Lin Xingyao nodded to herself, clearly satisfied with her declaration of duty, her small face filled with pride as if she had just taken on a sacred responsibility. "But not from the old villagers," she added after a moment, her voice lowering slightly. "They scare me."
Liu Yulan gently pressed a finger against her lips, her expression turning mildly reproachful. "Hush now. Don't speak of them like that."
Lin Xingyao's expression tightened, her earlier confidence giving way to unease. "Everyone's talking about the light."
Liu Yulan stiffened, the reaction brief but unmistakable.
"That's nonsense," she said firmly. "Do not repeat every rumor you hear."
Lin Xingyao nodded, though her eyes drifted back to Li Chen with a different kind of scrutiny. It was no longer simple curiosity—it was mixed with worry and fascination, as if he were something fragile, strange, and important all at once.
Li Chen tried to blink up at her to tell her to mind her own business, but the best he managed was a slow, wobbly flutter.
Lin Xingyao gasped. "He looked at me!"
"Of course he looked at you," Liu Yulan said. "You're his sister."
The girl practically glowed at that, puffing her chest out proudly. "Yes. Obviously."
Then her face shifted into a comically serious frown, the kind a child adopts when they're about to ask something dangerous.
"Mom… he really did come back from death?"
Liu Yulan's expression froze for the briefest moment, but Li Chen didn't miss it.
Her arms tightened around him as if shielding him from something unseen.
"No," she said firmly. "He was simply weak that day."
"But—"
"Xingyao." Liu Yulan's tone turned cold. "Enough."
The girl pressed her lips together and lowered her head. "…Sorry."
Liu Yulan sighed, her expression softening again as she brushed her daughter's cheek gently. "What matters is that he is here and safe."
Lin Xingyao nodded quietly, clearly convinced—at least on the surface—by her mother's words.
After a moment, her curiosity returned, brighter than before. "Can I hold him?"
Liu Yulan hesitated briefly. "You need to sit down first."
Lin Xingyao scrambled to the nearest cushion and dropped onto it with a soft thud, legs crossed, back straight, arms lifted in a stiff, ceremonial pose.
She looked like a tiny disciple receiving a sacred treasure.
Liu Yulan carefully moved toward her, adjusting the cloth and Li Chen's position with practiced care.
Oh no. No, no, no. I am far too young—again—for this. She's going to drop me. I can see it. My life is going to end because a nine-year-old slipped on a rug.
"Support his head," Liu Yulan instructed gently.
"I will," Lin Xingyao said seriously.
Liu Yulan eased Li Chen into her daughter's arms. Lin Xingyao let out a small grunt at the unexpected weight—he might be small, but he certainly wasn't weightless—and quickly adjusted her hold.
Li Chen stared up at her.
She stared back.
A slow smile bloomed across her face.
"Hi," she whispered. "I'm Lin Xingyao. You can call me… actually, you can't talk yet." She frowned thoughtfully. "So I'll pick your nickname. Until you get a real name."
Liu Yulan raised an eyebrow. "A nickname?"
Lin Xingyao nodded. "Yes. Every hero starts with a small name first."
Hero?!
Hold on. Wait. Wait. Are we setting expectations already? Can I at least finish being born first?
"What nickname?" Liu Yulan asked warily.
Lin Xingyao considered him with great seriousness.
"Hmm… something strong. Something grand." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Potato."
Li Chen's soul nearly left his body again.
Liu Yulan sputtered. "Xingyao!"
"What? He looks like one!"
"I am not calling my son a potato!"
Lin Xingyao hugged him protectively. "My potato."
Oh god. This is my life now.
Before Liu Yulan could argue further, a heavy knock landed on the wooden door, sharp and deliberate.
Both mother and daughter froze at the same moment as a voice came from outside—
"Liu Yulan… they're here."
Lin Xingyao instinctively tightened her hold around Li Chen, her small arms tensing as if she could shield him from whatever waited beyond the door.
"Stay behind me," Liu Yulan said urgently as she took Li Chen back into her arms.
The girl obeyed immediately, slipping behind her mother like a shadow.
The door opened slowly.
Three figures stepped inside.
They wore long white robes lined with faint golden threads, their sleeves flowing as if untouched by dust. Each bore a jade token at their waist, etched with symbols that seemed to carry a faint, almost imperceptible pressure.
Elders.
Even without understanding this world, Li Chen could feel it. These three were different—their presence, their stillness, even the subtle weight in the air around them made the room feel smaller.
The first elder, an elderly man with sunken eyes, swept his gaze across the room before letting it settle on Li Chen. His expression did not soften—instead, it sharpened with interest.
"So the child truly survived," he murmured.
Liu Yulan stiffened. "Of course he did. He was never in danger."
The second elder, a woman with neatly braided grey hair, stepped forward and extended her hands slightly. "May I…?"
"No," Liu Yulan replied before she could finish.
The third elder raised his hands calmly. "Peace. We only wish to examine him. Nothing more."
Liu Yulan hesitated.
Lin Zheng appeared in the doorway, his expression conflicted. "Yulan… it's better if they check him."
Better for him, or better for you to avoid punishment? Li Chen wondered.
Reluctantly, Liu Yulan loosened her grip. The braided elder stepped forward, lifting Li Chen carefully and angling him toward the lantern light.
"Hm…"
The sunken-eyed elder leaned in, studying Li Chen's face, then his chest, then his tiny hands.
"Nothing unusual," he muttered.
"His energy?" the thin elder asked.
"I sense no circulation."
Perfect. Now please leave with that conclusion, Li Chen thought, half relieved.
The woman shifted the cloth slightly, examining his shoulders and back. "No special marks either."
The hollow-eyed elder sighed. "Then perhaps the omen was unrelated to this child."
Liu Yulan let out a quiet breath. "As I said."
The elders exchanged faintly disappointed looks. Then the thin elder reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small, polished mirror.
He lifted it toward the lantern, letting the dim golden light wash across its surface, then angled it down toward Li Chen's chest.
The mirror remained dark.
"Nothing," the braided woman said. "Not even a trace."
"Then our time is wasted," the sunken-eyed elder muttered, already turning away.
Liu Yulan exhaled in relief as they began to leave.
And then— The mirror, still hanging loosely in the thin elder's hand, trembled.
A sudden, sharp pulse of golden light flashed across its surface—Not toward Li Chen.
—but toward Lin Xingyao.