The Eternal Empire:Ren’s Promise and the Price of Immortality”

Miraye stepped forward, calm and composed, carrying the name he had sent her through transmission.

"My name is Miraye. I am Shen Wuyin's wife." She rested her hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "And this is his son. Go on, my little Eternal Light."

Arin offered a soft, warm, and respectful smile. "My name is Arin. It's lovely to meet my father's friends."

Fairy Jin looked at the boy, who bore a resemblance to his father's actual appearance, softened by traces of his mother.

"It seems I still haven't earned the right to know his real name," she thought.

"You're such a polite little boy, aren't you?" she said gently. "You must have learned your manners from your mother, right?"

He smiled. "Yep—mainly from my mother, but also from my father too.

After all, my father's a powerful man. He says… be polite when it matters."

He paused, thoughtful. "But not always."

Fairy Jin chuckled softly at the boy's words. "I see. Then it's lovely to see you both. I hope our visit isn't too much of an intrusion." She glanced at Ren, as if sensing what stirred behind his silence. "We'll return later," she added gently, before turning away.

As Ren watched them depart, his gaze fell on Miraye and the boy—his son, Arin—whose eyes now shimmered with tears. They clung to one another in quiet astonishment.

"Ardyn," Miraye whispered, voice trembling, " I know you're not him... not the one from now. You're his earlier self, aren't you?"

Ren stepped forward, a hush in his breath. "Yes. I'm sorry. But I intend to keep my promise to you both. I know this because my future self remembered this meeting. He knew we would cross paths in this world… so I could protect you."

His voice lingered like a vow echoing across lifetimes.

"He knew you were safe when he had to leave," he said softly. "He trusted me to stay beside you both. You're my wife. My son. It's my instinct to protect you—always. No matter what choice I make... that promise holds."

He drew them into a deeper embrace, a gesture layered with reassurance and sorrow. His wife and son sobbed, not from pain but from the sudden swell of knowing they were truly seen, truly shielded.

It all happened so suddenly.

One moment, Ardyn sat upon his throne, his son and she nestled peacefully in his lap—a portrait of sovereignty softened by love. The next, everything had changed.

They stood in a place she couldn't name. The sky loomed unfamiliar, its silence strung tight with menace.

Then the figures came—drawn by something unspeakable, their steps coiled with intent, their aura thick with predation. There was no time to speak. No time to flee.

Ren tore through the moment like a comet summoned by fate. He did not hesitate. He did not miss.

The intruders fell at once, their threat unravelling into the earth. He stood before them—breath steady, blade still singing with power.

He had protected them. Unflinchingly. Unfailingly

Ren looked at them with love.

"I can send you back now. He's done.

Forgive the suddenness—I had my reasons.

Trust me. My future self will explain everything.

Goodbye, Miraye.

Goodbye, little one.

I looked forward to meeting you.

And I know I'll be happy when you're born, Arin."

Miraye turned to Ardyn, voice soft as grief.

"Thank you—for protecting me and our son.

I'm sorry I've been such trouble.

I promise I won't be a burden anymore.

I just hate killing… unless it's the only way."

Ardyn nodded.

"I know."

Then they were gone.

Returned to their rightful era.

More than aeons ahead,

to a time when Ren's name had folded into legend—

And he was older than time,

older than endings,

older than even remembrance.

After a few hours, Ren left the room again.

He stepped outside and noticed his master and the others waiting for him.

They didn't ask where his wife and son had gone.

Without comment, they left that place behind—

choosing instead to press further onward

in their journey of cultivation.

Ren had reached Peak Step 100.

He sat atop the mountain, absorbing the rich qi—this was the final peak their sect had claimed. The journey felt brief to him, like a breath between storms.

Behind him, his master stood silent. She had ascended far beyond expectation, refining the scroll Ren once returned. Now she gleamed at Peak Step 200—an achievement steeped in fortune, though fortune meant many things.

Her gaze lingered, sharp as frost. Watching. Measuring. So did her junior sister, Lady Yueh.

"It's time to return. We can teleport now—let's go," said Fairy Jin.

"Yes, master."

With a flare of qi, they vanished.

Back in the sect, Ren stepped into his old room. Dust had settled softly. Mianmian lay asleep, her aura pulsing with slow strength. She was evolving, too. He watched her with quiet fondness.

then came the disruption.

Lord Yanxie struck like a shadow, his spiritual pressure muted, his killing intent veiled behind civility—one of the Legendary Six of Mìngjiè Xiānlù—arrogant even in stealth.

Ren didn't rise.

He didn't summon qi.

His annoyance was enough.

"You're Xunahe's ex-husband, aren't you?" he said flatly. "I don't have time for this. I want to sleep."

He let silence gather like stormclouds.

"Move aside. I won't ask again. You're no match for me—you can't kill me, and you won't beat me. So leave before she finds out. You'll only bury your relationship deeper in the rubble."

Ren went to bed.

He remained deep asleep.

Not meditating. Not suppressing his qi. Simply resting—his breath steady, limbs slack atop bedding soaked in ancestral qi.

And the moment Yanxie stepped forward, the air fractured.

He dropped to both knees.

Crushed. Humbled. Ren's spiritual pressure surged—dense, unfiltered, eternal. Not aimed. Simply present. As if the world itself rejected Yanxie's intrusion.

His body shook.

"This… pressure…" he gasped. "It's too thick. Too dense. This guy isn't normal. How did he obtain such raw power?!"

His qi scrambled to rally—then broke apart beneath the weight. Breathing became torment. Movement, impossible.

And Ren? Still deep asleep.

Snoring softly.

It wasn't just unfair.

It was divine mockery.

Ren woke and saw that Lord Yanxie was gone.

"What a fool," he murmured, stretching. "He knows he can't beat me… yet he still tried. Worth respecting, though—I'll give him that. Hot-tempered idiot."

He rolled his shoulders, slid open the windows, and began cooking. Golden broth simmered as celestial herbs released slow spirals of qi, perfuming the room with quiet warmth.

Above, in the heavenly courts, the gods still watched him with keen interest.

Lord Yanxie stood among them, jaw tight.

Ren had exposed him.

Lady Xunahe didn't look his way. She spoke to him, yes—but her voice was distant, her eyes deliberately elsewhere, as if his presence no longer merited even reflexive acknowledgement.

Yanxie clenched his fists.

The other five legendary emperors and empresses said nothing. Yet their silence resounded—heavy as divine edict, final as falling starlight.

And Ren?

He stirred his soup.

Completely unbothered.

"You're a complete fool,"

Lady Xunahe said coldly. "Why would you do something so reckless? You've sealed your fate."

Her voice rang across the celestial court—calm, yet laced with divine finality.

"We may be gods… but he is something else entirely. Something beyond what we were ever meant to measure. We all feel it—his power is unmatched."

The celestial court shimmered in quiet agreement.

The other gods did not speak, but their expressions told the rest. Some nodded solemnly, acknowledging Lady Xunahe's verdict. Others averted their eyes, unwilling to meet Lord Yanxie's.

Among them, a few—ancient and soft-hearted—felt a pang of sympathy.

Even among immortals, humiliation stung.

They saw the way Xunahe refused to look at him. Saw how the legendary emperors and empresses remained silent, as if history itself had turned its page.

Ren, far below, stirred his soup again.

Still unbothered.

Lord Yanxie kept calm—at least at first.

"You're defending him?" he said, voice low. "Why? Have you taken an interest in that man? What are you planning—marriage? Is that it?"

His calm lasted mere seconds.

The words tasted bitter, and soon his composure cracked.

Fury surged through him—fuming with rage, thick with jealousy and buried resentment. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned.

She hadn't looked at him. Not once.

She spoke as if addressing the air.

And Ren?

He hadn't even noticed.

"You are a fool."

Her voice trembled with restrained fury.

"Were you even listening? Or just picking out the parts you wanted to hear?"

She stepped forward, eyes finally flicking to him—but sharp, cold, distant.

"I said I was worried about you. You idiot. You could've gotten yourself killed."

Her voice cracked, not from weakness, but weight.

"I do care about you. I just don't want you to throw your life away over something so stupid. If you're going to die, at least die with dignity."

Lord Yanxie finally calmed down.

"Fine," he muttered. "If that's all, I'll return to my divine realm. I need seclusion… for a while."

He vanished in silence, the faint shimmer of divine light trailing behind him.

Venya watched his departure, arms folded.

"He's quite hot-tempered, isn't he, Bai?" she murmured.

Her voice carried on a secret transmission—intended only for Bai and the seven other wives of Ren. Private. Knowing. Just faintly amused.