Xiao Zhu's slumber lasted for several days.
Within the silent, frost-veiled halls of Ling Yuan Palace, she lay quietly atop the soft mist bed Mo Chen had formed for her, her small frame curled like a sleeping kitten, untouched by the chill that clung to the air.
Mo Chen sat a short distance away, silent as a mountain, his long sleeves pooling around him like drifting clouds. From time to time, his gaze drifted toward her.
Her breathing was soft, even — each rise and fall of her slender chest so light it seemed almost part of the mist around her.
The spiritual energy he had poured into her for a hundred years — all of it had been consumed at once when she transformed into human form. Now, her body, still fragile and new, struggled to stabilize itself.
Mo Chen lifted a hand.
Without a word, he extended two fingers and sent a gentle stream of pure spiritual energy flowing into her, like feeding dew to a newly sprouted bud.
The sleeping girl stirred faintly, her long lashes fluttering against her cheeks like butterfly wings.
Mo Chen's gaze lingered.
Her features were delicate, finely shaped — an oval face like white jade polished by moonlight,
a small, dainty nose, and lips soft and red like the first thaw of a cherry blossom. A faint, serene smile graced her slumbering expression, as if she dreamed only of warm breezes and cloudless skies.
She looked so pure —
untainted, untouched —
like the first snowfall upon a silent, sacred mountain.
Mo Chen lowered his hand slowly, his face unreadable, though his gaze softened almost imperceptibly.
Several days later, under the steady nourishment of Mo Chen's energy, the little pearl girl stirred once more.
Her long lashes fluttered open, revealing wide, luminous eyes — clear as the first thawed lake in spring.
She sat up slowly, her soft white robes slipping around her slender frame, and blinked at the tall figure seated a short distance away.
Her lips parted slightly.
"...Master," she said softly, breathless.
Mo Chen lowered his gaze, regarding her with a glance as calm as still waters.
"Is that all you can say?" he asked mildly.
Xiao Zhu tilted her head, puzzled.
"...Master," she repeated, more firmly this time, as if affirming her entire existence.
A rare sigh escaped Mo Chen's lips — almost inaudible against the silent snow beyond the walls.
"Never mind," he muttered.
Since he had brought her here, he supposed — he was responsible for her now.
Within the wide, empty expanse of Ling Yuan Palace, Mo Chen began to teach her the most basic things:
How to walk without tripping over her robes.
How to sit cross-legged without falling sideways.
How to guide the flow of spiritual energy into her body — a task she approached with grave seriousness.
Xiao Zhu listened solemnly to every word.
Her small brows furrowed whenever she failed.
Her eyes brightened whenever Mo Chen gave a silent nod of approval.
She was like a newly sprouted seed — fragile, yet stubbornly reaching for the light, even when she stumbled.
But after days of patient correction, Mo Chen realized something with chilling clarity:
He was not enough.
He, who governed the celestial rivers that fed the mortal realm's mountains and plains, who shaped the seasons with the coming and retreat of ice, who sealed disasters beneath frozen seas, had no idea how to nurture something as delicate and bright as a newborn spirit pearl.
Thus, setting aside centuries of habit, he summoned a communication talisman, wrote a rare simple message:
Wenlan. Come to Ling Yuan Palace.
The talisman flew off like a streak of light, bearing the weight of an invitation Mo Chen had not extended to anyone in countless millennia.
She arrived almost before the ink had dried.
Wenlan, Goddess of Earth, stepped lightly into Ling Yuan Palace, her presence soft and grounding, like spring mist rolling over frozen ground.
Her gauzy robe was pale green silk, embroidered faintly with vines and rivers, trailing delicate patterns with each graceful movement. Her dark hair was pinned with jade combs shaped like tender shoots, and when she moved, a faint earthy fragrance filled the air, fresh and clean, like dew upon young grass.
Her beauty was neither dazzling nor striking, but enduring, serene — the beauty of warm soil after rain, the quiet strength of ancient trees.
As she entered, she offered Mo Chen a faint, knowing smile.
"You summoned me personally," she said, her voice cool and gentle.
"Is the world ending?"
Mo Chen simply inclined his head, sparing words as always.
Wenlan's gaze shifted and found the small figure seated diligently at a low jade table.
The moment her eyes fell upon Xiao Zhu, she froze.
For a long breath, Wenlan simply stared — not in shock, but in pure, unguarded adoration.
There, sitting quietly on a cushion, was a girl like a carefully crafted porcelain doll —
her skin luminous as snow, her features delicate and perfect, like something shaped by the hands of the heavens themselves.
Her long, dark lashes framed wide, bright eyes, her small mouth naturally tinted soft pink, and beneath her right eye, a tiny vermilion mole rested like a dew-kissed petal against her porcelain skin.
Innocence.
Purity.
Beauty untainted by even the faintest shadow of the world.
Wenlan's heart softened instantly.
Seeing Wenlan's stunned expression, Xiao Zhu blinked, then smiled sweetly — the kind of smile that could melt even a mountain's frost.
"...Master," she chirped.
Wenlan let out a rare, soft laugh, the sound like rain falling gently upon young grass.
"No, no," she said gently, crouching down.
"Not everyone is your Master."
She pointed to herself, smiling, "I am Wenlan."
Xiao Zhu frowned, concentrating hard.
After a serious pause, she nodded once, firmly:
"...Wenwen."
Behind them, Mo Chen watched in silence, his gaze unreadable — but within him, something unfamiliar stirred again.
For the next few days, Ling Yuan Palace echoed with a new kind of sound —
not the wind, not the snow, but the halting, melodic attempts of a girl learning to speak.
Wenlan knelt beside Xiao Zhu in the reading hall, guiding her hand across a jade slip etched with glowing characters.
"This is 'shui' — water. Try again. Round your lips a little more."
"Sh...shu?" Xiao Zhu tried, her voice soft and clumsy.
Wenlan chuckled. "Almost. Feel the shape of it, not just the sound."
From his place near a frost-veiled pillar, Mo Chen watched silently, arms folded across his chest.
To his mild surprise, Xiao Zhu repeated the word several times, each attempt steadier than the last.
Soon, they moved to cultivation.
Mo Chen had tried at first — but his instructions had been spare and brisk.
"Sit. Empty your mind. Feel the flow. Draw it in."
It had left Xiao Zhu blinking in confusion, sitting cross-legged in all the wrong ways, like a kitten trying to imitate a tiger.
After half a day of struggle, Wenlan stepped in, smiling patiently.
"Let me," she said, and Mo Chen, after a pause, gave a small, reluctant nod.
In the eastern courtyard, where spirit energy naturally gathered, they began again.
"First, close your eyes," Wenlan said gently.
Xiao Zhu obeyed, tiny hands resting atop her knees.
"You have a spiritual root now — a seed. To grow it, you must breathe in spiritual energy from the world."
Xiao Zhu cracked one eye open, puzzled. "...Eat it?"
Wenlan laughed, warm as spring. "Not quite. Breathe it. Slowly."
She pressed a hand lightly to Xiao Zhu's back.
"Feel the air. It's warm, yes? Guide that warmth inside."
Xiao Zhu inhaled with fierce concentration, her small brows furrowing.
"The energy will flow through your meridians — like rivers inside you — and gather in your dantian here," Wenlan said, tapping just below Xiao Zhu's navel.
"Think of your dantian as a lake. Each breath, you are filling it, drop by drop."
Another slow breath.
A faint shimmer of light formed around Xiao Zhu's skin — her first successful gathering of qi.
"Good," Wenlan praised, her voice low and steady. "Don't rush."
From the shade, Mo Chen continued to watch.
He remembered how, when he had awakened, water itself had rushed to him. Power had come to him as easily as breathing.
But Xiao Zhu...
She worked at it. Struggled. Learned.
And Wenlan — soft-spoken, patient — met every failure with calm reassurance, every small success with gentle praise.
Sometimes Xiao Zhu puffed out her cheeks in frustration.
Sometimes she toppled over sideways while sitting cross-legged.
But every time, Wenlan simply smiled and helped her up again.
Each sound — the girl's tentative questions, Wenlan's soft corrections — filled the cold palace with warmth.
And Mo Chen...
Though he remained silent, never stepping forward, he stayed.
He listened.
And bit by bit, the frost that had sealed Ling Yuan Palace for millennia… began to thaw.
_____
In the Peach Blossom Grove, under boughs heavy with spring flowers, the immortals gathered —
sipping wine, trading idle gossip, basking in the endless sunshine.
Petals rained down like whispers, painting the ground in soft hues of blush and cream.
And there, standing at the center of it all—as flawless as a dream woven from mist and fragrance—was Goddess Yunhua, cloaked in robes stitched with the colors of ten thousand blooming flowers, her beauty drawing every glance like moths to flame.
She listened quietly as a group of younger fairies chattered nearby, their words full of excitement and scandal.
"Did you hear?! Did you hear?!"
"Mo Chen — our millennia-old block of ice Mo Chen — picked up a disciple! A girl!"
"Impossible!" one gasped, hands flying to her mouth.
"He never even looked at Yunhua, and she's the crown jewel of the heavens!"
"But it's true!" another said eagerly, her sleeves fluttering. "Wenlan went personally to Ling Yuan Palace! They say the girl is adorable — follows him everywhere, calling him 'Master'!"
Gasps rippled through the grove.
More shocked whispers bloomed like wildfire.
Yunhua's hand tightened ever so slightly around her wine cup.
At her feet, the fallen petals quivered.
"She must have tricked him," a fairy hissed, eyes flashing.
"No one — no one — could melt Mo Chen's heart!"
Another leaned in conspiratorially.
"Maybe she's a reincarnated ancient immortal! Maybe she used forbidden techniques—"
Before the sentence could finish, a lazy voice cut through the clamor:
"Forbidden techniques?"
Yanxia, the Goddess of Fire, sauntered into view, her scarlet robes flaring like tongues of flame.
She plucked a cup of wine from a passing tray and smirked.
"Please," she drawled, tossing her crimson hairpins with a shake of her head.
"If melting Mo Chen's heart were so easy, even I would've set myself on fire by now."
Nervous laughter broke out.
The fairies tittered nervously.
Yanxia tossed her head arrogantly, her crimson hairpins jingling.
"Besides," she added, "have you ever seen him? That man's heart is buried under three thousand years of glacier ice. You could set yourself on fire in front of him, and he'd probably just yawn."
More laughter rippled through the grove, the tension easing.
Just then, a breeze stirred the petals, and a familiar figure appeared —Qingfeng, the God of Wind, gliding in like a mischievous gust.
"Talking about our frozen relic again?" he teased, plucking a blossom from the air with two fingers.
He spun it once, grinning.
"Frankly, I'm more surprised he managed to raise anything other than icicles in that palace of his."
Yanxia barked a laugh.
"Careful," she warned, "keep talking and he'll freeze your mouth shut."
Qingfeng shrugged, his silver-white robes fluttering lazily.
"I'll take my chances. Besides," he added with a sly wink, "I am curious to meet this little disciple."
The laughter rippled outward again, easy and bright.
But not everyone smiled.
Amid the swirling blossoms, Yunhua remained motionless, the still point in the center of the storm.
"It's probably some unfounded rumor," a fairy whispered again, eyes nervously darting toward Yunhua.
In an instant, every flower — peach, orchid, plum — withered into ash.
Shrieks echoed as the fairies stumbled to their knees, robes splattered with soot and wilted petals.
Yunhua set her cup down with perfect poise.
Without a word, without a glance, she turned and left — her silken robes dragging a long, trailing silence behind her.
Only the bitter scent of scorched blossoms remained.