Luan Ling maintained her spell-casting stance for a long time, so long that she failed to register anything the Heavenly Emperor said afterward.

He had said that she was the biological daughter of himself and the Heavenly Empress.

And the one who found this reality even harder to accept than Luan Ling was the Heavenly Empress herself, standing beside them, equally stunned.

“So you’re telling me,” the Heavenly Empress said coldly, “that during the life-and-death battle back then, you abandoned an infant of unknown origin, went into seclusion, left behind nothing but the name ‘Luan Ling,’ offered no explanation whatsoever, and simply assumed I would accept her as my own child?”

The Heavenly Emperor seemed to sense the shift in her emotions, yet still tried to explain.
“I believed you would trust me. Besides, Luan Ling was conceived from the fusion of our essences—how could you possibly—”

As he spoke, he examined Luan Ling’s bloodline. What he discovered startled him: there was not a trace of the Heavenly Empress’s spiritual lineage within her. Only his own essence could be sensed.

The Heavenly Emperor turned to the Empress in shock and hastily said, “I swear, without the essence of both of us, this new technique could never have succeeded. She was created by me—you know that using a King and a Vessel gives the greatest chance of producing the strongest bloodline. Qingchen has already—”

He stopped mid-sentence when his eyes landed on Luan Qingchen.

In the next moment, as Luan Ling looked on with pain, hatred, and confusion, the Heavenly Emperor tried to explain. But Luan Ling had already turned away, leaving without the slightest hesitation.

Luan Qingchen said nothing as well. He simply stood, then vanished in an instant, leaving only the Heavenly Emperor and Empress facing one another.

“After all these years,” the Heavenly Empress said quietly, “you still act the same.”

She herself didn’t know what she was feeling. Her gaze toward the Heavenly Emperor was icy, laced with emotions rarely seen.

Growing anxious, the Heavenly Emperor replied, “You said Qingchen was no longer suitable as Heaven’s successor. Luan Yu lacks the aptitude. I know I may have reached my own limits—but at that moment, the spell succeeded. Luan Ling could serve as the next generation—”

“Why must there be a next generation?” the Heavenly Empress interrupted sharply.

“As you can see,” she continued, “Luan Qingchen has already transcended the mortal realm. He has become stronger than even you—a divine weapon Heaven desires. Why is another generation necessary?”

The Heavenly Emperor frowned. “No matter how strong Qingchen is, he is still a Vessel. Without a King, what future awaits Heaven? You know this as well as I do. Our lifespans are nearing their end. We must leave behind a seed for the next King. Otherwise, if the Trial of Kings has no candidate, the other gods—”

“If the Trial of Kings has no candidate,” the Heavenly Empress cut in coldly, “then let the trial cease to exist.”

She looked at him with the stern authority Luan Ling knew all too well.
“Anything unreasonable should be erased entirely.”

The Heavenly Emperor froze. “You—”

The Heavenly Empress remained calm, just as she had during countless pivotal decisions. There was nothing left in her gaze.

“Since seclusion is the place you know best,” she said evenly, “you will remain there from now on and await Heaven’s commands. You are no longer to emerge of your own accord.”

“Empress—!”

Whatever the Heavenly Emperor wanted to say was left behind her. She closed her eyes, and in the next moment, everything fell silent.

Just like it had when Luan Qingchen had been sealed away.

A Vessel may think for itself—but it must never betray the King’s position.

The era of the Heavenly Emperor and those old conservatives had to end by her own hand. She simply hadn’t expected that Luan Ling, too, was her child.

The Heavenly Empress opened her eyes.

Enough. One child who endured the trial was already more than enough.

Luan Ling didn’t know where to go. After leaving the Heavenly Palace, she didn’t want to remain in the heavens, yet couldn’t descend to the mortal realm either. In the end, she returned to Qilin Hall. At this hour, even Si Zhuo had been called back to the sea, leaving the hall mostly empty—giving her space to think alone.

She couldn’t understand it. More than ever before, she couldn’t understand anything.

She had once believed her origins were a mystery. Now that the mystery was solved, the truth hurt even more.

She was a god born from the fusion of the Heavenly Emperor’s and Empress’s essence—created deliberately as a successor.

Why did it have to be her?

Because of the Heavenly Emperor’s unilateral decision, she had grown up burdened with rumors, endured the Empress’s coldness, and lived with guilt around Luan Qingchen and Luan Yu. She should have grown up openly and honorably. Instead, one careless choice condemned her to live in ambiguity.

She couldn’t understand them. Gods need not care about bloodlines—so why merge essences, create new life, and then exist in such a twisted relationship? A mother who wasn’t a mother. A father who wasn’t a father. A brother who wasn’t a brother. Every role existed—and yet none were in the right place.

She would rather have been born from stone than bear such a distorted lineage.

Lost in these thoughts, a melody drifted into her mind.

Ah—no. It wasn’t her imagination.

From the bamboo grove nearby, Senior Sister Zhu Yin was practicing her flute.

Feeling miserable and hearing the music draw closer, Luan Ling buried her head in her knees, hoping to pretend she was asleep. But suddenly, Zhu Yin played a crude folk tune Luan Ling had once heard in the mortal world. Luan Ling couldn’t hold it in—she laughed through her sobs.

When she looked up, she met Zhu Yin’s gaze as the senior sister leaned toward her.

“Senior Sister,” Luan Ling said awkwardly, unsure if her voice sounded strange. “You came here to clear your mind too?”

Zhu Yin shook her head. “Cultivation.”

“Oh…” Luan Ling stood up quietly. “Then I won’t disturb you. I’ll go elsewhere.”

“You’re very sad,” Zhu Yin said.

It was rare for her to ask such a question. Luan Ling forced a smile.
“Family matters. It’s fine. I’ll get used to it.”

“Why must you get used to it?” Zhu Yin asked.

Luan Ling paused. “Because some things can’t be changed. You adapt.”

“But you know how to construct,” Zhu Yin replied calmly. “What can’t be changed?”

Luan Ling shook her head. “It’s not about construction. Some things were always there. I just couldn’t see them before. Now I can, so I have to adapt.”

“Do you like it?” Zhu Yin asked.

Luan Ling froze, thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Her identity was no longer uncertain. Years of grievance surged up all at once. And the future—how would she face the Empress? How would the Empress treat her? Bloodline or not, their relationship had never resembled a normal mother and daughter’s anyway.

“Oh. What a pity,” Zhu Yin said suddenly.

“If you don’t like it, you can destroy it outright. Too bad you’re unsure.”

“……”

Senior Sister, please don’t say terrifying things with such a calm expression.

Strangely, the comment worked. Luan Ling’s grief was interrupted by vivid images of herself drawing a sword, severing bones and flesh, and cutting ties with her family.

After thinking it over, she decided she wasn’t quite driven to that point yet.

“Senior Sister,” she asked cautiously, “may I ask something a bit intrusive? If you feel offended, I can erase your memory with divine sense.”

“……”

She immediately realized the problem. “Erasing memory is kind of offensive too, huh.”

Fortunately, Zhu Yin merely brushed her sleeve and sat on the ground. The formless instrument vanished, replaced by an ancient zither resting across her knees.

“Sit.”

Luan Ling hurriedly adjusted her robes and sat opposite her.

“Rui Bi gave birth to me,” Zhu Yin said calmly. “My father never raised me for a single day. He was reassigned to the Underworld during a god-demon war. After volunteering for that mission, he never returned.”

Luan Ling was about to express sympathy when Zhu Yin added, “He didn’t perish. He became an administrator of the Underworld.”

“They were both busy with their divine duties,” she continued. “Eventually, they ceased all contact and separated naturally.”

“Senior Sister,” Luan Ling asked, “didn’t that make you feel anything?”

“Why should it?” Zhu Yin replied. “They had their responsibilities. I have mine. They are gods, and so am I. I only need to grow stronger and perfect my domain. That is our duty as gods—correct?”

Luan Ling nodded.

Then she asked softly, “If my duty is too abstract, and I’m not sure I can fulfill it yet, so other matters consume my emotions… what else can I do?”

Zhu Yin glanced at her, the zither’s notes growing more intense.
“Then I’ll erase your memory for you.”

“No, no, no,” Luan Ling said quickly, clutching her forehead. “But your words do help. I suddenly feel like I could go write a few sets of spell exercises again.”

Zhu Yin said nothing, letting the music speak instead.

“You’re right,” Luan Ling said firmly. “We’re gods. No matter how many troubles we have, we must remember our foremost responsibility. For the peace and justice of Heaven, I need to recover quickly and become truly strong.”

Fired up once more, she stood and immediately began reorganizing Qilin Hall with her divine sense.

Zhu Yin listened to the commotion without reacting, continuing to practice her zither as always.

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