On a cool summer day, it was rare that Qing Di Palace wasn’t raining today. The leisurely afternoon breeze blew gently from the shores of Chengjiang Lake. Fucang had just come down the enormous steps after processing a morning’s worth of correspondence and official documents when he saw his eldest son Yin Huan squatting alone on the steps, drawing something with a tree branch. He drew closer and leaned down to watch for a while, speaking gently: “Is this Xiao Jiu?”

Yin Huan remained quite unperturbed. First he discarded the tree branch, then rose and elegantly performed a salute: “I pay my respects to Father.”

Clearly full of childishness, yet putting on such a mature appearance—Fucang couldn’t help but laugh speechlessly, raising his hand to lift this small body into his embrace: “Where are your mother and Zi Qiu?”

On Yin Huan’s jade-like face, a trace of grievance finally flashed through, and his mouth also pouted: “Mother and younger brother are hiding inside the Purple Palace to escape the heat.”

The Huaxu Clan feared neither bitter cold nor scorching heat, but Yin Huan was only just over two thousand years old after all. If he stayed too long in the cold yin power of the Zhuyin Dragon God within the Purple Palace, he would freeze. Yet his mother, who had no maternal compassion whatsoever, loved to stay inside when summer came. Zi Qiu was of the Zhuyin Clan—he was so envious that his brother could stay with Mother all day long.

Fucang smiled lightly: “Then let’s go find them.”

With Father backing him up, a trace of smile finally appeared on Yin Huan’s plump face. The previous generation Qing Di was very fond of this child, said to have quite the bearing of that old gentleman in his day, unlike Fucang in childhood with his naturally aloof and unapproachable nature.

Speaking of which, back when giving birth to Yin Huan, Xuan Yi had suffered quite a bit. Fucang had originally made up his mind not to make her give birth again. Who would have thought that when Yin Huan wasn’t even three hundred years old yet, a spiritual dream descended again—this time it was the Princess’s spiritual dream. She seemed to have completely thrown the suffering of giving birth to Yin Huan to the back of her mind, clinging to him with all sorts of schemes, ultimately still letting her have her way.

The thousand years of carrying Zi Qiu was probably the most difficult yet sweetest period in Fucang’s entire life. He had to teach and care for Yin Huan while also mustering all his energy to struggle against Xuan Yi’s capriciousness and willfulness. Probably because she was carrying Zhuyin Clan blood, she didn’t feel uncomfortable at all—in fact, she was full of energy, leaping up and down, a hundred times more difficult to deal with than usual.

Before Zi Qiu was born, she had always been convinced it was a daughter. Who knew it would still be a son when born? Even after he was four hundred years old and developed his human form in Zhongshan’s Dragon Nurturing Pool, she still couldn’t believe it.

Qing Yan was extremely fond of Zi Qiu. After all, there was finally Zhuyin Clan blood. From then on, this Zhongshan Dijun’s entire face became radiant, as if some heavy burden had been lifted. This situation left the previous generation Zhongshan Dijun, who had been hoping for his son to marry, quite helpless, yet with nothing to say.

Fucang opened the other Cloud Realm within his own courtyard. Immediately he saw beneath a Di Nu Mulberry tree where a spacious woven cloud brocade carpet had been spread. A slender and graceful lilac-colored figure lay at this end, while another small white figure lay at that end, with all sorts of messy snacks and books spread between them.

Zi Qiu didn’t seem to be asleep. As soon as he looked up and saw Father had arrived, he rolled up in one motion and stumbled toward him—this little Zhuyin Clan dragon lord preferred Father more.

Fucang held one in each arm, embracing both sons in his arms, lightening his steps as he walked toward that sleeping lilac-colored figure. Yin Huan in his embrace looked at his younger brother’s naturally pale plump face with eyes full of envy, saying in a small voice: “Did Mother tell you any fun stories? What did you do all morning?”

Zi Qiu had quite the Zhuyin Clan bearing, arrogantly turning his head away and spitting out a saliva bubble with his still somewhat unclear childish voice: “Competed with me for food…”

The sons’ conversation made Fucang unable to suppress his amusement. He gently sat beside the Dragon Princess, leaning down to look at her. She was sleeping soundly, her fluffy long hair spread on the woven cloud brocade carpet, her face contours as full and charming as ever. The matter of becoming ugly after giving birth that had once worried her extremely seemed not to have occurred. It was just that due to changes in her constitution when carrying Yin Huan, she had become very afraid of heat—as soon as summer came, she had to stay in the Purple Palace.

Several petals of unknown wildflowers fell on her translucent jade-porcelain forehead. Fucang gently blew a breath. Clear wind swept them away. He placed both sons on the woven cloud brocade carpet and made a silencing gesture: “Don’t wake Mother.”

Yin Huan, who had quite the steady and elegant bearing of the Huaxu Clan, hugged his younger brother and rolled to the other end of the woven cloud brocade carpet. With Father here, he wasn’t cold anymore. He considerately placed the snacks his younger brother loved in front of him, while picking up a book beside him. On it were written five characters: “Night Rain Autumn Lamp Records.” Happily, he recognized them all.

“Wind comes, dew cools, clouds return, moon hazy, the Milky Way breaks through autumn light, falling stars pass over walls.” Yin Huan began reading to his younger brother.

Zi Qiu rolled to his side, leaning forward to blow a saliva bubble on his sleeve, and began asking unclearly: “What are falling stars?”

“…Stars that fly in the celestial river, I suppose.” Yin Huan felt he couldn’t show weakness before his younger brother.

But Zi Qiu’s questions were remarkably numerous: “What is autumn light?”

Fucang beside them reclined on the carpet, drawing them into his embrace. He took the Night Rain Autumn Lamp Records in hand and flipped through it. Inside were all stories written by mortals about fox spirits, ghosts, immortals, causes and retributions. The Dragon Princess’s taste in books was quite peculiar indeed.

He turned to the page Yin Huan had just been reading, only to see that on this mortal verse were actually her ink marks flowing freely. Because over these years he had taught her calligraphy in his leisure time, her writing had become quite neat and beautiful. Following that verse, she had written four characters: “Long Love, Long Dream.” As he pondered the lingering flavor within, he was momentarily lost in thought.

A soft, cool little hand gently touched his face. Zi Qiu, who was quite fond of Father, hugged his head, smearing saliva on his nose. Yin Huan considerately used his sleeve to wipe it clean. After wiping for a bit, he also couldn’t help hugging his head.

Fucang picked up another book for teaching characters. It seemed the Dragon Princess still had the intention to teach her sons to read characters—unfortunately, while teaching, she herself fell asleep. He began teaching Zi Qiu to recognize characters. Yin Huan beside them held a tree branch—when teaching “tree,” he pointed to the Di Nu Mulberry behind them. When teaching “bird,” he drew a crooked bird on the ground. He was truly kept very busy.

Suddenly he tossed aside the tree branch again and joyfully rushed backward, throwing himself into a lilac-colored embrace—the little Huaxu Clan divine lord preferred Mother more.

“I forgot about you.” Xuan Yi touched his little head, saying without guilt words that made her son’s face fall. Seeing his round face pout, she laughed twice, poking it with her finger: “Elder brother is still more likable.”

Zi Qiu arrogantly turned his head again, vengefully clinging tightly to Fucang. This was probably his currently most effective way to anger her. Sure enough, the next moment that lilac-colored figure rolled over holding Yin Huan, burrowing into her husband’s embrace in one motion and blowing a breath at Zi Qiu’s face: “Little brat, go to the side.”

Zi Qiu imitated her by blowing, but ended up blowing a string of saliva bubbles. Xuan Yi grabbed Fucang’s sleeve to catch them, and was tapped not-too-lightly on the head by him.

She paid him no mind. Seeing that Yin Huan had drawn birds and oxen on the ground, she produced a ball of white snow and molded a lifelike white ox. What fascinated Yin Huan most was precisely this skill of hers—he was utterly in awe. Nestled in her embrace, he said in a delicate voice: “Mother, can you mold a Xiao Jiu? Just like the one around its neck.”

This child particularly liked that silly lion—Fucang in his youth had probably been the same.

Xuan Yi spoke leisurely: “How can a white snow Xiao Jiu be as fun as the real Xiao Jiu? You want to ride it again, don’t you?”

Yin Huan’s eyes lit up: “Can I ride it for a while?”

Xuan Yi smiled slightly: “Wait until you can transform sword energy into dragons and I’ll let you ride.”

…Transforming sword energy into dragons would take tens of thousands of years? Yin Huan was tormented by his beloved mother until his eyes brimmed with tears. Fucang tapped her again—truly improper.

In the end, Xiao Jiu was still brought to the Purple Palace. Yin Huan immediately broke into smiles through his tears, rushing over to burrow into its soft, smooth fur, utterly intoxicated. This nine-headed lion now had quite the bearing of a great master’s mount, no longer like before when it would cry at the slightest thing. It looked affectionately at Yin Huan and Zi Qiu rolling around chaotically on its back, not blinking even once.

Xuan Yi reclined half-lying on the woven cloud brocade carpet, propping her chin, lazily listening to the sounds of her sons’ playful laughter. The aura of clear wind drew near. A pair of hands encircled her, gently lifting—she leaned into Fucang’s embrace. He lowered his head to rest against her hair: “Continue sleeping. I’ll call you when it’s time to go to Wangshu Palace.”

She reached back to touch his face: “And you?”

Because he still wouldn’t find a new Feilian Shenjun for Wenhua Hall, Tai Yao, for the sake of their fellow discipleship, simply let it be, allowing him to accompany Wangshu Shennu every night to drive the moon carriage. This His Majesty Qinghua Dijun served as Dijun during the day and moonlighted as Feilian at night—he was quite busy too.

Fucang held her hand: “Just sleep.”

“When I complete two hundred thousand years as Wangshu, I can find other goddesses to do it.” Xuan Yi turned her head to widen her eyes at him. “Senior Brother Fucang, when that time comes, shall we go out and have fun together?”

Fucang laughed softly: “What about Yin Huan and Zi Qiu?”

“Hand them over to the teacher.” She already had the dragon scales prepared—two pieces. She didn’t believe Baize Dijun wouldn’t take them.

She truly was prepared for everything. Fucang kissed her face: “Where do you want to go?”

Her answer was as expected: “Anywhere is fine.”

Yes, as long as they were together, going anywhere was fine.

Fucang held her tightly, and together with her listened to Yin Huan and Zi Qiu’s clear playful laughter, wave after wave, carried by the wind in spirals up between the leaves of the Di Nu Mulberry, gradually traveling farther and farther away.