After the murmurs died down, palace maids in gauzy pink robes stepped forward with quiet precision, guiding the guests to their assigned seats.
The banquet hall was a masterpiece of the divine.
Dozens of low jade tables shimmered under starlight, their polished surfaces inlaid with gold filigree tracing ancient constellations. The vaulted ceiling swirled like a living cosmos, galaxies drifting in slow motion, casting a soft, perpetual twilight over the hall.
Beneath Xiao Zhu's feet, the floor was white celestial marble, so pristine and clear she could see her own reflection.
Spirit-bamboo screens lined the sides, flickering with illusions—silver mist weaving celestial myths, tracing forgotten battles, and drifting clouds. Plum blossom incense lingered in the air, curling from bronze dragon-shaped censers. Between them, crystal dishes gleamed with celestial fruits—golden peaches, moonlit grapes, and lotus petals steeped in nectar.
Seating was arranged by rank.
At the highest tier, the Jade Emperor and Celestial Empress sat upon thrones of lotus crystal and cloudstone, their presence overlooking all.
High gods—including Mo Chen and Xingyao—were positioned near the front, elevated yet respectfully apart, reflecting their celestial standing. Along the curved wings of the hall, elemental deities such as Wenlan and Yanxia were seated by domain, their tables adorned with motifs of wind, flame, and earth.
Further down, the lesser immortals and newly ascended fairies occupy the lower tiers.
A small table had been prepared for Xiao Zhu, just behind Mo Chen's—close enough to signify her connection to him, yet maintaining etiquette.
As she settled into her seat, the grandeur overwhelmed her. She had never seen so many gods gathered—each radiating divine presence, their robes flowing like waves of light.
And still, more arrived.
Yue Lao, the Old Lunar Matchmaker, wandered through the hall with quiet amusement, red strings coiled at his side. His beard flowed like clouds, and his laughter rang like wind chimes—soft, curious, full of secrets.
Then came Goddess Chang'e, gliding like moonlight on still water. Her robes shimmered with soft lunar hues, and nestled in her arms were two jade rabbits, their fur luminous as pearl mist.
Her gaze swept the crowd.
For the briefest moment, it paused on Xiao Zhu—a fleeting flicker of gentle curiosity, admiration passing through her gaze like a whisper of wind. And then, she moved on.
Next came the God of War, Tianwu, tall and fierce, radiating silent authority. His presence was thunder without sound, fire without heat. Even among immortals, his arrival commanded attention—spines straightening, conversations pausing.
Then—
Goddess Yunhua.
Each step she took bloomed roses beneath her feet, their petals folding open in perfect rhythm with her breath.
Her gown, woven from silken petals, shimmered from blush-pink to golden dusk. Silver-threaded vines traced her sleeves, and dew-like pearls lined her hem. A floral crown of jasmine and lotus adorned her brow, ever-blooming from divine qi.
She moved like poetry—until her eyes met Xiao Zhu's.
Contempt edged her stare, curling like shadow behind silk.
She had never cared for Mo Chen's disciple, barely acknowledged the rumors. But now—bathed in moonloom silk, eyes turning toward her—Xiao Zhu, delicate in frame, carried an untouchable grace. A fragile beauty, yet breathtaking without effort.
Unacceptable.
A low-ranked fairy, drawing gazes meant for her.
With slow, deliberate ease, Yunhua settled into her seat. Fingers brushing over polished crystal, she lifted her wine cup, its rim cool against her touch. She raised it gracefully, masking the sharpness in her gaze behind the swirl of celestial nectar.
Her lips curved—not into a smile, but something far colder.
And Then Came Qingfeng…
Late, as always.
He arrived on a breeze, sleeves fluttering like clouds unspooled. His gaze flicked over the tables until it landed on Yanxia.
Without asking, he sat beside her, resting an elbow on the table as if it were made for him.
"You saved me a seat, didn't you?" he asked with a grin.
Yanxia scoffed, turning away, her posture stiff—pretending not to acknowledge him, yet failing just enough for him to notice.
And still more came.
The Dragon Clan, proud and ancient, clad in robes patterned with coiling scales of gold and azure.
The Mermaid Clan, their garments flowing like water, skin shimmering like abalone.
The Phoenix Clan, radiant in flame-colored silks, each step like embers dancing in the air.
The Nine-Tailed Fox Clan, graceful and unreadable, each member cloaked in subtle glamour.
One by one, they stepped forward to offer tributes—scrolls of celestial silk, blossoms of eternal frost, pearls from sea-locked palaces—to the Jade Emperor and Celestial Empress.
Their voices rang like bells in the air, each vow deep, reverent, unwavering, the hall thick with the weight of celestial tradition.
Seated atop, the Jade Emperor and Celestial Empress accepted each tribute with effortless grace, their expressions remaining serene, an unspoken acknowledgment of ancient wisdom that had guided the heavens for eons.
Xiao Zhu watched, wide-eyed.
From the corner of his vision, Xingyao smiled to himself, catching the innocence in her expression—her quiet wonder, her unguarded reaction. For the briefest moment, something warm flickered in his gaze, soft yet unreadable.
As if sensing Xingyao's gaze, Mo Chen shifted slightly, his movement casual, unremarkable—yet precisely positioned. A barrier, as effortless as a drifting veil, cuts Xingyao's view just enough to remind him: Some things are not meant to be seen so freely.