After the meal, laughter and chatter lingered in the family hall. Servants cleared the dishes while Lianhua was guided gently back to her quarters by their mother and stepmother. Haotian moved to follow, but a firm hand landed on his shoulder.
"Not yet," Wuhen said, his deep voice leaving no room for argument. Beside him, Haoyue crossed her arms and tilted her head toward a side passage. "Come. We need words."
Haotian sighed, then nodded. "Very well."
They led him to a quiet courtyard, shaded by ancient pines. A stone bench waited beneath them, dusted faintly with fallen needles. Wuhen stood tall, arms behind his back, while Haoyue leaned against one of the trees, her eyes fixed on her younger brother.
For a long moment, they said nothing. Then Haoyue broke the silence.
"You scared us." Her voice was steady, but her eyes shimmered. "When word reached us that you had vanished, do you know what it did to the family? To Lianhua?"
Haotian lowered his head. "I know. And I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Haoyue's voice sharpened. "That's not enough, Haotian. You're not just a boy anymore. You're the Saint Son. You're a husband. Soon, you'll be a father." Her arms tightened across her chest. "You can't throw your life away like it's nothing. Not anymore."
Wuhen's voice joined, steady and firm. "Your sister is right. When you vanished, I told myself it was fate. But when you reappeared… I realized it wasn't fate. It was your recklessness. You carry more now than just your own future."
Haotian looked between them, his jaw tight, words caught in his throat. Finally, he bowed slightly, his tone soft, humbled.
"This junior understands. I know I was reckless. But at the Sea Bridge, there was no choice. If I hadn't stood, everyone would have died."
Haoyue's gaze softened, though the tears she had been holding back finally slipped free. "And if you had died, what would have happened to Lianhua? To your child? To us?"
Haotian stepped closer and, for the first time in years, pulled his older sister into a brief embrace. "You're right. I was selfish in that moment. But I promise you, Sister, Father… I won't waste the life I still have. Not now."
Wuhen's stern eyes lingered on him, then slowly softened. "Good. Then remember this, Haotian—your strength isn't only for battle. It's for protecting the people waiting behind you. Don't make them wait in fear again."
Haotian nodded, his chest heavy but steady. "I'll remember."
The pines whispered overhead, and for the first time that morning, Haoyue smiled through her tears.
The corridors of the Zhenlong estate were quiet when Haotian returned from the courtyard. Sunlight filtered through painted windows, casting soft light across polished floors. He moved silently, following the faint sound of Lianhua's voice.
In her chambers, she sat propped against a cushioned chair, her hands resting on the curve of her stomach. When she saw him step in, her tired eyes brightened, and her lips curved into a small smile.
"You're back."
Haotian walked over, crouched down beside her, and gently laid his hand on her belly, careful as if touching porcelain. "I needed to see you both."
Lianhua's fingers brushed over his, weaving together. "He's been restless all morning. Maybe he knew his father was close."
Haotian lowered his head, speaking softly against the warmth of her stomach. "Hello, little one. It's your father. I'm sorry I left you waiting so long, but I'm here now. I promise you—I'll never let harm come to you or your mother."
The child shifted beneath his palm, and Lianhua laughed, a sound halfway between relief and tears. "Did you feel that? He answered you."
Haotian's smile softened. "Then he already has spirit. Just like his mother."
Lianhua's eyes shimmered, her throat tightening. "I used to talk to him every night, telling him about you. That his father was brave, that you'd come home to us. Some nights I believed it. Other nights…" She trailed off, biting her lip.
Haotian reached up, cupping her cheek. "I'm here now. That's all that matters. No more empty nights."
Her tears slipped free, but she leaned into his touch, smiling through them. "Then don't make me wait again."
He kissed her forehead gently, then pressed his cheek against her stomach, whispering again to the child. "Grow strong. When I return from the battles ahead, I want you running into my arms."
Lianhua laughed through her tears, brushing her hand through his hair. "He will. And he'll know exactly who you are—the man who carried the world on his back, but still found his way home."
Haotian closed his eyes, listening to the quiet rhythm of both heartbeats—the woman he loved and the child waiting to be born. For the first time since the Sea Bridge, the weight in his chest felt lighter.
The council chamber of the Zhenlong estate was solemn, lanternlight flickering against dragon-carved pillars. The Four Ancestors sat in silence as Haotian bowed before them, his presence steady despite the weight of their gazes.
Ancestor Yangshen leaned forward, his tone heavy. "Haotian. You spoke of the demon's last words. Tell us—how long until the seal breaks?"
Haotian lifted his head, his voice calm. "At the Sea Bridge, I opened the Eyes of the Universe. I saw the seal's state clearly. Its strength is collapsing. At this pace, in no more than three years it will shatter completely."
The chamber froze.
Ancestor Yuying whispered, "Three years… so little time."
Ancestor Meiyun's eyes darkened. "Neither continent is ready. If your words are true, our foundations will crumble before the invasion even begins."
Haotian nodded gravely. "Which is why I propose two paths. First—I will return to the Moon Lotus Sect in the North. They sheltered me when I was broken. They trusted me at the Sea Bridge. Their disciples can be raised swiftly with alchemy, battle training, and formations. In three years, I can push their core disciples to the Saint Realm, and their elders toward Immortality. We will need them."
Ancestor Jinahi's eyes narrowed. "And the second?"
Haotian's gaze sharpened. "In one year's time, I will return to the Sea Bridge itself. If possible, I will attempt to reinforce the failing seal with formation techniques. Even if I cannot restore it fully, I can slow its collapse. And around it, I will construct slaughter arrays and defensive arrays—a fortress of formations to hold the line when the invasion comes."
The Ancestors leaned forward, stunned.
Haotian continued, his voice unwavering. "I have also begun planning something greater: a grand formation, not of one or two layers, but a hundred. Layer upon layer, interwoven—shielding, killing, suppressing, binding. It would take time, resources, and countless hours of refinement. But if completed, even an army of demons would break upon it like waves against stone."
Ancestor Yangshen stared at him, beard trembling with his exhale. "A hundred-layer formation… boy, do you understand what you are proposing?"
Haotian bowed deeply. "I do. And I know it borders on madness. But if I do nothing, both continents fall. With it, we may hold long enough for reinforcements… or for fate itself to turn."
Ancestor Yuying's voice softened, though her eyes gleamed. "Such ambition… no, such vision. You speak like one who already shoulders the weight of a generation."
Meiyun's lips pressed thin, but her gaze betrayed reluctant admiration. "It is nearly impossible. But then, your survival was nearly impossible too."
Yangshen finally struck his staff against the floor, the sound echoing. "Then it is decided. Three years we have. You will return North, raise their strength, and prepare your formations. The Sea Bridge shall not fall quietly—we will make it a fortress of blood and steel."
Haotian straightened, his eyes burning with resolve. "Yes, Ancestor. I will not fail."
The chamber was quiet except for the faint crackle of the brazier. Lianhua sat on the edge of the bed, her hand brushing over her rounded stomach, when Haotian entered. His face was calm, but the heaviness in his eyes made her heart tighten.
He sat beside her, and for a moment neither spoke. Then, in a whisper, she asked, "You're leaving again… aren't you?"
Haotian exhaled slowly. "Not yet."
Her shoulders trembled, tears welling. "But you will."
He reached for her hand, holding it firmly. "Lianhua, listen. The seal beneath the Sea Bridge—it's failing. I saw it myself with the Eyes of the Universe. In three years at most, it will collapse completely, and when it does… both the North and West will drown in demons and war."
Her tears slipped free, but she bit her lip and forced herself to meet his gaze.
"That's why I've made a plan," Haotian continued. "I'll return to the North, raise their strength with alchemy, training, and formations. In one year, I'll go back to the Sea Bridge itself. I'll try to reinforce the seal, to buy us more time. Around it, I'll set slaughter arrays and defensive formations. And… if I succeed, I'll construct something greater—a grand formation, one hundred layers deep. Enough to hold the invasion back even when the seal finally breaks."
Her tears fell faster, but her eyes softened. "Haotian… all of that, on your shoulders?"
He cupped her cheek, his voice low but steady. "Because no one else can. My eyes let me see what others cannot. The responsibility is mine. If I do nothing, the world falls. But if I act… I can give us more time. Years, maybe decades. Enough for our sects to be ready."
She leaned into his hand, her sobs gentling into quiet breaths. "And when will you go?"
He smiled faintly. "Not yet. I'll stay. I want to see our child born first. I need to be here for you both."
The words broke something in her—relief flooding through her chest. She collapsed against him, clinging tightly. "Then promise me… when you leave, you'll return. You'll come back to us."
He kissed her forehead, his arms wrapping around her. "I promise. No demon, no seal, no fate will take me from you. I'll be here. And I'll return."
She looked up at him through her tears, her voice trembling. "It's those eyes of yours… the same ones I fell in love with. They're steady, even when you carry the world."
Haotian lowered his forehead against hers, his whisper firm. "Then let them be steady enough for both of us."
The brazier crackled softly, and for a while, the weight of war eased beneath the quiet warmth of their embrace.
The Zhenlong household settled into a rhythm that felt like a dream. Months passed, each day weaving into the next with gentle calm. For Haotian, who had lived years in battles and blood, it was the first time he had truly known peace.
He spent his mornings in the courtyards, practicing his breathing arts under the rising sun. Servants carrying baskets of laundry or firewood would pause, bowing deeply, whispering in awe: the Saint Son trains among us as if he were an ordinary man.
By midday, he often walked with Lianhua through the gardens. She leaned lightly on his arm, her belly now full and heavy with the child. The scent of lotus blossoms carried on the breeze, and though she moved slower each day, her smile had grown softer, steadier.
Sometimes Haotian would kneel in the grass and rest his ear against her stomach, listening."Still restless," he would murmur, smiling faintly. "Just like his mother."
Lianhua laughed, brushing his hair back. "Then you'd better be ready. He's going to be a handful."
In the evenings, Haotian sat with his mother and Haoyue, speaking of the past and the future. Haoyue often scolded him still, though her eyes always softened when she watched him with Lianhua. Their mother only smiled through misty eyes, murmuring that her youngest son had finally found his path.
Even Wuhen, once stern and distant, sometimes lingered in the hall, watching silently as Haotian brought tea to Lianhua or carried her back when she grew tired. Though he rarely spoke, there was pride in his gaze.
At night, in the quiet of their chambers, Lianhua often whispered her fears. "What if I'm not strong enough? What if the demons come before he's grown?"
Haotian always drew her into his arms, his voice steady. "You've already given him life. That strength is greater than any demon. And as for the rest… that burden is mine. You'll never face it alone."
She would close her eyes against his chest, comforted by his heartbeat, finally able to sleep without tears.
And so the days passed—soft, fleeting, precious. Every sunrise brought them closer to the moment that would change everything: the birth of their child.
The night sky over the Zhenlong estate was heavy with clouds, lanterns burning bright in every courtyard. Word had spread through the household: Lianhua's time had come.
In her chamber, the air was thick with tension. Servants hurried in and out carrying hot water, fresh cloths, and medicinal herbs. Midwives gathered at her side, murmuring encouragement. Lianhua gripped the sheets with trembling hands, sweat beading on her forehead, her face pale but determined.
Haotian knelt beside her, one hand clasping hers, the other gently stroking her damp hair back. His heart thundered harder than in any battle he had ever fought.
"Lianhua, I'm here," he whispered, steadying his voice though fear twisted in his chest. "You're not alone. Just breathe with me."
She tried to smile through her pain. "Don't… don't you dare let go."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Haoyue entered, her presence a pillar of calm, directing the midwives with firm authority. Their mother and stepmother waited just beyond the curtains, praying softly. Even Wuhen stood outside the chamber, his normally unshakable composure strained, fists clenched behind his back.
The hours dragged like years. Lianhua cried out, her strength faltering, but Haotian pressed his forehead to hers, whispering words he barely knew he had. "Hold on, Lianhua. Just a little more. You're stronger than anyone I've ever known. Our child is waiting to meet you."
At last, a sharp cry cut through the chamber. A newborn's wail—fragile, powerful, alive.
The midwife lifted the child, wrapped in soft cloth, and turned with tears in her eyes. "A boy. Strong and healthy."
The room seemed to exhale all at once. Haoyue clapped a hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. Their mother sobbed openly, clutching Wuhen's arm outside. Even the stern patriarch's eyes glimmered as he closed them, whispering thanks to the heavens.
Haotian's vision blurred as the child was placed in Lianhua's arms. She looked down at the tiny face, eyes wet with exhaustion and joy. "Haotian… look at him. He's perfect."
Haotian sat close, wrapping his arm around her, his other hand trembling as he stroked the boy's cheek. "He's… ours." His voice broke, the words choked with emotion. "Our son."
The child's wails softened, as if recognizing their warmth, tiny fingers curling around Haotian's thumb.
Tears streamed freely down Haotian's face as he bent and pressed a kiss to Lianhua's forehead. "You did it. You brought him here. Both of you… my greatest treasures."
Lianhua smiled weakly, nestling against him, her arms cradling both husband and child. "We're a family now."
And for the first time since the Sea Bridge, Haotian felt not just the weight of destiny—but the blessing of life.
The chamber was hushed, the cries of the newborn now quiet as he slept in Lianhua's arms. A lantern glowed softly above, casting golden light over the three of them—mother, father, and son.
The curtains parted, and Haoyue entered first, her eyes still glistening. Behind her came their mother, stepmother, and finally Wuhen, who had waited the longest. Each of them froze at the sight—Haotian seated at Lianhua's side, his arm protectively around her, the child resting peacefully against her chest.
Their mother's lips trembled, and she rushed forward, unable to stop herself. "Let me see him."
Haotian smiled and carefully adjusted the cloth, showing the boy's tiny face. The women gasped softly, and even Wuhen's stern expression softened into something unguarded.
Haoyue knelt beside them, her hand hovering just above the child's cheek. "He looks… so much like you, little brother. But his eyes, I can already see Lianhua in them."
Lianhua laughed softly, though her voice was weak. "Then he's perfect."
Ancestor Yangshen and the other three Ancestors soon entered as well, their normally solemn faces touched by rare warmth. Yangshen's booming voice softened as he looked down. "A new life, born under shadow yet shining like dawn. Truly, the blood of dragons runs strong."
The family gathered closer, and then the question arose. "What shall he be named?" Haoyue asked gently.
Haotian looked at Lianhua, giving her the choice. She gazed at the child, then lifted her eyes to meet her husband's. "He is our hope. Our light against the darkness." She paused, voice trembling. "Let us call him Zhenlong Tianlan."
"Tianlan…" Haotian repeated softly, the name rolling like a vow from his lips. He kissed his son's forehead. "May the heavens shelter you, and may you rise higher than your father ever could."
The family echoed the name with reverence, voices soft but sure: Tianlan.
Wine was brought, tables set, and for that night the Zhenlong household celebrated. Laughter and tears mingled, toasts raised for the child, for Lianhua's strength, and for Haotian's return. Servants sang old songs in the courtyard, and the lanterns burned bright until dawn.
Haotian sat quietly in the middle of it all, holding his son while Lianhua slept peacefully beside him, exhaustion finally claiming her. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to rest in joy, in the warmth of his family.
For that night, there was no prophecy, no demons, no burden of Saint Son.Only a father, a mother, and the child that bound them together.
free of its usual weight of politics and cultivation pressures. Wherever Haotian went, joy seemed to follow, for everyone wanted a glimpse of the newborn.
Haotian, however, stayed close to Lianhua's side. He carried her when she was too weak to walk, brewed nourishing soups himself with herbs from his spatial ring, and made certain that no noise disturbed her rest. Servants whispered in amazement: the Saint Son himself tending to his wife like an ordinary husband.
At night, when the household quieted, Haotian would cradle Tianlan in his arms. The child's tiny breaths tickled against his chest, his small hands clinging instinctively to Haotian's robes. He would whisper to him—about the stars, about the sea, about the weight of the world and why his father must one day fight again."You'll grow strong, Tianlan," he murmured one night. "But for now, all you need to do is smile. Leave the burdens to me."
Sometimes, when the boy stirred, Haotian would hum old lullabies he remembered from his childhood. The sound of his deep, steady voice seemed to calm Tianlan faster than anything else.
Lianhua often woke to see her husband sitting at the bedside, their son asleep against his chest. She would smile softly, whispering, "You look more at peace with him than you ever do in cultivation."
And Haotian would smile back, kissing her forehead. "Because here, with both of you, I remember what I'm fighting for."
Even Haoyue softened during those days, often visiting to hold her nephew. Their mother became radiant, her every word now focused on Tianlan's future. Even Wuhen, though he never said much, often lingered at the doorway, watching quietly before slipping away.
A season passed this way—Haotian tasting, for the first time in his life, the rhythm of fatherhood. It was fleeting, perhaps, but precious beyond measure.