The sky remained dark—unnaturally so. Not the honest darkness of night, but a suffocating, bruised crimson that pressed down on the land like a warning that refused to be spoken aloud. Red-veined clouds stretched across the heavens in jagged patterns, pulsing faintly, as though something vast and unseen was breathing behind them. The air carried a metallic tang, sharp and unsettling, as if the world itself had been wounded.
They stood beneath an oak tree.
Neither of them remembered it being there before.
Its trunk was thick and ancient, bark twisted into ridges that looked almost like veins. The branches arched overhead in a protective curve, leaves whispering despite the absence of wind. It was the kind of tree that did not belong to mortal forests—too deliberate, too aware. Xing Yue could feel it anchoring itself to the ground, drawing strength from somewhere deep beneath the soil, as if it had been summoned rather than grown.
She lifted her gaze.
There—just above the red chaos of the sky—something flickered.
A star.
Tiny. Frail. Almost invisible, its light no stronger than the memory of a dream upon waking. Anyone else would have missed it entirely. Anyone else would have dismissed it as imagination.
But Xing Yue saw it.
Not just with her eyes.
With her being.
Stars were her domain. Her origin. Her language. Even now, with her immortality thinning like mist at dawn, even now when her power answered her sluggishly—she could still feel them. Every trembling pulse of their existence echoed faintly in her chest, like a distant heartbeat calling out to its kin.
You're still there, she thought, something in her loosening.
Despite everything—despite exile, loss, and the slow erosion of what she once was—she remained strong. Wounded, diminished, yes. But not broken. And strength, once forged, did not vanish so easily.
"In this creepy sky," Jiang Yunxian muttered, leaning lazily against the oak, "heaven still wants to show off a bit of light. Tsk."
He snapped a low branch and chewed on it absently, as if the world above them wasn't threatening collapse.
Xing Yue turned to look at him.
For a brief moment, her expression softened—admiration flickering through her eyes before she could suppress it. Then she smiled.
It wasn't the serene, distant smile of a goddess.
It was warm. Human. And just a little unhinged.
"As expected of you," she said, shaking her head lightly.
He glanced at her, then back at the sky. "But why would a star appear in the middle of chaos?" he asked. "Isn't this the kind of sky that swallows things whole?"
She followed his gaze upward again.
"Well," she replied calmly, "it's probably afraid of coming out fully. Look at the sky. Even light knows when it isn't welcome."
Jiang Yunxian blinked. "Stars are afraid?"
"Of course." Her tone held no mockery, only quiet certainty. "They're not like the God of a Thousand Chants. Stars are born. They grow. Once, I was a baby star too—flickering, unsure, hidden among countless others." She paused. "Then I became a star goddess."
He stared at her, clearly unsure whether to laugh or bow.
"The God of a Thousand Chants…" he repeated slowly. "I've heard of him."
Her attention snapped back to him, sharp and sudden. "You have?" Interest flared across her face, brighter than the star above.
"Tell me."
He straightened slightly, sensing the shift.
"Stories say he doesn't rule anything, yet influences everything. A god who doesn't command—only listens. Every prayer, every whispered wish, every scream swallowed by despair… they all pass through him."
Xing Yue's expression darkened—not with fear, but with recognition.
"If Hong Tian Luo truly knows the truth," she murmured, eyes drifting back to the sky, "then... It would lead me to what I'm looking for. The truth."
Her fingers curled slowly at her side.
She needed answers.
Not just about Yanli Continent—but about the hundred thousand years that had vanished like smoke. About the friends she failed. About the laws that changed while she was gone.
And perhaps… about the light that still dared to appear in a sky that wanted only ruin.
The tiny star flickered again—weak, but defiant.
And Xing Yue watched it, as though daring the heavens to extinguish it.
___
The star remained hidden.
Not gone—Xing Yue could still feel its presence, tucked behind the bleeding clouds like a frightened child hiding behind a door left slightly ajar. It pulsed faintly, hesitant, torn between instinct and fear. It wanted to help. That much was clear. But the sky was hostile, thick with omens and unfamiliar malice, and even stars—born of light—knew when the world was not safe.
Xing Yue lowered her voice, so softly that even the wind could not steal the words from her lips.
"Rest," she whispered. "I'll let you know when it's over."
The air trembled.
The star flickered once, brighter than before, as if acknowledging her promise. Then—poof—it vanished, its light folding inward until nothing remained but the memory of its presence.
Jiang Yunxian stared at the empty sky, mouth slightly open.
"…Wow," he said at last, genuine awe seeping into his voice. "You really live up to your name. One word, and the stars obey you."
Xing Yue smiled.
But it was hollow.
She did not tell him the truth—that it hadn't obeyed her. That she hadn't commanded anything at all. That she was no longer capable of such authority. The star had merely trusted her. And trust, once given, carried a weight far heavier than command.
So she smiled instead, and let the silence pass.
Then she turned to him. "You said you know about the God of a Thousand Chants."
"Correction," Jiang Yunxian replied immediately. "I do not know him. And I dislike him immensely."
She arched a brow. "Why?"
"Why?" He scoffed, incredulous. "That immortal only knows how to drink. Wine, wine, and more wine. And while doing so, he forgets his friends. Gods like that don't deserve praise."
Her gaze sharpened. "Is he listed among the heroes in the Heroes' Chronicles?"
He shook his head. "No."
She studied him. "That's a lie."
He winced. "This is the only one I'll admit to."
She snorted, rolling her eyes. "As if you've ever not told me the truth since the day we met."
He looked faintly horrified—but did not deny it.
"There are two great repositories of knowledge at Cloud Peak Sect," he continued, shifting tone. "One is the Pool of Knowledge. You already know that."
"And the other?" she prompted.
"The Pool of Doom."
Xing Yue froze. "The what?"
"Hm." He nodded casually. "That's where every abominable deed committed in heaven and the mortal realms is recorded. Not for glory—but so they may either be forgotten… or erased along with the one who committed them."
A chill slid down her spine.
"And that's where his chronicles are kept?" she asked quietly.
"Exactly."
"That's impossible," she said at once. "He was a great god. Revered. Feared. Why would his name be written there?"
Jiang Yunxian shrugged. "That's what I've always wondered. If he was truly that great… why condemn him to oblivion?"
She turned to look at him—really look at him now. Not as a companion, not as the man who joked and complained and refused to take anything seriously—but as someone who had brushed dangerously close to truths the heavens preferred buried.
"So," she said slowly, "what did the chronicles say?"
"Not much," he replied. "That he was a drunkard. That he had close bonds with two unnamed immortals. That he was well-liked, even admired." He paused, then sighed. "And that he challenged the Heavenly Emperor."
Her breath caught.
"I remember the words attributed to him after his defeat," Jiang Yunxian continued, voice lowering. "'In the next hundred thousand years, I will tear down the heavens and cleanse every corruption within it.'"
Silence stretched between them.
Then—unexpectedly—Xing Yue laughed.
Not softly.
Not gently.
She laughed as if something long-buried had finally clawed its way free.
"That sounds like him," she said, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Exactly like him."
The red sky churned overhead.
And somewhere beyond sight, something ancient stirred—perhaps awakened by a name spoken too casually, or by a promise made long ago that had yet to be fulfilled.
___
"That sounds poetic. Even heroic," Xing Yue said at last, her gaze still lifted toward the bruised sky. "So why do you hate him so much?"
Jiang Yunxian snorted, kicking at a pebble near his foot. It skidded across the ground and vanished into the tall grass. "Beats me. I just think he was stupid. Why challenge something you already know you can't defeat? Just to leave behind a line so dramatic it makes people sigh and shake their heads."
He wrinkled his face in utter disdain, as if the very thought offended his sensibilities.
Xing Yue finally turned to look at him. "Then what would you have done, if you were in his place?"
He blinked, surprised by the question, then grinned—slow, crooked, unmistakably Jiang Yunxian. "Me? Simple."
He straightened a little, hands gesturing as if sketching a plan in the air. "The God of a Thousand Chants was known for his beauty. His strength. His resilience. A little careless, sure—but powerful. If it were me, I wouldn't have gone straight for the Emperor."
"Oh?" she prompted, amused.
"I'd burn everything first," he said casually. "Every palace. Every gilded hall. Every heavenly pavilion where those old men sip immortal wine and pretend they're righteous. Then, when the Emperor finally comes out raging, then I'd challenge him. At least if I lost, he'd be an Emperor with no roof over his head."
He tilted his head thoughtfully. "An Emperor without a crown, without a palace. That would've been satisfying."
For a heartbeat, Xing Yue stared at him.
Then she burst out laughing. This one genuine from the guts.
The sound rang clear and bright against the ominous sky, startling a flock of night birds from the trees. She laughed until her shoulders shook, until tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
"No roof over his head?" she repeated between breaths. "An Emperor without a crown? Unbelievable!"
Jiang Yunxian looked mildly offended.
"What? It's practical."
She shook her head, still laughing, warmth blooming in her chest despite the red-veined clouds overhead.
Looks like he truly hasn't changed, she thought, wiping at her eyes.
How could someone think so casually of burning down the heavens?
And yet—
There was something the stupid chronicles had failed to record.
The God of a Thousand Chants had done it.
Maybe not exactly the way Jiang Yunxian described, but the truth was close enough to sting. The Emperor's abode had been destroyed. The celestial palaces reduced to ruins. For nearly a hundred years, Heaven had been rebuilt piece by piece, its glory patched together in shameful silence.
For a hundred years, the Emperor had indeed been… homeless.
But who was she to say that aloud?
Hearing Jiang Yunxian speak so lightly, so bluntly, confirmed what she had long suspected. Out of embarrassment—or fear—the heavens had rewritten history. They erased the victories and magnified the flaws.
They stripped the God of a Thousand Chants of his defiance and left him with nothing but recklessness and wine.
The heavens had lied.
The historian had written wrong.
Whether knowingly or not, they had turned a rebel into a villain, a challenger into a demon in the eyes of cultivators. A foolish god who challenged the Emperor and lost, remembered only for a melodramatic line that mockers could sneer at and arrogant immortals could gloat over.
They forgot the most important part.
They forgot that although he lost the final battle, he won something far greater.
He shattered Heaven's dignity.
If history had been written truthfully, the Heavenly Emperor would not be revered. He would be laughed at—a ruler who could not even protect his own palace, his own seat of power.
Xing Yue slowly lifted her eyes to the ominous sky, red clouds churning like old wounds reopened.
That was the biggest win of all, she thought.
Her lips curved faintly, a smile meant for no one.
"Talking about yourself, huh?" she muttered under her breath.
Above them, the sky rumbled softly—as if Heaven itself had heard her, and did not like being reminded.