Within a few days, the wind of war stirred across the heavens. Whispers of the demon realm's resurgence swept through every palace and divine court like a plague of dread. It was no longer a mere rumor—confirmation had come from the Jade Emperor himself. The demons were gathering, more organized, more dangerous than they had been in a millennium. And at their helm, a new commander—one cloaked in shadow, unknown to the heavens.
If the demons triumphed, the devastation would not be confined to the celestial realm. The mortal world would fall next. The stakes had never been higher.
High gods and immortals answered the call to arms, their banners raised and divine weapons summoned. Among them were Yanxia and Qingfeng, elemental deities bound by their duty to preserve balance across all realms. They volunteered without hesitation, though their hearts were heavy.
"We must go," Yanxia told Wenlan, her tone solemn, none of her usual playfulness. "But it feels wrong... leaving Xiao Zhu behind."
Qingfeng, no longer teasing, patted Yanxia's head, his voice gentle. "She is safer in Ling Yuan Palace than anywhere else."
Wenlan nodded in agreement, her gaze distant. "Don't worry. She'll be safe. I will remain here. And Yuebao will not leave her side."
Yanxia let out a quiet breath, as if trying to release the weight in her chest.
"Still," she admitted, voice softer, "I wish I could stay… just a little longer."
Qingfeng chuckled lightly and gave her a reassuring nudge. "Then hurry back soon."
Yanxia managed a small smile, though the wistfulness in her eyes remained.
___
Meanwhile, back at Ling Yuan Palace, Yuebao—the moon fox bestowed upon Xiao Zhu by Xingyao himself—stood quietly near the palace gate, ears flicking, golden eyes calm. Ever alert, he waited, ready to receive his master's signal from afar.
At Xingyun Palace, Xingyao stood beneath the eaves, clad in ceremonial white armor etched with silver-threaded runes that shimmered faintly in the lantern light.
Pale silk lined the interior of his mantle, which billowed softly with each movement. A silver sash bound his long sword at his hip, its scabbard engraved with starlit glyphs. His hair, gathered into a long, silken ponytail, flowed behind him like liquid starlight, fastened with a single jade clasp.
Xingluo, the golden spirit finch, landed gently on his shoulder with a soft chirp, nuzzling into his neck with feathered affection.
Liuying, the baby dragon with translucent wings, zipped in playful circles around him before coiling briefly at his feet, letting out a whimper as if sensing what was to come.
Mingxiu, the galaxy-shelled snail, had slithered quietly onto the nearby railing, its feelers twitching in solemn silence—judging, as always.
And finally, Shuanghua—the twin violet-winged butterflies—descended in a spiral of shimmering stardust, brushing his cheek and sword hilt before hovering nearby, drawn by the distant hum of his spirit.
Xingyao looked at them, his pale gaze softening just slightly.
"Guard the palace. Keep each other safe," he said, his voice low and even.
Then, before he turned, he transmitted a final message to Yuebao—far across the realm, where the moon fox stood guard.
"Watch over her."
Then, without another word, he ascended into the sky, a streak of light disappearing beyond the clouds.
_____
In the main courtyard of Ling Yuan Palace, Mo Chen stood before Xiao Zhu, clad in war armor—colder than ever, his presence a wall of quiet frost.
His armor gleamed with a glacial sheen, forged from tempered ice-steel imbued with divine water essence. The surface reflected light like frozen lakes under moonlight—smooth, pale silver with hints of blue frost threading through its curves. Wisps of cold mist curled from the edges of his mantle, trailing faintly behind him with every movement.
The chestplate was etched with the sigil of the Northern Sea, its design sharp as a cresting wave frozen mid-surge. Crystal filigree traced the outlines of his pauldrons, delicate in pattern but unyielding in form. Frost lilies—sacred to his domain—had been carved into the metal near his gauntlets, their petals laced in silver ice.
His long sleeves were tucked neatly beneath bracers of frozen jade, engraved with ancient water runes that glowed faintly with each pulse of his spiritual energy. A blade hung at his back—narrow, curved, and sealed in a sheath of ice-forged iron. The air around him shimmered with chill, and even the snow at his feet refused to melt.
Unlike Xingyao's celestial glow, Mo Chen exuded an austere coldness—calm, exacting, and unreadable. Even his hair was bound into a high, precise knot, not a strand out of place. Yet when he looked at Xiao Zhu, there was the faintest flicker in his blue eyes—like a ripple beneath still water.
Xiao Zhu looked so small, her head lowered, so all he could see was the top of her hair.
Silence stretched between them.
….
Then Mo Chen sighed.
"Be good. Master will come back safe."
He lifted a hand, uncertain, and rested it gently on her head.
Unexpectedly, she hugged him—and didn't let go.
Her voice quivered. "Do you promise you will come back safe?"
She buried her small face against his armor, voice small, pleading.
"Please be safe and come back to me."
Mo Chen hesitated, his fingers flexing at his side—a movement so brief it might have gone unnoticed.
Then, softly, he murmured, "Mn."
Xiao Zhu let him go, looking up, her beautiful eyes glistening with tears, her small nose reddened from the cold.
"You promised. Will you give them my words, too?"
Mo Chen nodded once.
She wiped at her damp lashes and gave him a small, fragile smile, one that made something deep inside him quietly ache.
"Mn. Xiao Zhu will be good... and wait for all of you to come home."
Mo Chen said nothing.
But in that moment, he almost said something more—yet the words never came.
Instead, he turned, ascending swiftly, casting a final glance toward the small figure standing alone in Ling Yuan's courtyard, snow drifting silently around her.
Before leaving, he strengthened the palace's protective barrier. It was designed to keep all intruders out—even shape-shifters and spirit beasts. But mindful of Xiao Zhu's nature, he ensured the barrier would never harm her.
With that thought in mind, Mo Chen took out a communication talisman, transmitting a message before sending it to Tianwu.
This time, he would not merely fight.
This time—he would avenge his master.
___
The days passed in quiet solitude.
Snow fell endlessly, blanketing Ling Yuan's courtyard in soft veils, muffling the world with its gentle hush.
Under Wenlan's care, Xiao Zhu resumed her studies, but loneliness crept in—quiet and cold.
She missed them.
Her master, Yanxia, Qingfeng.
The warmth of their voices, the way Yanxia spoiled her with treats and stories, always making her laugh—the way Qingfeng ruffled her hair in quiet amusement, saying little but always listening.
The courtyard felt larger without them, the halls emptier, the lantern light less golden than before.
And then—another figure lingered in her thoughts.
Lord Xingyao.
The high god draped in quiet solitude, silver-haired, eyes pale as distant stars.
She thought of how his voice, calm and measured, carried a quiet weight, how his presence was always steady, always unwavering.
Yet—she wondered.
Was he lonely, too?
Xiao Zhu let out a deep sigh, absentmindedly patting Yuebao's soft fur.
She hoped he would return safely.
She hoped they all would.
Then—on the fifth evening, it happened.
Xiao Zhu sat in front of her room, cradling Yuebao, nibbling on a meat bun infused with spiritual energy—one Wenlan had prepared earlier.
Yuebao stretched lazily, his silver tails curling around her lap, golden eyes half-lidded in contentment.
Xiao Zhu tore off a small piece of the bun and held it up.
"You're getting spoiled," she murmured.
Yuebao's ears flicked dismissively, but he didn't reject the offering. He accepted it with deliberate grace, chewing slowly, his tails swishing like silk in the winter air.
Xiao Zhu giggled and tapped his nose lightly.
"How naughty," she teased.
Yuebao huffed, flicking his tail—a subtle protest, but he didn't move away.
"You like it, though," she whispered playfully, stroking his soft fur.
Yuebao responded by nudging his head lightly against her palm, sinking a little deeper into the warmth of her lap.
For a moment, all was peaceful.
Then—his body stiffened.
His ears jerked upright, golden eyes flashing sharp and alert.
The air shifted.
A low, warning growl built in his throat, rumbling deep, instinctive.
His tails—once relaxed—bristled, standing rigid, their silver sheen rippling as if reacting to something unseen.
Xiao Zhu blinked.
"Yuebao?"
Then—he moved.
Fast.
Urgent.
His paws barely touched the ground as he leapt off her lap, darting toward the main gate in a blur of silver.
Xiao Zhu jumped to her feet, startled.
"Wait! Where are you going?"
She hurried after him, steps kicking up frost, but as she reached the main gate of Ling Yuan Palace—she froze.
Beyond the shimmering veil of the protective barrier, a white fox lay trembling.
Nine tails flickered weakly in the wind, silver-white fur marred with crimson wounds, staining the snow.
Blood.
Xiao Zhu's heart clenched.
"There's a spirit beast outside!"
She pressed her hands against the barrier, but it remained unyielding.
The injured fox let out a faint, pitiful whimper.
Xiao Zhu pressed her palms firmly against the shimmering wall, willing it to part—but it refused to yield.
Beyond its veil, the majestic fox trembled, its breath uneven, its tails barely moving, fragile as broken silk.
Xiao Zhu's breath hitched.
She could feel its suffering, as if it whispered to her—not in words, but in a way that resonated somewhere deep, beyond simple compassion.
Yuebao whined sharply, stepping closer, his golden eyes flickering uncertainly between the fox and Xiao Zhu.
Xiao Zhu tried again, willing the barrier to open with all her strength.
Her pearl mark flickered faintly at her brow, pulsing like a heartbeat of light, then glowed brightly.
The barrier shimmered—then parted.
Yuebao growled, his fur bristling, trying to stop her—but she had already stepped through.
He rushed after her before the barrier could seal shut again.
The air outside was sharp with winter wind. Xiao Zhu knelt beside the fox, placing her hands gently on its head.
"Poor thing. Let me help you."
She scooped the fox gently into her arms and placed a palm over its wound.
Ancient energy unfolded from her fingertips, warm and steady, flowing into the injured flesh.
She had done this once before—when she healed Lord Xingyao's golden finch.
She still didn't know what this power was, only that it came to her as naturally as breathing.
Slowly, the gash began to close.
The fox whimpered softly.
Then, with a shimmer of light, it transformed.
Bai Xiang.
Her white robe billowed gently in the snowfall, the fabric ghostly against the pale landscape. Silken strands of black hair cascaded down her back, flowing like ink spilled upon porcelain. Her face, delicate and wan, held an ethereal beauty—fragile yet haunting, like a fading dream caught between dusk and dawn.
She knelt in the snow, her expression soft, vulnerable.
"Little Fairy, you... healed me," Bai Xiang said, her voice laced with false gratitude, smooth as silk.
Xiao Zhu smiled in relief. "I couldn't just leave you."
Bai Xiang watched her for a long moment, then lowered her gaze. "You shouldn't be so trusting."
Xiao Zhu tilted her head slightly, confusion flickering in her soft eyes.
"I just wanted to help."
Bai Xiang's lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile.
"Perhaps that is why you are so loved," she murmured, her voice tinged with envy.
Without hesitation, Bai Xiang took Xiao Zhu's hand, her fingers firm and cool against Xiao Zhu's warmth.
She reached into her sleeve, producing a strange flower—delicate, violet, shimmering with gold veins.
"Then take this," she said, her tone low, steady, unwavering. "A gift. For your kindness."
Xiao Zhu hesitated, her gaze flickering between Bai Xiang and the flower
"I don't need a reward," she said softly, pushing the flower back slightly, hesitation flickering across her beautiful and delicate features.
"Helping you was enough."
Bai Xiang's fingers tightened subtly.
"Please… just take it," Bai Xiang whispered, forcing it into Xiao Zhu's hands before she could protest.
Yuebao let out a deep snarl, his fur bristling as he prepared to attack.
Bai Xiang's lips moved quickly—ancient syllables whispered low.
A spell.
The moment the last word left her tongue, the flower pulsed. Radiant light burst from it—sharp, violet, and cold.
The enchantment on the flower shattered like glass.
Its magic surged into Xiao Zhu's hands, through her arms, and into her chest.
Her soul.
Xiao Zhu gasped, stumbling backward, breath stolen from her lungs.
Pain lanced through her, freezing, unbearable—
Her vision blurred.
Her pulse staggered.
Then—she spat blood, painting the snow red.
Yuebao roared and lunged toward Bai Xiang.
Still trembling, Xiao Zhu raised a hand. "Don't... hurt her. She... didn't mean to..."
Her knees gave out. She collapsed in the snow, her pearl mark dimming.
Bai Xiang stared at the sight in horror. The flower's light had faded—but its damage had been done. Blood soaked the snow beneath Xiao Zhu like ink on parchment.
For a breath, Bai Xiang couldn't move. Her plan had worked. The spell had taken root.
And yet...
This wasn't how it was supposed to feel.
She had come here with purpose—with conviction, with Yunhua's words pressing against her spine like iron.
Yet now, standing over the body of the girl who had healed her, who had looked upon her with nothing but trust and warmth, something inside Bai Xiang broke.
Bai Xiang's lips parted. Her hand twitched, reaching—just slightly—toward the girl in the snow.
But the spell was already cast. The poison was already inside her.
Yuebao let out another furious snarl, his fur bristling, golden eyes burning with cold fury—but Bai Xiang barely heard him.
Her pulse hammered against her throat, a quiet scream pressing at the edges of her thoughts.
"No... this isn't my fault... I didn't—"
She turned and fled, her figure swallowed by mist and falling snow.
Yuebao bared his fangs, snarling low and guttural. His body tensed to give chase—
But then a small sound—barely a breath—escaped from Xiao Zhu's lips.
"Don't…."
He spun around, claws kicking up frost, and crouched beside Xiao Zhu. He nudged her urgently, once, twice, pressing his nose to her cheek. Her lashes fluttered weakly. A small gasp escaped her lips, and her hand fell limp in the snow.
He whimpered, licking the blood from her chin. His ears flattened. His tails curled around her protectively. He had failed. He hadn't kept her safe.
His master had trusted him. She had trusted him.
Yuebao lifted his head and let out a cry—not a roar, but a sharp, broken sound that pierced the stillness of Ling Yuan Palace.
Panic bloomed in his chest like fire. He tried to reach Xingyao through the bond—but the connection was silent, veiled by distance. Not even a flicker of response came back.
So he ran.
Faster than wind, faster than thought, the moon fox tore across the heavenly realm, howling.
His silver form streaked through clouds and courtyards, past startled servants and celestial pavilions. His cries echoed across jade bridges and frost-laced gardens—a sound of panic no one could ignore.
He reached Wenlan's palace in a blur of silver. Still howling, he darted through the open gates, paws skidding on polished stone.
He searched—through the halls, around corners—until finally, in the back garden, he found her.
Within the garden, the goddess was kneeling among her plants, gently tending to a spiritual herb.
She looked up the moment she heard him. Alarm flared in her eyes. Then she saw the blood on his snout.
Her hands stilled. The air changed.
"Is she hurt?" she whispered—but she was already rising to her feet.
Yuebao let out a low, anxious whimper. His head jerked toward the east, in the direction of Ling Yuan Palace. His tail swished restlessly.
Wenlan understood immediately. Her face darkened. Something had happened to Xiao Zhu.
Without a second's hesitation, she seized the satchel at her side—filling it swiftly with jade vials, spirit tonics, and tightly bundled herbs, each one tucked with care between folds of embroidered silk. Her hands moved with practiced precision, but her heart had already taken flight.
Yuebao turned and shot forward again, his paws barely touching the stone. Wenlan followed, her sleeves billowing behind her as she flew.
Far away, in front of Ling Yuan's main gate, where snow still fell in gentle silence—
Xiao Zhu lay in the white, unmoving. Her lashes were dusted with frost, her lips pale against the crimson that stained the snow.
Her body trembled faintly, caught in that unbearable threshold—between waking and vanishing, between life and its fading remnants.
Her spirit flickered, dimming like a candle caught in the wind, struggling to burn just a little longer, just a little more—
But the snow kept falling.
Soft. Silent. Indifferent to her suffering.