The Fourth Lady waited. She did not say it, but her eyes screamed in silence. She was seeking the inherent right of her children. The children in their mother's arms raised their heads for the first time—the first inherent action they had performed since birth. And their eyes quietly grew moist.
A man like a black shadow drew nearer, as if floating, and the candlelight vanished into his dark robe. The breath, freshly drawn by the newborns, caught in their throats. One more step. The black eyes turned into crimson glass. A man who looked with affection, yet there was no smile—or if there was, it was in those crimson eyes.
The children shared a single thought: Either this world is not natural, or this man is not natural.
And the Celestial Devil said gravely, "Today is a blessed day for me and the Sect. I thank you. Do you wish to propose a name for my approval, or do you request a name from my ancestors?"
The Fourth Lady felt a surge of pride. The children looked at their father, and in their radiant eyes, he saw an even brighter future. The young lady raised her head and straightened her back in respect for her husband. And thus she spoke: "Would it not be better for a father to bestow the name himself? This way, they will always carry a part of both you and me."
The Celestial Devil paused. He raised a hand, and the window opened by itself. Under the moonlight, he contemplated his two children, then looked at his wife with eager and expectant eyes. He whispered their names and left with slow steps and a breath softer than his footsteps.
The midwife did not know whether she should exit past the entrance and escort the leader or not. So she remained where she was. And the guards did not know whether they should rise or not. Their duty was the Lady's peace, and it was unclear how the Celestial Devil would react.
In the few seconds of his presence, the Celestial Devil vanished, yet the guards remained on their knees.