The Western Plains of the mortal realm were nothing like the Heaven Cloud Woven.
Where immortal mist once curled around jade pavilions, here the air hung heavy with dust and spice, with the cries of traders, the laughter of children, and the coarse music of everyday life.
It was warm—too warm. A breeze drifted lazily across the tiled streets, carrying with it the mingled scent of fried buns, roasted duck, and incense burning before roadside shrines. Paper lanterns swayed overhead like muted stars, their red glow bleeding into the evening.
Jiang Lu Ci walked with his hands tucked neatly behind his back, a calm mask upon his face. Beside him, Xing Yue surveyed the mortal streets with a mixture of wonder and restraint, her every step deliberate—as if walking across a fragile world that could shatter under immortal tread.
Their robes, though simple by celestial standards, shimmered faintly with woven qi. To the untrained eye, they looked like the children of wealthy merchants—scholars perhaps, visiting from another city. But to those attuned, they were far too composed, far too still to belong to this restless world.
---
Their task was clear, yet uneasy.
Heavenly Emperor Tianlan Zhao had assigned the Tower of Thousand Incantations to investigate a mortal heresy—false cultivators who mimicked the heavenly art of qi refinement.
These mortals claimed enlightenment, sold talismans said to draw heavenly essence, and even dared to "baptize" others into their false cultivation. The result was catastrophic: bodies bursting from unstable qi flow, minds corrupted, souls dissipating into ash.
It was mockery.
And Jiang Lu Ci had been chosen to correct it.
He had expected to come under the guidance of his master, Elder Wu, but the heavens had rearranged their plans. Elder Wu's orders had been redirected, and Xing Yue was sent as Lu Ci's companion instead.
And so they descended—two immortals veiled in mortal skin.
---
They stopped before a bustling inn at the corner of a winding street. Its signboard creaked under the wind, the name The Recreational Bell painted in fading crimson strokes. Lanterns dangled from its beams, and the faint clang of a bronze bell rang each time someone entered or left.
Inside, mortals laughed without restraint. A musician plucked his pipa with drunken passion while a few men clinked their cups, singing half-forgotten songs of love and war. The scent of wine and stewed meat filled the air, rising into the open night.
Xing Yue frowned, folding her arms.
"Lu Ci, are we supposed to be here?" she asked, her tone edged with disbelief as she watched a drunken man chase one of the inn's maids around a table.
Lu Ci's lips curved faintly. "I'm thinking the same. But we have no other options, do we?"
Their eyes met—one of quiet agreement. In that brief silence, an understanding passed between them. The heavens had sent them to walk among mortals, not rule above them.
Just as they moved to step inside, a burst of chatter from a nearby stall caught their ears. Three mortals leaned close together, their voices thick with gossip.
---
"The Meng family has given birth again," one said, slurping his rice wine between words. "This one's truly beautiful, they say."
"Five children already!" the second scoffed. "Aren't they tired of the same old noise?"
"Ha! You wouldn't say that if you saw the baby. I'm telling you, that child's blessed. Only cried for a few seconds, then laughed. Imagine that—laughing the moment he entered the world! It's his charm, I tell you. The heavens favor him."
The first man nodded sagely, as though he had witnessed the scene himself. "They say the Meng family's courtyard glowed with light that night. White as moonfire."
The others murmured in awe.
---
Jiang Lu Ci and Xing Yue exchanged a glance.
The mortals' words, silly as they sounded, carried a strange note. A newborn that laughed at birth? A glow of light? It could have been chance—or a ripple of divine qi.
They stood listening in silence. To the gossipers, they looked like curious strangers. But Lu Ci was already memorizing every detail, every word that might lead them closer to their purpose.
When Xing Yue finally stepped forward, she offered a polite smile. "Excuse me, honored elders. May I ask where this Meng family resides?"
The gossipers turned, blinking at her attire. Her robe shimmered faintly beneath the sunlight—too fine, too clean. Her voice was too clear, her posture too straight. In the mortal world, such refinement was rare.
The first man squinted. "Do I… know you?"
"I apologize," she said softly, lowering her gaze with perfect grace. "But I was fascinated by what you said. The child who laughed at birth—where might their family live?"
The men exchanged wary glances. Suspicion dawned like dawn itself. Why would a fine young lady ask about a newborn? A merchant's daughter, perhaps? Or… a kidnapper in disguise?
Before any of them could speak further, Jiang Lu Ci took Xing Yue's wrist firmly. "Enough questions," he murmured. And with a swift tug, he pulled her away into the winding street.
The gossipers blinked, bewildered.
"Where'd they go?" one muttered.
"Who cares? Probably up to no good," said another. "Better we scared her off."
And with that, their chatter drifted back to trivialities.
---
Farther from the crowd, Xing Yue huffed, pulling her hand free. "Why did you do that? I was about to ask more."
Lu Ci exhaled. "Those mortals were moments away from reporting you. The Heavenly Emperor wouldn't take kindly to us being arrested by mortals, Yue."
A sheepish expression crossed her face. "Ah… right. I may have forgotten that part."
"You often do."
She ignored the jab and folded her arms. "So, what now?"
"They said 'just gave birth.' We look for the newest household celebrating a child," he replied, scanning the street. His tone carried its usual mix of calm logic and subtle amusement.
---
The streets of the Western Plains Market stretched before them—alive and endless. The din of voices rose like waves. Children ran between stalls selling sugar-glazed fruits; old women peddled herbs whose scent mingled with the smoke of grilled fish. Tinkers called out their wares, the air ringing with metal and laughter.
It was a world so full, so imperfectly alive, that Xing Yue found herself watching in silence.
"Why are we looking for the Meng family again?" she asked at last, tilting her head.
Lu Ci's eyes flickered with quiet curiosity. "Because a child that laughs at birth isn't ordinary. A mortal body that stirs with joy before it knows fear—that's… unusual." He smiled faintly. "It reminds me of the Monarch, Lu Shen."
"Ha," she chuckled softly. "When I heard it, I almost thought Monarch Lu Shen had a child himself. That would be something."
"Perhaps the Heavenly Emperor would faint before he let that happen," Lu Ci replied dryly.
"Maybe," Xing Yue said thoughtfully, watching a boy chase a kite down the narrow street. "Or maybe that's why the emperor trusts him. He's wild, but righteous. A sinful saint."
Lu Ci's lips curved faintly. "You speak highly of a man who drinks before he prays."
"Because even drunk, he never loses sight of truth."
The street wind carried their words away, mingling them with the smell of roasted chestnuts and the fading laughter of mortals.
Neither of them noticed that the clouds above had shifted—thin, streaked with silver, as if the heavens themselves leaned closer to listen.
---
The air grew softer as they followed the winding road that led away from the marketplace. Gone were the noises of traders and bartering mortals; instead, the faint murmur of a nearby river hummed beneath the whispering bamboo. Jiang Lu Ci halted at the crest of a hill, eyes narrowing slightly.
Below lay the Meng family estate — a broad, modest compound surrounded by plum trees, their petals falling like pale snow in the wind. It wasn't lavish like the palaces of the heavens, but there was something oddly refined about its stillness. A mortal home that carried an unspoken rhythm of cultivation energy, faint yet steady.
Xing Yue frowned. "This place doesn't feel… ordinary."
Lu Ci nodded, his gaze sharpened. "No, it doesn't. There's a trace of Qi flow here, though the mortals shouldn't have any."
They moved closer, treading lightly, their robes whispering through the grass. Every mortal they passed gave them a polite bow — strangers often did when faced with inexplicable beauty and presence — but neither of them replied. They had learned by now that even a small word could draw suspicion.
By the time they reached the Meng family's gate, dusk had begun to sink over the plains. The painted wood of the gate shimmered faintly under lantern light. A servant hurried by carrying herbs, muttering something about the young mistress's condition.
Jiang Lu Ci exchanged a quick glance with Xing Yue. "The newborn?"
"Likely," she murmured.
Without hesitation, Lu Ci took a step forward and rapped lightly on the wooden gate. A few seconds later, it creaked open.
An elderly man appeared, his back slightly bent, his eyes clouded with exhaustion. "Who might you two be?" he asked, suspicion and courtesy warring in his tone.
Lu Ci clasped his hands together in greeting. "Travelers, sir. We seek lodging for the night. The inns were full, and we were told your family sometimes takes guests."
The old man hesitated, scanning their robes — silken yet dirtied by dust to appear plain. Xing Yue had even wrapped a small scarf around her face to hide her features.
After a pause, he sighed. "It isn't safe for strangers to wander this late. You may rest in the courtyard shed. But keep quiet — the mistress has just given birth."
They bowed gratefully and entered.
Inside, faint incense drifted from the main hall, mingling with the scent of boiled herbs and lamp oil. The house was humble yet tidy, the floors lined with straw mats and low wooden tables stacked with offerings for the ancestors. From the far end, they heard a soft infant's laugh — clear, bright, and strangely melodic.
Xing Yue froze. "Did you hear that?"
"It's the child," Lu Ci whispered. "That… wasn't a mortal sound."
They edged closer to the corridor. Through a half-open screen door, the warm glow of candles spilled into the hallway. Inside, a woman reclined weakly on the bed, pale but peaceful, while beside her stood a man — likely her husband — gazing lovingly at a small bundle in his arms.
The baby cooed, then suddenly chuckled — a silvery, echoing tone that made the candle flames tremble ever so slightly.
Even from the doorway, Xing Yue could sense it. A pulse of Qi — faint but pure, like a breeze stirring a sleeping pond.
"No mistake," she murmured. "That's spiritual Qi. In a mortal newborn."
Jiang Lu Ci's brows furrowed. "Impossible. Mortals can imitate Qi flow at best, but to contain it from birth—"
"Unless…" Xing Yue hesitated. "Unless someone placed it there before he was born."
Their eyes met — the same unspoken thought flashing between them.
A seal. A fragment of celestial essence.
The child's laughter faded into a soft sigh, as if he sensed their presence through the wall. Then, for the briefest instant, the lanterns dimmed, and the baby's eyes opened — two perfect orbs of molten gold.
The moment was fleeting; a blink later, everything returned to normal. The mother smiled faintly, humming a lullaby, unaware of the silent storm that had stirred outside her door.
Lu Ci and Xing Yue stepped back quietly, their hearts pounding.
"That wasn't false Qi," he said at last. "That was real essence."
"Then what should we do?" Xing Yue's voice trembled. "Report to the Heavenly Emperor? Or observe longer?"
Lu Ci's gaze lingered on the infant's door, then drifted toward the night sky beyond the courtyard. "No. If this child bears divine essence, reporting too early will only attract the wrong eyes. For now, we watch. Quietly."
Xing Yue nodded, though unease flickered across her expression.
As the wind stirred the lanterns again, somewhere far beyond the Western Plains, thunder rolled faintly — as if the heavens themselves had overheard their decision.
And deep within the small house of the Meng family, the newborn boy stirred once more, his laughter echoing in two tones — half mortal, half divine.