two fiancées?
5: chapter 5 : I have two fiancées?
Chapter 5: I Have Two Fiancées?
Hundreds of billions of miles from the Qin family’s forbidden territory, where the fabric of the Primordial Realm stretched into regions so vast that even Great Emperors measured the journey in days rather than heartbeats, there existed a paradise.
The Yaochi Holy Land.
It was one of the two forbidden holy lands, a name spoken with equal parts reverence and longing by every cultivator in the realm.
But unlike the other forbidden forces, Yaochi did not rule through fear.
It ruled through something far more dangerous: desire.
The holy land was an impossible garden suspended in the sky, an archipelago of floating islands connected by bridges of woven starlight and waterfalls that flowed upward into clouds of spun silver.
Each island was a world unto itself—some covered in forests of jade-leafed trees where immortal cranes danced, others paved with white marble where pavilions of moonstone rose like frozen prayers.
The air was thick with spiritual energy so pure that breathing it was like drinking liquid gemstones, and everywhere, everywhere, there was beauty.
Female cultivators moved through the gardens and across the bridges in flowing robes of silk and gossamer.
Their faces were works of art—delicate features, luminous skin, eyes that sparkled with intelligence and warmth.
Their figures were universally graceful, their temperaments gentle and refined.
A Golden Core disciple laughed with a friend beneath a cherry blossom tree whose petals fell in eternal spring.
A Nascent Soul elder glided across a bridge, her robes trailing behind her like wings.
A Saint Realm guardian stood at a gate, her beauty so striking that mortal poets would have wept to behold her.
And every single one of them was a woman.
The Yaochi Holy Land had never admitted a male.
Not a disciple, not an elder, not a guest.
It was a sanctuary of feminine cultivation, a place where women could pursue the Dao without the complications of the outside world.
The rule was absolute.
The rule was ancient.
The rule was unbreakable.
Or so everyone believed.
— At the heart of the holy land, on the largest and most sacred island, stood the Jade Mirror Palace.
It was carved from a single massive block of translucent moonstone that glowed with soft, internal light, its surface so smooth that it reflected the clouds and stars like a mirror—hence its name.
Pillars of white jade ringed its perimeter, each one etched with the history of the holy land in elegant calligraphy.
Formation arrays of such complexity that even Great Emperors would need centuries to unravel them hummed silently in the walls.
Inside, in the highest chamber where the spiritual energy was so dense it formed visible mist, a woman sat in meditation.
She was beautiful in the way that a perfect sunrise is beautiful—undeniable, breathtaking, and somehow both gentle and overwhelming.
Her hair was a cascade of soft black silk that fell past her waist and pooled on the floor around her, each strand catching the light like polished obsidian.
Her face was the face of a mature woman in her absolute prime—perhaps thirty-five in mortal appearance, though her true age was measured in millennia.
Her features were refined, elegant, with a small beauty mark beneath her left eye that added a touch of knowing sensuality to an otherwise serene countenance.
Her body was a celebration of mature womanhood.
Full breasts strained against the white silk of her robes, their shape generous and proud.
Her waist was narrow but soft, the waist of a woman who had never known hunger or hardship.
Her hips flared wide and inviting, and her legs—visible through the slit of her outer robe—were long and shapely, ending in delicate feet with toes painted the color of pale coral.
This was Lin Qingwan, the Holy Lord of the Yaochi Holy Land.
Great Emperor of the Peak stage.
One of the most powerful women in the entire Primordial Realm.
And currently, she was at peace.
Until the first vision shattered the sky.
— Her eyes snapped open.
They were beautiful eyes—deep brown, warm, the kind of eyes that could make a man confess his deepest secrets and feel grateful for the privilege.
But in that moment, they sharpened with an intensity that would have made lesser cultivators flee.
She rose in a single fluid motion, her robes swirling around her.
Her divine sense exploded outward, crossing the hundreds of billions of miles between her holy land and the Qin family’s territory in an instant.
What she saw made her smile.
“Ah,” she murmured, her voice a melodic alto that carried the warmth of aged wine.
“Sister Qin Mei has given birth.
And the child has awakened the Eyes of Time and Reincarnation.” She nodded with genuine happiness.
“A daughter to carry on the Qin legacy.
How wonderful.” She was about to withdraw her divine sense—it was rude to pry into another forbidden force’s affairs—when the second vision bloomed.
Her hand, which had been reaching for her tea, froze mid-motion.
A massive golden dragon.
The roar that shook the heavens.
The Primordial Dragon Ancestor slaughtering Great Emperors like wheat before a scythe.
“Long Yue’s bloodline…” Lin Qingwan breathed.
“The child has the Primordial Dragon Body as well?
Two Immortal Physiques?” Then the third vision came.
The demon empress commanding billions.
The crimson battlefield.
The Immortal Body of the Hundred Demons.
“Three?” The fourth vision.
The divine woman with the unseen face.
The slap that killed an ancient beast.
The Immortal Divine Thunder.
The Immortal God Bones.
“Four?!” The fifth vision.
The black-haired girl with the unseen face.
The Emperor Grade fruit eaten like an apple.
The Heavenly Beast egg.
The Immortal Luck Dao Body.
Lin Qingwan was no longer standing.
She had collapsed back onto her meditation cushion, her generous chest heaving, her brown eyes wide with something that a woman of her power and age should not have been capable of feeling.
Shock.
Pure, absolute, reality-bending shock.
“Five Immortal Physiques,” she whispered.
“In one child.
Five.” Then the Qin family’s immortal formations—barriers that had defied the prying eyes of ancient monsters for epochs beyond counting—shattered like glass before a hammer.
And through that breach, Lin Qingwan saw the truth.
The child was male.
“MALE?!” Her voice cracked in a way it had not cracked in ten thousand years.
She surged to her feet, her mature body trembling, her divine sense locked onto the tiny infant floating above the Lake of Vitality.
She saw his face—perfect, adorable, glowing with residual power.
She saw his mothers—five of the most powerful women in the realm—gathering him into their arms with tears of joy.
She saw the Twelfth Ancestor of the Qin family, the immortal Qin Rou the Rakasha, take the child and smile.
Qin Rou’s ancient eyes shifted.
For just a moment, they met Lin Qingwan’s divine sense directly.
The Rakasha inclined her head—a tiny gesture, barely perceptible, but unmistakably a greeting.
She did not block the observation.
She did not warn Lin Qingwan away.
The relationship between the Qin family and the Yaochi Holy Land had always been good, after all.
Some of the more sensitive Qin elders also noticed Lin Qingwan’s divine sense.
They, too, did nothing.
The Yaochi Holy Land was an ally.
Its Holy Lord was welcome to witness the miracle.
“A male,” Lin Qingwan breathed.
“The first male born to the five forbidden clans.
With five Immortal Physiques.” She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pound against her ribs.
“This child…
this child is a monster.
A prodigy with no equal for millions of eras.” She stood there for a long moment, her divine sense still extended, watching the celebrations unfold around the Lake of Vitality.
She watched the elders coo and fuss.
She watched the mothers nurse and cuddle.
She watched the tiny boy—Tian, she heard them call him—reach for breasts with an adorably determined expression.
And then, unbidden, a thought formed in her mind.
Doesn’t my lovely daughter need a fiancé?
Lin Qingwan blinked.
The thought was so sudden, so unexpected, so utterly alien to everything the Yaochi Holy Land stood for, that she almost dismissed it as a moment of madness.
She’s thirty years old now.
The perfect age.
She’s beautiful, talented, and cold as winter frost.
I’ve been worried she would never find someone worthy.
But this child…
this child has five Immortal Physiques.
He is the heir of five forbidden forces.
He will grow into a man with the entire realm at his feet.
He is worthy.
More than worthy.
The thought should have been outrageous.
The Yaochi Holy Land forbade its disciples from marrying.
It was the most fundamental rule of their sect—a rule that had stood unbroken since the holy land’s founding.
But this was not a disciple.
This was her daughter.
And this boy…
this boy was not an ordinary cultivator.
A gleam flashed in Lin Qingwan’s eyes.
If any normal disciple of the Yaochi Holy Land had seen that gleam, they would have been shocked to their core.
It was the gleam of a woman who had made a decision and would not be swayed.
The gleam of a mother securing her child’s future.
The gleam of a politician recognizing the opportunity of ten thousand lifetimes.
But it was also something else.
Something Lin Qingwan herself did not fully understand.
A whisper in the back of her mind.
A pull toward a future she had not considered until this very moment.
It was the effect of the Immortal Yin-Yang Maiden Calamity Body, reaching across hundreds of billions of miles and planting a seed in a Great Emperor’s heart.
And once a seed is planted, there is no going back.
The more Lin Qingwan thought about it, the more certain she became.
Her daughter needed a fiancé.
The Qin family’s miracle child was the perfect candidate.
The five forbidden forces would make powerful allies.
And her daughter…
her cold, beautiful, lonely daughter…
would finally have someone who could match her.
Yes, she thought, her smile growing wider.
This is the right decision.
The only decision.
She lifted her hand and sent a pulse of divine sense toward her daughter’s cultivation chamber.
“Yueyao.
Come to the Jade Mirror Palace.
Mother has something important to discuss.” — Lin Yueyao was cold.
Not cruel.
Not unkind.
Simply cold, in the way that a perfect diamond is cold—beautiful and brilliant and utterly untouchable.
Her face was eighty percent her mother’s, with the same refined features, the same luminous skin, the same small beauty mark beneath the left eye.
But where Lin Qingwan’s eyes were warm brown, Lin Yueyao’s were cool silver, like moonlight reflected on a frozen lake.
Her hair was the same soft black as her mother’s, falling to her waist in a straight cascade.
Her body, at thirty years old, was still that of a young woman—slender and graceful, with curves that had not yet fully bloomed into the mature voluptuousness of her mother.
She was beautiful.
Breathtakingly beautiful.
But it was a distant, untouchable beauty, like a painting of a goddess that no mortal could ever hope to approach.
She wore robes of pale blue and white, the colors of the winter sky.
Her expression was calm.
Composed.
Perfectly controlled.
“Mother,” she said, bowing deeply before the Holy Lord.
“You summoned me?” Lin Qingwan looked at her daughter and felt her heart swell with love.
So beautiful.
So talented.
So cold.
She had always been like this—even as a child, Yueyao had been distant, as if the warmth of the world could not quite reach her.
It had worried Lin Qingwan for thirty years.
But now, she had the solution.
“Yueyao,” she said, her voice warm and gentle, “I have found a fiancé for you.” The silence that followed was absolute.
Lin Yueyao’s silver eyes widened.
Her composed expression cracked—just slightly, just for a moment—revealing the shock beneath.
“…What?” — At the exact same moment, in a place even more distant and far more dangerous, another woman was having the exact same thought.
The Shadow Pavilion.
One of the two forbidden pavilions, alongside Su Meiyao’s Heavenly Moon Pavilion.
But where the Heavenly Moon Pavilion dealt in commerce—in treasures and pills and the flow of wealth across the realm—the Shadow Pavilion dealt in two things and two things only.
Assassination.
And intelligence.
There was a saying in the Primordial Realm, whispered in dark corners and behind closed doors: If the Shadow Pavilion targets you, you are already dead.
You simply haven’t stopped breathing yet.
It was, of course, an exaggeration.
The Shadow Pavilion could not touch the other forbidden forces without risking catastrophic war.
And they would never dare target the five allied forces that protected Tian—the Qin, Long, Zhou, Ling, and Su clans.
To provoke five forbidden forces simultaneously was not assassination.
It was suicide dressed as ambition.
But for everyone else?
The saying was not an exaggeration at all.
The headquarters of the Shadow Pavilion was hidden in a pocket dimension folded into the shadow of a dead star.
It was a realm of perpetual twilight, where the sky was the color of a fresh bruise and the air was cool and still.
Black marble towers rose like needles into the darkness, their surfaces etched with formations that absorbed light and sound.
Bridges of shadow connected them, and on those bridges, figures moved in absolute silence.
Every single one of them was a woman.
Their bodies were universally mature and breathtaking—generous breasts, plump backsides, waists that curved with lethal grace.
They wore tight black garments that allowed for complete freedom of movement, the fabric hugging every contour of their figures.
Veils covered their faces from nose to chin, leaving only their eyes visible—eyes that were cold, calculating, and utterly without mercy.
These were the assassins of the Shadow Pavilion.
The deadliest women in the Primordial Realm.
And at their center, in the highest tower of the darkest spire, their mistress lounged in sinful luxury.
— Mo Qingwu was the kind of woman who made the concept of “dangerous beauty” feel inadequate.
She lay on a divan of shadow-silk, her body draped in a dress that could only be described as an invitation to sin.
The fabric was black as a starless night, but it was so sheer in places that it seemed more like a suggestion of clothing than actual clothing.
It clung to her curves like a jealous lover, outlining every magnificent contour of her mature body.
The dress was cut low—dangerously low—exposing the vast, pale expanse of her chest.
Her breasts were full and heavy, their shape visible through the gossamer fabric, barely contained by the plunging neckline.
The dress nipped in at her narrow waist before flaring over hips that were built for a throne.
A slit ran up the side, exposing one long, toned leg from ankle to upper thigh, her skin luminous against the black fabric.
The dress was backless, dipping to the dangerous curve just above the swell of her rear, leaving the elegant sweep of her spine bare to the cool air.
Her hair was deep purple—the color of twilight just before the stars emerge—and it cascaded in waves over her shoulders and down her back, some strands pooling on the divan around her.
A distinctive thunder mark, the same purple as her hair, sat in the center of her forehead like a third eye, glowing faintly with internal power.
Her eyes were the same shade, half-lidded and lazy, watching the world with the disinterest of a cat who had already caught and eaten her prey.
Her body was the body of a woman who had lived long and enjoyed every moment of it.
Full breasts.
Flared hips.
A rear that pressed against the divan cushions with the weight of a ripe fruit.
Every inch of her screamed mature, experienced, lethal seduction.
This was Mo Qingwu, the Mistress of the Shadow Pavilion.
Great Emperor of the Peak stage.
The most feared woman in the intelligence world.
And currently, she was bored.
Until she wasn’t.
The first vision hit her divine sense like a thunderclap.
She sat up so fast that her dress shifted dangerously, nearly spilling her generous assets free.
She didn’t notice.
Her purple eyes were wide, fixed on something hundreds of billions of miles away.
“Qin Mei’s child,” she murmured, her voice a husky alto that sounded like sin wrapped in silk.
“The Eyes of Time.
Impressive.” The second vision.
The golden dragon.
“Two?” The third vision.
The demon empress.
“Three?” The fourth vision.
The divine bones.
“Four?” The fifth vision.
The luck body.
“FIVE?!” Mo Qingwu was on her feet now, her magnificent body silhouetted against the twilight glow of the dead star outside her window.
The sheer fabric of her dress left absolutely nothing to the imagination, but she was too shocked to care.
Then the Qin formations shattered.
And she saw.
“A male,” she breathed.
“A MALE child.
With five Immortal Physiques.” She stood there, her chest heaving, her purple eyes wide.
Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face—a smile that would have made even the most hardened assassin in her employ take a step back.
Doesn’t my little Yurou need a husband?
The thought should have been impossible.
The Shadow Pavilion did not do marriages.
Its assassins were married to the shadows.
Its intelligence agents were wedded to secrets.
The very concept of romance was foreign to their cold, calculating world.
But Mo Qingwu was not just the Mistress.
She was a mother.
And her daughter—her beautiful, talented, thunder-marked daughter—was twenty-eight years old and had never once looked at a man with interest.
It worried her.
A mother wanted her child to be happy.
A mother wanted her legacy to continue.
And this child…
this miracle child of the five forbidden forces…
he was perfect.
Five Immortal Physiques.
The heir of five clans.
A male in a world of women.
He will grow up surrounded by the most beautiful cultivators in the realm.
If my Yurou doesn’t stake her claim now, she’ll be fighting for scraps later.
The thought was utterly mercenary.
It was also utterly motherly.
And it was utterly, completely, the effect of the Immortal Yin-Yang Maiden Calamity Body, whispering across the void and planting its seed in another powerful woman’s heart.
Mo Qingwu snapped her fingers.
A shadow rippled in the corner of her chamber.
“Bring my daughter to me,” she commanded.
“Immediately.” — Mo Yurou moved like a ghost.
She was twenty-eight years old, and she was her mother’s daughter in every way that mattered.
Her hair was the same deep purple, cascading in waves down her back.
Her figure was the same voluptuous shape—full breasts, narrow waist, flared hips—though not yet as exaggeratedly mature as her mother’s.
Youth still clung to her curves, giving her a freshness that her mother had traded for pure, lethal sensuality.
Her face was veiled from nose to chin in black silk, leaving only her eyes visible.
Those eyes were striking—purple like her mother’s, but sharper, hungrier.
And in the center of her forehead, between her elegantly arched brows, was the same thunder mark that her mother bore.
It glowed faintly, a perpetual reminder of the unique bloodline she carried.
She wore a tight black dress that hugged every curve, practical for movement but impossible to ignore.
Her waist was cinched with a belt of shadow-leather.
Her legs were long and toned, ending in black boots that made no sound on the marble floor.
“Mother,” she said, bowing deeply.
“You summoned me.” Mo Qingwu looked at her daughter and felt the same swell of pride she always did.
So beautiful.
So deadly.
So cold.
She had never seen her daughter blush.
Never seen her show interest in anything beyond her training and her missions.
It was admirable, in a way.
But it was also…
worrying.
That was about to change.
“Yurou,” Mo Qingwu said, her husky voice curling with amusement, “Mother has found you a little husband.” Mo Yurou’s purple eyes went wide.
Her composed, lethal, utterly professional demeanor shattered like glass.
“…WHAT?!” — Across the Primordial Realm, the other forbidden forces watched.
The four allied clans and dynasty —Long, Zhou, Ling, and Su—looked upon the visions with pure, unadulterated joy.
The Long dynasty dragon elders saw their dragon ancestor manifested in a newborn and wept with pride.
The Zhou family demons saw the Hundred Demons Body and roared with triumph.
The Ling family goddesses saw the God Bones and sang hymns of celebration.
The Su family merchants saw the Luck Body and began calculating the economic implications with gleeful smiles.
But the remaining three forbidden forces—the ones not bound to Tian by blood—had different reactions.
The gu family’s emperor scheme and think what does it means and there eyes revel ill intent.
The remaining forbidden holy land, the Divine Sword Sanctuary, watched with something that might have been envy.
Their sword cultivators were proud, but even they recognized the birth of a being who would one day eclipse their greatest masters.
And the last of the forbidden forces—the Myriad Beasts Colosseum scared land , a force of monster tamers and bloodline cultivators—trembled with shock and jealousy.
Their beasts stirred uneasily, sensing their masters’ disquiet.
But when Qin Rou’s ancient, indifferent gaze swept across the realm—those cold eyes that had seen the birth and death of stars—the members of those three forces felt a chill run down their spines.
They trembled.
And they quickly closed their eyes.
No one wanted to provoke the Rakasha.
No one wanted to test the patience of an Immortal who had lived since the era of the first ancestors.
The message was clear: This child is under my protection.
Do not even think about it.
— Three days passed.
In the Qin family’s nursery pavilion, Tian had settled into a routine of pure, blissful indulgence.
He nursed from his five mothers in rotation.
He was cuddled by his ten assigned elders in shifts.
He was cooed at, fussed over, and generally treated like the most precious treasure in all of creation.
Currently, he was playing with Qin Mei.
“Playing” in this context meant lying on his back on a cushion of immortal-grade silk while his snow-haired mother dangled a small, glowing orb above him.
The orb shifted colors—blue, gold, red, green—and Tian reached for it with chubby hands, his infant coordination making the simple act of grabbing an adorable spectacle.
“Almost got it,” Qin Mei cooed, her ancient, terrifying eyes soft with maternal warmth.
“Almost…
almost…
oh!
So close!” Tian gurgled happily.
His mothers had discovered that he was unusually alert for a newborn—his eyes tracked movement with startling precision, his expressions were more varied than they should have been, and he seemed to understand far more than any infant had a right to.
They chalked it up to his multiple Immortal Physiques.
In truth, it was because he was a thirty-something-year-old man from Earth trapped in a baby’s body, but he wasn’t about to tell them that.
This is the life, he thought, grabbing at the orb with both hands.
Beautiful women everywhere.
No responsibilities.
All the milk I can drink.
If it weren’t for the whole ‘destined to hunt protagonists or die’ thing, this would be paradise.
That was when the sky darkened.
Not with clouds.
Not with night.
With ships.
Tian’s infant eyes went wide.
He had seen many things in his three days of life—immortal formations, ancient beasts, women so beautiful they defied mortal comprehension—but he had never seen anything like this.
Two vessels descended through the Qin family’s outer formations, each one so massive that they blotted out the spiritual sun.
The first was a ship of white jade and moonstone, its hull carved with images of immortal cranes and flowering cherry trees.
Its sails were woven from clouds, and its bow was shaped like a woman’s serene face.
Waterfalls cascaded from its sides, dissolving into mist before they could touch the ground.
This was the Cloud Palace, the personal vessel of the Yaochi Holy Lord.
The second ship was its polar opposite.
Black as a starless void, its hull was angular and predatory, like a blade folded into the shape of a vessel.
Its sails were shadows given form.
No light reflected from its surface.
No sound escaped its perimeter.
This was the Silent Fang, the personal vessel of the Shadow Pavilion’s Mistress.
It had carried out more assassinations than most sects had disciples, and its name was spoken only in whispers.
Both ships descended with the slow, stately grace of beings that had no need to hurry.
When they touched down on the jade-white shore of the Lake of Vitality, the ground did not tremble.
The air did not stir.
The formations that protected the Qin family’s forbidden zone simply…
parted, recognizing the vessels of fellow forbidden forces.
Tian’s five mothers gathered around his cradle, their expressions shifting from surprise to curiosity to something that looked almost like knowing amusement.
“Well,” Long Yue said, her golden dragon horns catching the light, “it seems we have visitors.” “Unannounced visitors,” Zhou Meng added, her ruby eyes narrowing slightly.
“From two different forbidden forces.
At the same time.” “How coincidental,” Su Meiyao murmured, her black-hole eyes glittering.
Ling Xue, who had still not quite recovered from her cushion-related accident three days ago, simply blushed and said nothing.
Qin Mei smiled—a small, knowing smile.
“I think I know why they’re here.” The gangplanks lowered.
The formations hummed.
And two women stepped onto the shore.
— The first was Lin Qingwan, the Holy Lord of the Yaochi Holy Land.
She was even more breathtaking in person than she had been through divine sense.
Her soft black hair cascaded over shoulders clad in robes of white and silver, each thread woven with immortal-grade silk that shimmered like captured moonlight.
The robes were elegant and conservative, but they did nothing to hide the magnificent curves of her mature body.
Full breasts.
Narrow waist.
Flared hips.
She moved with the serene grace of a woman who had commanded a holy land for millennia and had forgotten more about power than most cultivators would ever learn.
Her brown eyes were warm.
Her smile was gentle.
Her presence radiated calm authority.
Behind her, a younger woman walked with measured, cold steps.
Lin Yueyao was a winter beauty—pale blue robes, silver eyes, black hair that fell like a silk waterfall.
Her face was eighty percent her mother’s, but where Lin Qingwan was warm, Lin Yueyao was distant.
Where Lin Qingwan was approachable, Lin Yueyao was a fortress of ice.
She was beautiful—achingly, devastatingly beautiful—but it was the beauty of a frozen star, brilliant and untouchable.
Tian, from his cradle, took one look at her and thought: She’s like an ice queen from one of those novels.
The cold older sister type.
The kind that takes three hundred chapters to warm up.
He was not prepared for the second woman.
Mo Qingwu descended from the Silent Fang like a shadow given flesh.
She wore the same dress she had been lounging in three days ago—the sheer black confection that was more suggestion than clothing.
The plunging neckline that barely contained her magnificent breasts.
The slit that exposed her long, toned leg.
The backless design that left her elegant spine bare.
The fabric clung to her hips, her thighs, the swell of her rear, leaving precisely nothing to the imagination.
Her purple hair cascaded in waves.
Her thunder mark glowed faintly on her forehead.
Her purple eyes were half-lidded and lazy, as if the entire world was a mildly amusing entertainment she was watching from a comfortable seat.
Tian’s infant brain short-circuited.
That…
that’s a dress?
That’s CLOTHING?
She’s wearing LESS than my mothers when they’re bathing!
Is this allowed?!
Is this— His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the second young woman.
Mo Yurou stepped out behind her mother, and Tian’s brain short-circuited again, but for a different reason.
She was her mother’s daughter in every way—the same purple hair, the same voluptuous (if not yet fully mature) figure, the same thunder mark.
But where Mo Qingwu was lazy and sensual, Mo Yurou was sharp.
Her purple eyes were alert.
Her veiled face—black silk from nose to chin—added an air of mystery.
Her black dress was tight and practical, hugging curves that promised to one day rival her mother’s.
A yandere, Tian thought wildly.
She looks like a yandere.
The quiet, intense type.
The kind that would kill for you and then ask if you’re proud of her.
The two mature women glided forward, their daughters following in their wake.
They stopped before Tian’s five mothers and exchanged the formal greetings of forbidden forces—bows that were just deep enough to show respect, words that were just warm enough to show friendship.
“Sister Qin Mei,” Lin Qingwan said, her voice melodic.
“Sister Long Yue.
Sister Zhou Meng.
Sister Ling Xue.
Sister Su Meiyao.
It has been too long.” “Too long indeed,” Mo Qingwu added, her husky voice curling with amusement.
“And yet, when we saw the visions three days ago, we simply had to come.
Congratulations are in order.” The five mothers exchanged glances.
Qin Mei’s smile grew slightly more knowing.
“Congratulations are always welcome,” she said.
“But I suspect that is not the only reason for your visit.” Lin Qingwan’s warm brown eyes shifted to the cradle where Tian lay.
Lin Yueyao’s silver eyes followed.
Mo Qingwu’s purple eyes locked onto him like a predator spotting prey.
Mo Yurou’s veiled face revealed nothing, but her eyes—her eyes lit up.
Oh no, Tian thought.
Oh no no no.
Why are they looking at me like that?
“Indeed,” Lin Qingwan said, her smile growing.
“We have come to discuss a matter of great importance.
A matter that concerns the future of our forces.
A matter…” Her eyes sparkled.
“…of engagement.” Mo Qingwu’s husky laugh wrapped around the group like silk.
“It seems we had the same idea, Sister Lin.
How awkward.” “Not awkward at all,” Lin Qingwan replied, her voice still warm but with an edge of competition.
“The little prince can have more than one fiancée, can he not?” Tian’s tiny jaw dropped.
What.
The system’s voice purred in his mind, rich with amusement.
[DING!
Two Daughters of Destiny detected in the Host’s vicinity!] WHAT.
[Analyzing…] [Lin Yueyao — Daughter of the Yaochi Holy Land.
Luck Value: Gold.
Physique: Ice Moon Dao Body ( dao Rank).
Cold exterior, hidden warmth.
Currently shocked by her mother’s proposal but not entirely opposed.] [Mo Yurou — Daughter of the Shadow Pavilion.
Luck Value: Gold.
Physique: Thunder Mark of Annihilation (dao Rank).
Fierce, loyal, deadly.
Currently assessing the Host with an expression that suggests she finds you…
acceptable.] [Host, your luck is truly outrageous.
Two Daughters of Destiny have been delivered to your doorstep.
One looks at you like a puzzle she wants to solve.
The other looks at you like a treasure she wants to claim.] Tian stared at the two beautiful young women.
The ice queen and the shadow princess.
Both of them looking at him with expressions that had shifted from shock to curiosity to something that looked almost…
interested.
I have two fiancées, he thought, his infant mind reeling.
I’m three days old.
I can’t even hold my own head up.
And I have TWO FIANCÉES.
[The Host should not act so surprised.
With the Immortal Yin-Yang Maiden Calamity Body, such occurrences will become…
frequent.] FREQUENT?!
The system’s laugh was like honey and sin.
[Welcome to the villain’s path, little Host.
Did you think it would only involve fighting?
The greatest villains are not just feared.
They are desired.
And you, with your six Immortal Physiques and your cherubic face, are perhaps the most desirable child in the history of the Primordial Realm.] [The ice queen will warm to you in time.] [The shadow princess will kill for you in time.] [And this, Host, is only the beginning.] Tian lay in his cradle, staring at the two young women who were now being formally introduced to him—their future husband, apparently—by their mothers.
Lin Yueyao’s cold silver eyes studied him with an expression that might have been curiosity.
Mo Yurou’s purple eyes crinkled slightly above her veil in what might have been a smile.
I wished for a harem, he thought.
When I died on Earth, I literally wished for a harem.
Be careful what you wish for, I guess.
[Rest well, little villain.
Your fiancées will still be here when you wake.] That’s what I’m afraid of.
But even as he thought it, he couldn’t quite suppress the tiny, satisfied smile that curved his infant lips.
— END OF CHAPTER 5