western Continent had not seen him in years. But now, Haotian had returned.
Haotian did not linger in the port city. The moment his feet touched the stone streets, his mind was already set on one destination: Azure Dragon Sky Sect.
With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a flying sword from his spatial ring. Its surface gleamed faintly with spirit inscriptions, thrumming as it responded to his qi. Stepping onto it, he rose smoothly into the skies, leaving the bustle of the harbor behind.
The land beneath him unfurled in sweeping grandeur: forests thick with ancient qi beasts, rivers winding like silver threads, and mountain ranges that stabbed into the heavens. The West had always been vast, but after years in the North, it felt even more untamed, more alive.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the rush of wind and the steady hum of his sword. As the sun began to tilt westward, the peaks ahead rose higher, cloaked in drifting clouds and formations that shimmered faintly with azure light.
Haotian's eyes narrowed.
There—etched into the very mountainside, towers and palaces carved from jade and stone, each gleaming with runic brilliance—stood the stronghold of the Azure Dragon Sky Sect.
Formations layered upon formations wove a barrier that stretched for miles, like the coils of a slumbering dragon guarding its nest. Spirit beasts circled overhead, their roars shaking the sky. Below, rivers cascaded in waterfalls, their waters glowing faintly with qi as they flowed through the sect's territory.
The sight struck him in the chest. Memories surged unbidden—training in those halls, bowing to elders, fighting alongside brothers and sisters of the sect… and the day it all shattered, when he fell broken and vanished into the North.
Now, he was back.
His hand tightened over the ring at his waist, where Lianhua's letter still rested close to him. His heart quickened. Somewhere beyond those walls, she waited. With their child.
Haotian inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Then, guiding his sword lower, he angled toward the sect gates, where disciples in azure robes already stood in formation, their eyes rising to meet the figure descending from the clouds.
The Zhenlong estate loomed quietly against the evening sky, lanterns flickering along its high stone walls. Haotian descended without a sound, his boots touching the ground before the gate.
The two guards at their posts stiffened at once. Their eyes widened, disbelief flashing across their faces. One of them dropped his spear entirely, his voice cracking.
"Y-young Master… Haotian?!"
Haotian gave a faint smile and inclined his head.
Without hesitation, one guard sprinted inside, shouting for the stewards. The other rushed forward and bowed deeply, his voice trembling with excitement. "Young Master, please—this way. I'll escort you in."
The two moved quickly through the outer courtyards. Servants carrying baskets froze where they stood, their gazes snapping to him. Recognition spread like wildfire.
"Young Master Haotian!" one cried, dropping her bundle in shock. Another servant ran off at full speed, calling for the elders. Soon, the quiet halls were alive with voices, reports of his return echoing toward the heart of the estate.
Haotian walked calmly, but a smile tugged at his lips as he watched their flustered joy. After so many years, this place still remembered him.
The main hall doors were flung open. Inside, his family was already gathering—Wuhen, his father, stood tall despite the tremor in his hands. His stepmother, eyes glistening. His mother, frail but radiant with relief. His brothers, older now, rushing forward with wide eyes.
"Haotian!"
He moved to them one by one, embracing each. Wuhen's hand clapped firmly against his shoulder. His stepmother held his hand tightly, as though afraid to let go. His mother wept openly as he bent to embrace her, her voice breaking with his name. His brothers embraced him in turn, laughing through tears.
The warmth of family pressed around him, years of absence washed away in a tide of love and relief.
Then a sudden sound of hurried footsteps came from beyond the hall.
Lianhua entered in a rush, her hair loose, her cheeks flushed with haste. But before she could throw herself into his arms, Haoyue—his sister—caught her gently by the shoulders. "Slowly, you'll fall."
But Lianhua's eyes were fixed only on him.
"Haotian…"
He moved at once, closing the distance. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her against him. Tears spilled down her cheeks the moment her face pressed to his chest. His own eyes blurred as he held her tighter, his heart pounding with the realization that he had truly returned to her.
When at last they broke the embrace, he looked down at her face—exhausted, pale, dark circles beneath her swollen eyes. She had been waiting for him every day, every night, carrying the weight of hope and fear.
Then his gaze dropped further, to her rounded stomach. His breath caught.
"The child…" His voice came low, trembling. "How is the child?"
Lianhua placed her hand on her stomach, her smile breaking through the tears. "Our child is strong. Every day, I tell them to wait for their father's return." She rubbed the curve gently, then whispered, "My child, say hello to your father."
Haotian dropped to his knees before her, his hand trembling as he rested it over hers. His voice caught, yet steadied with warmth.
"Hello, my child. Your father… has finally returned home."
The hall was silent, save for the quiet sobs of his family and the sound of Lianhua's tears falling.
Haotian stayed there, his forehead pressed lightly to her stomach, his heart full in a way no cultivation, no sect title, had ever given him.
The Zhenlong estate stood quiet under the evening lanterns, carved stone walls gleaming faintly in the fading light. Haotian descended before the gate, his boots settling softly on the ground.
The two guards stiffened, eyes widening as they stared at him. One dropped his spear with a clatter.
"Young Master Haotian?!"
Haotian gave a small smile and inclined his head.
One guard immediately rushed inside, shouting for the elders. The other bent quickly, bowing deeply. "Young Master, this way please! I'll take you in."
They hurried down the lantern-lit path. Servants carrying baskets froze mid-step, their eyes going wide.
"Young Master Haotian!" one cried, dropping her load. Another sprinted toward the halls, calling for the stewards. Whispers and shouts carried from one courtyard to another until the estate stirred like a waking dragon.
Haotian walked on, calm, though a faint smile tugged at his lips at the sight of their flustered joy.
The main hall doors swung open. His family was already gathered—Wuhen, tall and stern though his hands trembled. His stepmother, eyes wet with disbelief. His mother, frail but radiant. His brothers, grown but rushing toward him with wide eyes.
"Haotian!"
He embraced them one by one. His father's grip was firm on his shoulder. His stepmother clung to his hand as though unwilling to let go. His mother sobbed openly in his arms, repeating his name. His brothers pulled him into rough embraces, laughing through tears.
Warmth pressed around him, years of absence washed away in a single moment.
Then footsteps came in a rush. Lianhua entered, her hair loose, her cheeks flushed. Haoyue caught her by the arms, steadying her. "Careful, don't run—"
But Lianhua's gaze locked only on Haotian.
"Haotian…"
He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. Her tears broke free as she pressed against him, and his eyes blurred as well.
When they finally parted, he studied her face—so pale, so tired, dark circles under her eyes that told of nights waiting. His gaze dropped lower, to her rounded stomach.
"The child…" His voice wavered. "How is the child?"
Lianhua placed a hand over her belly, her tears softening into a smile. "Our child is strong. I tell them every day that their father will come back." She rubbed the curve gently. "Say hello to your father."
Haotian knelt, his hand trembling as he rested it against her stomach. His voice caught but steadied.
"Hello, my child. Your father has finally come home."
The hall was silent except for the sound of family weeping softly.
Later that night, the family gathered in the audience chamber. Cushions were arranged in a circle, servants dismissed. Haotian sat with Lianhua beside him, Wuhen, his mothers, and his siblings nearby.
Haotian recounted everything: how the expert saved him, how he ended up in the North, and how he joined the Moon Lotus Sect to recover. His words drew the room into silence, every detail sinking like stones into still water.
When he mentioned the Moon Lotus Sect, though, the silence broke.
"Hold on," Ancestor Jinahi said, blinking. "That sect you joined—it's all women?"
"And you stayed there?" Ancestor Meiyun leaned in, narrowing her eyes.
Haotian hesitated. "…For several months, yes."
Yangshen slapped his knee, laughter booming. "Several months, surrounded by nothing but women? Hah! No wonder you delayed your return. Our boy's been enjoying himself!"
Yuying smirked, voice sharp with amusement. "Fast worker, aren't you? Did you start a little harem there already?"
Even his brothers perked up instantly, whispering, "Only a few months? He really is amazing…"
Haotian's face flushed crimson. "No! Stop right there—absolutely not!" He raised his hands defensively. "I stayed true to Lianhua. I didn't… I didn't even think about such things."
The ancestors exchanged glances, all of them grinning.
"I mean it!" Haotian groaned. "All I did was cultivate and refine pills. That's it! Nothing else. I can even prove it with my Primordial Harmony Refinement Technique—if I'd strayed, my qi wouldn't be pure."
Their laughter filled the hall, rolling like thunder. Even Lianhua's lips trembled as she tried not to laugh, though her eyes softened when she looked at him.
Haotian dropped his head into his hand. "You're all impossible…"
The joy of reunion deepened, the warmth of family lightened by humor. For the first time in years, the Zhenlong household felt whole again.
The laughter slowly ebbed. The warmth in the chamber remained, but the Four Ancestors' expressions shifted. Their smiles faded into solemn lines, their eyes steady and sharp.
The laughter in the hall faded, replaced by a heavy silence. The Four Ancestors straightened, their faces solemn.
Ancestor Yangshen's voice rumbled low. "Haotian. You and Lianhua were named together as Saint Son and Saint Daughter—the Saint Couple of the Azure Dragon Sky Sect. You vanished months ago, just as that duty began. Now you return alive, stronger, and with tales spreading faster than fire. We must know the truth."
Haotian clasped his hands, bowing his head."This junior does not dare conceal it. At the Sea Bridge, the seal fractured. Demonic qi surged. To protect the disciples, I forced my three cores to resonance and fought until my body broke. Without it, none of them would have survived."
Ancestor Yuying's eyes sharpened. "And the remnant? Reports say it spoke as it died."
Haotian's face darkened. "It did. Its laughter echoed as it fell apart. Its last words were: 'Fools, you think this was victory? This was only a fragment. The true seal weakens even now. When it shatters, the demon armies will march, and both your continents will drown in blood.'"
The chamber chilled, every breath held.
Ancestor Meiyun's tone was grave. "So it was not wild rumor. The demon's last words were a warning. The seal truly is failing."
Ancestor Jinahi leaned forward. "And because you defied that eruption—because you saved every disciple—the warning now clings to your name. The world will not separate them. Wherever you walk, they will say, the Saint Son who defied fate, the Saint Son who heard the demon's last words."
Haotian bowed deeper, his voice humble but firm."This junior understands. The weight is heavy, but I will not turn away."
Beside him, Lianhua's hand tightened around his, her eyes wet but steady.
The chamber was dim, lanterns faintly glowing against carved wood. Outside, the cicadas hummed, the estate finally quiet after the storm of his return.
Haotian lay on the wide bed, his arm bent to cradle Lianhua's head. Her hair spilled over his shoulder like dark silk, her cheek pressed lightly against him. His other hand rested on her stomach—gentle, careful, as if even the smallest weight might disturb the child within.
Lianhua's voice broke the silence, soft and trembling. "I thought… I might never see you again."
Haotian tilted his head toward her, his thumb brushing faint circles over her belly. "I thought the same. But I'm here now."
She pressed closer against him, tears glistening in her lashes. "Every night I prayed you'd come back. I held onto the thought of you so tightly that sometimes… it hurt. And now, to hold you again—" Her words caught, swallowed by emotion.
He tightened his arm around her, his voice warm and steady. "I felt the same. Even when I was on the brink, it was you who pulled me back. You and our child. I longed for this—just to be beside you again."
Her lips curved in a small, fragile smile. "Then don't let go."
Haotian lowered his head and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes, breath shuddering. Then he kissed her lips, soft and lingering. But before he could say more, he felt her body go slack.
She had fallen asleep mid-kiss.
Haotian pulled back slightly, surprised, then smiled faintly. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek. Her face was peaceful now, though swollen from exhaustion, the dark shadows under her eyes softened in rest.
He stayed still, barely breathing, letting her rest on his arm. His own body ached from fatigue, but he didn't move. He knew how long she had been waiting, how little she had slept these past months.
For the first time since his disappearance, she looked at peace—safe in his arms, her breathing steady.
Haotian closed his eyes, holding her gently, as if the whole world could shatter and he would not disturb her slumber.
The first light of dawn spilled gold across the tiled roofs of the Zhenlong estate. The air smelled of steamed buns and fresh tea, the courtyard alive with hushed voices and quickened steps.
When Haotian and Lianhua entered the family hall together, every gaze turned. Lianhua leaned lightly against him, her hand resting on her rounded stomach. Though exhaustion still clung to her features, her eyes were bright, the peace of the night softening her face.
"Finally," Haoyue said, arms crossed, her lips tugging into a smile. "You disappear for months, return at the brink of collapse, and the first thing you do is make her smile again. Do you know how long she's been suffering while waiting for you?"
Her voice carried the mix of reprimand and affection only an older sister could manage.
Haotian bowed his head lightly, smiling wryly. "I know, Sister. And I hate that I left her to wait like that. I'll make it right."
Lianhua's cheeks flushed as she pressed closer to him. "He already has."
Their stepmother moved forward, taking Lianhua's hand with a soft, trembling smile. "Seeing you both together like this… it feels as if a missing piece of the household has returned."
Even Wuhen's sternness melted. His voice was rough, but the faint pride in his eyes was unmistakable. "The halls are no longer empty. It feels whole again."
Servants entered with trays of food—porridge steaming, buns stacked, vegetables and meats fragrant with spice. As they set the table, their whispers barely stayed contained: Young master has returned… the Saint Son is home again.
Then Ancestor Yangshen's laughter boomed through the hall. "Hah! Just as I thought—the boy crosses half the world, defies demons, and the first thing he does when he gets home is sit down to eat! At least his appetite hasn't changed!"
Laughter rippled through the room. Even Ancestor Meiyun, cold as ever, let a faint smile cross her lips. "Let him eat. He'll need the strength."
Haotian grinned and guided Lianhua to her seat before sitting beside her. He looked around the table—at his mother's misty smile, at Haoyue's protective eyes, at Lianhua's quiet gaze full of relief—and felt his chest loosen.
For this morning, he was not the Saint Son, not a pillar burdened by demon's warnings.
He was simply the youngest of the household, sitting with his family again.