The child lay cradled in the Empress's arms.
His eyes were closed, his breathing calm. Though newborn, he radiated a serenity that silenced the room.
The Emperor knelt beside the bed, trembling as he reached out.
"Our son…" he whispered.
The Empress smiled weakly, exhaustion and relief mingling in her eyes.
They named him Xu Chen, the First Prince of the Xu Kingdom.
None in that room knew that this child was the mortal incarnation of Tian Xuán, the Supreme Heavenly Dao himself.
In the imperial harem, five women watched the rain from beneath painted eaves.
Noble Consort Zhao Ruyin, clad in crimson silk, smiled gracefully—yet her gaze was sharp, calculating. Power ran in her blood, and ambition burned quietly behind her eyes.
Consort Lin Xueyao clasped her hands in genuine relief, whispering prayers of gratitude.
Consort Shen Wanqing closed her eyes, tears forming as she murmured, "Auspicious… truly auspicious."
Concubine Su Meilin, elegant and distant, listened to the rain as though it were music.
Concubine Han Yuer, standing slightly apart, lowered her gaze and remembered every expression she saw.
Above them all, the dragon in the sky slowly dispersed, dissolving into clouds heavy with rain.
Far beyond the mortal realm, in the Origin Expanse untouched by time, the Supreme Heavenly Empress watched.
Ling Yuè stood before a mirror of destiny, her gaze fixed upon the mortal palace.
She saw her husband—now a child—cradled beneath human hands. She saw the rain, the dragon, the kneeling heavens.
A smile curved her lips.
From the moment Prince Xu Chen was born, the palace never truly slept again.
Rain continued to fall for seven days after his birth, gentle and steady, as if the heavens feared leaving too soon.
The drought that had plagued the Xu Kingdom for three years vanished overnight, replaced by overflowing granaries and revived rivers.
Yet where blessings gathered, envy followed.
In the depths of the inner palace, Noble Consort Zhao Ruyin stood before her bronze mirror, slowly removing a jade hairpin. Her reflection smiled back—perfect, composed, respectful.
But her eyes were cold.
"A dragon sign in the sky," she murmured softly. "Rain upon birth. Flowers blooming out of season."
Her fingers tightened around the hairpin.
"Even the Crown Prince before him never received such omens."
Behind her, a trusted maid knelt silently.
"Has His Majesty visited any other palace?" Zhao Ruyin asked, her voice gentle.
The maid lowered her head. "No, Noble Consort. Since the prince's birth… His Majesty has only stayed in the Empress's quarters."
Zhao Ruyin laughed quietly.
So soft that it almost sounded kind.
"How unfair," she whispered. "A child not even a month old, yet already stealing everything."
Prince Xu Chen did not cry like other infants.
When palace servants first noticed it, fear spread quietly.
He did not scream when hungry.
He did not wail when uncomfortable.
He merely opened his eyes and looked.
Those eyes were too calm.
Too deep.
As if he were watching the palace rather than living inside it.
Midwives whispered that when he stared at them, they felt as though all their thoughts were laid bare. One servant swore she had tripped near his cradle—and something unseen steadied her before she could fall.
The Emperor heard the rumors and laughed.
"My son is merely observant," he said, though his gaze lingered thoughtfully on the child.
The Empress, holding Xu Chen close, said nothing.
She only smiled.
Because sometimes, when the palace grew quiet, her son would look at her—as though greeting an old companion.