The immediate chaos of the demonic attack was a swirling vortex around a single, still point: a grey robed woman holding a crying, white haired child. Lan Yue's first instinct was to find the girl's mother. With Xue An's small, trembling hand in hers, she began to navigate the panicked streets, her senses extended, searching for a trace of a powerful, familiar aura. But it was gone, completely masked in the overwhelming fear and turmoil of the city.
Wei Chen appeared at her side, his sword clean, his face a mask of grim satisfaction. "The last of the fiends have been dealt with. The city guard is restoring order. Are you alright, Yue? Who is this child?"
"She was separated from her mother in the attack," Lan Yue said, her voice sharp, cutting off his questions before they could begin. "Secure the district, Elder Wei. Ensure the safety of the mortals. I will watch over the child."
Wei Chen, though eager to stay by her side, could not argue with a direct, logical command. He bowed stiffly and departed to organize the city's defenses, leaving Lan Yue alone with her new, very loud charge.
The search was fruitless. Every "noblewoman with white hair" they found was the wrong one, and Xue An's sobs only grew in volume and intensity.
"Mother!" she wailed, her small body shaking. "I need to see my mother! And… and," she hiccupped, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face, "it was supposed to be my birthday today!"
The words struck Lan Yue with a fresh wave of sympathy that bordered on panic. A lost child was one thing. A lost child on her birthday was a catastrophe of an entirely different magnitude. Lan Yue, a legendary sword saint who could face down a hundred warriors without blinking, was utterly out of her depth.
"Crying is an illogical response," she tried, her tone that of a serene master instructing a novice. "It expends energy without producing a result. We must remain calm and analyze our situation to find the optimal path forward."
This, predictably, only made Xue An cry harder.
Desperate, Lan Yue switched tactics. She held up her hand, and a small, shimmering butterfly made of pure, celestial light coalesced on her fingertip. It fluttered its wings, leaving a trail of soft, glowing motes in the air. Xue An's sobs quieted for a moment, her eyes wide with wonder. The butterfly did a loop in the air… and then she remembered her mother wasn't there to see it, and promptly burst into tears again.
Utterly defeated, Lan Yue knelt before her. "What?" she asked, the single word a plea from a goddess at her wits' end. "What would make you feel better?"
Xue An looked up, her face tear streaked. "The… the man with the flying dough," she sniffled.
And so began the strangest afternoon of Lan Yue's long life. The revered Saint Yue, a figure of myth and legend, found herself on a mission to entertain a ten year old. She found the noodle vendor from the day before and, after watching his technique, used a subtle pulse of her own qi to make the dough he was pulling loop and swirl in the air like a gymnast's ribbon, earning a delighted, watery giggle from Xue An. She took her to a shadow puppet theater and, finding the story lackluster, secretly manipulated the shadows herself, turning a simple folk tale into an epic of dueling dragons and soaring phoenixes that left the entire audience breathless and the puppeteer utterly baffled.
The child's grief was a vast, deep ocean, but with every silly, mundane miracle, Lan Yue managed to build a small, fragile island of happiness. By the time evening began to fall, the sobs had subsided, replaced by a tired, clinging trust.
"I am hungry," Xue An announced, her stomach rumbling.
Lan Yue found a quiet, respectable restaurant with a private room. She ordered a selection of mild, comforting dishes and watched as the girl ate. "Your mother is a very powerful and clever woman, I am sure of it," Lan Yue said, her voice soft and reassuring. "She is looking for you, just as we were looking for her. We will find her."
Remembering the final, crucial detail of the day, she spoke to the restaurant's owner. Her request was awkward, her description of a "cake" based on half forgotten texts about mortal celebrations. What arrived was a simple, round sponge cake with a dollop of sweet cream and a handful of fresh berries, a single candle placed in its center.
To Xue An, who had never seen such a thing, it was the most magical object in the world. Her face glowed in the candlelight as she made a silent, fervent wish and blew.
The candle went out. And the door to their room opened.
Xue Lian stood there. Her face was a storm of a thousand emotions relief so profound it was painful, love so deep it was terrifying, and a decade of longing all cresting in this single, impossible moment.
Just behind her, Wei Chen appeared, his face grim. "Yue, I've secured the district. What is the meaning of ?" He froze, his gaze locking onto the white haired woman in the doorway, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. "You!"
Xue An gasped, her eyes flying between her mother and the kind stranger. Lan Yue shot to her feet, her own hand reaching for Nightfall Crescent, her mind reeling.
But as she looked at Xue Lian, she saw it. There was no surprise in the Empress's eyes. Only a deep, weary sadness and a profound, familiar ache.
And Lan Yue understood. It wasn't a surprise, not really. Because Xue Lian had found them hours ago. She had watched from the rooftops as the beautiful, sad stranger used her divine powers to make her daughter laugh at flying noodles. She had followed them, a silent, heartbroken ghost, to this very restaurant, her heart breaking and healing all at once with every passing moment, waiting for the right time to step out of the shadows.
The four of them stood in a sudden, suffocating silence. A heartbroken mother, a betrayed lover, a suspicious guardian, and a little girl whose birthday wish had just been granted in the most complicated and dangerous way imaginable.