Jade Throne Realm – Central Mainland – Flying Sword Sect Territory
Year of the Jade Rooster – Time to Shine (Extra Time, Apparently)
5th Feather Month. Fifth Day. Fifth Hour. Fifth Year.
Auspicious doesn't even begin to cover it.
It was Saturday as far as mortals understood such things and the heavens were acting completely unreasonable.
The sun, instead of doing its usual "rise-and-set" routine, had stopped mid-arc in the sky like a nosy aunt caught mid-eavesdrop. From its blazing center, a lotus bloomed—each petal made of scorching flame.
The moon, on the opposite end of the sky, said "oh really?" and began cresting the horizon simultaneously, revealing its own lotus—frost-laced, shimmering, utterly unbothered.
An eclipse began to unfold. Not as a dimming, but as a cosmic collaboration. Yin and Yang had booked the same day spa and were refusing to reschedule.
In the birthing chamber, things were no less dramatic.
Xu Minzhi, Sect Mistress, Ghost Hands Healer, living calamity in maternity, was clamped around a reinforced birth bar, jaw clenched around a qi-forged tooth guard so she wouldn't grind her molars into celestial powder.
Her robe was soaked through in sacred sweat, and her eyes were glowing with both the agony of labor and the fury of paperwork left undone.
"Scalpels must be bathed in spirit water then sterilized in Heavenflame, you thunderless walnut-brains!" she barked between contractions. "No, don't look at me like that—would you use unblessed jade thread to stitch up a sect master's ruptured vein? THEN DON'T USE IT ON MY VAGINA!"
Every midwife present was above Jade Purity Embryo stage, garbed in full sterile regalia, enchanted hairnets, talisman-sealed gloves, and spirit-cleansed masks. A single drop of sweat had already been publicly exiled from the chamber for daring to fall on the floor.
Despite their power, not one dared argue.
Because half the room was on fire, and the other half was encased in ice, and the very bedframe made of obsidian—crafted to absorb spiritual outbursts—was groaning like a cow giving birth to a thundercloud.
Outside, Ancestor Feiyu observed through the mist-scrying basin. "Ah, this takes me back. Did I ever tell you how I was born during a lightning typhoon while our sect was under siege?"
"You have," Yuling said, sipping tea. "Three times. Last week."
Feiyu beamed. "Still relevant."
The Sect Master, Xu Zhongshan, stood outside, walking back and forth like a man whose home was on fire and whose wife was not letting him put it out.
"She said I wasn't allowed in," he muttered for the thirtieth time.
"She said you'd breathe too loudly," Elder Lin Qian reminded, patting his shoulder.
"I breathe with dignity."
"She also said your qi presence would disrupt the perfect polarity of the delivery field and she would personally glue your meridians shut if you entered."
Zhongshan sighed, shoulders slumping. "She's always so romantic."
The sky was in chaos.
Devils, sensing celestial upheaval, came slithering from the West, cloaked in corruption, intent on sabotaging what they assumed was the birth of new Heaven's Prides.
They were right.
Unfortunately, the Flying Sword Sect's formation arrays were feeling spicy.
The first devil cultivator stepped onto sacred land and was immediately struck by a thousand bolt-formation coded to activate if the intruder had:
Death intent,
Spoiled qi,
Wore too much black eyeliner,
Or smelled like decayed mangoes.
He exploded.
The rest didn't fare better.
By the time they realized the formation could differentiate between malicious intention and bad taste, it was too late. They fried like spiritual bacon on an immortal stove.
Inside the formation perimeter, two diplomatic envoys appeared in a golden puff of coordination, representing the Heaven and Hell Sects.
They looked suspiciously smug.
Each held a basket. Matching. Coordinated. Wrapped in red and blue silks.
Inside:
Grade Nine Diapers embroidered with beast core threads.
Spirit-imbued pacifiers, enchanted to soothe even reborn Asura cultivators.
Bibs. Oh, the bibs.
One read "Cold but Cute" with tiny snowflake sigils.
The other: "Born to Burn" with little fire petals curling at the edges.
Two baby swords. Not practice swords. Baby actual swords.
One courier bowed deeply. "Please extend our congratulations to the Sect Mistress. And please don't kill us for knowing they're girls. Our Elders just… know things."
The Flying Sword disciples, sworn to secrecy, nearly burst a vein trying not to scream. They hadn't even known the gender.
At that moment, the ground trembled.
Inside the birthing chamber, Minzhi let out a thunderous breath.
"Ten. I'm at ten."
The midwives prepared for divine war.
And then it happened.
The first cry.
Sharp. Piercing.
So cold it made the air crystallize.
A breath of frost swept the room.moonlight intensified and the Frost Lotus outside bloomed fully.
Then came the second cry.
Hot. Furious. Like a scream torn from a phoenix's throat.
Flames erupted harmless but blinding and the Sun Lotus burst into full bloom, casting firelight into the sky.
The Moon and Sun had spoken.
Their voices—the wails of newborn girls—rippled across the Central Mainland.
Cultivators across sects dropped their cups.
Tea boiled.
Flames froze.
One rogue cultivator fell into a lotus pond and decided to become a monk.
The Heaven's Pride List pulsed.
At the bottom, in golden letters:
"Names Pending – Frost and Flame have been born."
Back in the ancestral hall:
Feiyu wiped a single tear. "Ah, my nieces. Beautifully aggressive."
Yuling whispered, "They screamed with cultivation intent. That was a domain threat cry. As infants."
Feiyu chuckled. "And so the price of pacifiers rises again."
The siblings sat just outside the chamber, bowls of popcorn in hand.spirit-popped, fire-buttered, and frost-salted.
"Called it," Liang said.
Anyue nodded. "They'll be terrifying."
Zhenyan tilted his head. "They've judged us already. I could feel it."
"Good," Liang grinned. "Means they're family."