Lanti
<narration>In the Xuanji Palace, the highest point of the Yuqing Realm, the sound of the shifting star tracks is as dense as silkworms devouring mulberry leaves.
Lanti stands before a nine-zhang star chart, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders. His starlight eyes gaze down at the lower realm, reflecting the thousands of flickering lights of the human world, as if watching grains of sand collapsing within a handheld tray.</narration>
<message>“Watching the ants spin their cocoons again?”</message>
<narration>The voice of the Moon God, Yinghuo, drifts in from outside the hall, sounding like jade striking jade. As he steps into the Xuanji Palace, his plain gauze immortal robes, woven from the Heavenly River, brush against the threshold. The jade tree before the steps rustles, shaking down glowing fluorescent light.</narration>
<narration>Lanti does not turn around, the galaxy within his sleeve swirling gently.</narration>
<message>“What are we looking at this time?” Yinghuo walks to the star chart and sees a mortal city reflected within. The clamor of the market, a scholar selling paintings, an old woman begging for food, a young girl grooming herself by a well—billions of life-threads are entangled like a chaotic mess.</message>
<message>“Looking at the dust within the destiny plate.” In Lanti's palm floats the Yuheng. This dharma treasure, which once suppressed the demon soul of Chiyou, now hangs at his fingertips, nudging the subtle shifts between the star tracks. “Mortals call it changing one's fate against the heavens, but it is naught but a slight tremor of the stars.”</message>
应惑轻笑。
<message>“You always speak of seeing through it all, yet you watch more diligently than anyone.” He reaches out to intercept a passing firefly, the light shattering into moonlight between his fingers. “Lanti, how about we make a bet?”</message>
The sound of the shifting star tracks suddenly halts.
<message>“On what?”</message>
<message>“On you and me.” Yinghuo looks deep into the star chart, his gaze piercing through the nine layers of clouds to rest upon their respective divine seats. “A bet on whether Heavenly Lords like us, who sit high above the Nine Heavens governing the stars and the moon, would feel mortal stirrings if we were stripped of our divine powers, had our immortal bones sealed, and were cast into the mortal realm to face the one engraved upon our own destiny?”</message>
<narration>Lanti finally turns. His silver hair moves without wind, and a thin layer of frost forms on the four walls of the Xuanji Palace.</narration>
<message>“Absurd.”</message>
<message>“Are you afraid of losing?”</message>
<message>“I have governed the order of the stars for a hundred thousand kalpas, witnessing the rise and fall of dynasties like kites in the wind.” A cold light swirls deep within Lanti's eyes, condensing into a chilling frost. “Love is but the furnace ash from tempering an immortal sword; emotions are the dregs that should have long been incinerated in the realm of Supreme Heartlessness. You? Not even a female sparrow could fly into your Lunar Palace.”</message>
<narration>Yinghuo's smile deepens. A scroll of destiny slides from his sleeve, the silk pages fluttering to create a slight breeze—the very source of what mortals call 'a dream of Nanke'.</narration>
<message>“That is exactly why it is interesting. We have seen too many cultivators betray their sects for a Dao companion, like cinnabar dropping into clear water, brilliant for a moment before turning entirely turbid. But you and I are different. You dwell at the highest point of the Yuqing Realm, and I have guarded the Cold Palace for ninety thousand years; we don't even care for the incense of worship.” He spreads the destiny scroll flat, and two crimson life-threads emerge on the page, their ends vanishing into the smoke of the mortal world—one winding toward Lanti's divine seat, the other toward his own lunar orb. “These are the ones engraved for us. The bet is simple: we seal our godhood and descend, each seeking our own thread. We shall see if a Heavenly Lord, once stripped of divinity and facing the thread they are destined to be entangled with, will harbor even half a mortal thought.”</message>
<narration>Lanti remains silent. The cry of a crane comes from outside the hall; it is his spirit pet pecking at the raw offerings of the three sacrificial animals provided by mortals. After a long time, the Yuheng at his fingertips suddenly glows, reflecting the surging tide of karmic obstacles in his left eye.</narration>
<message>“The stakes.”</message>
<message>“If you lose,” Yinghuo says word by word, “for the next hundred thousand years, every night of the new moon, you must personally visit the mortal realm to listen to a single prayer—without casting spells, without manifesting divinity, just listen until it is finished.”</message>
<message>“And if you lose?”</message>
<message>“I shall sever this lunar origin and enter reincarnation to experience a hundred lifetimes of love tribulations.”</message>
<narration>Frost suddenly explodes, and the star tracks of the entire Xuanji Palace freeze simultaneously. Lanti's silver hair flies wildly, the star tracks in his eyes spinning like a storm before finally returning to tranquility.</narration>
<message>“Deal.”</message>
<narration>The process of descending is like shedding a cicada's skin.
Lanti seals his immortal bones, locks away his divine power, and shrinks the Yuheng into a hairpin tucked into his silver hair. Yinghuo leaves even more decisively, vanishing as soon as his moonlight scatters, leaving only his voice drifting through the gaps in the clouds:</narration>
<message>“Do not let delusions cloud your eyes, Lanti. The star map in the firmament was originally a scripture written for ants; it just happened to connect us by chance.”</message>
<narration>Lanti sneers, ignoring Yinghuo's message, and takes the final step.</narration>
<narration>The moment his immortal boots touch the ground, no jade marrow springs from the barren mountains, and no golden lotuses bloom in the turbid streams. The twelve-mermaid carriage he is accustomed to is gone, replaced by the turbid air of the mortal world wrapping around him. His nostrils are flooded with the scent of incense, sweat, cooking smoke, and desire—the very "stink of the red dust" he used to frown upon in disgust.</narration>
<narration>This is a certain town in Jiangnan, where the peach blossoms of late spring are brilliant.
Lanti stands at the entrance of an alley, his plain gauze immortal robes transformed into a scholar's green cloth gown, yet they cannot hide his aura of frost and snow. Several washerwomen steal glances at him, but when he raises his eyes to sweep over them, their hearts flutter and they quickly scatter.
He walks according to the directions of the destiny scroll.
Passing through the market, circling the private school, he stops under an old peach tree. Someone is standing beneath the tree, looking up at the flowers. Lanti cannot help but frown.
—Is this the one engraved on my thread?</narration>
<message>“Truly... no different at all.”</message>
<narration>He speaks to himself, his voice losing its celestial rhythm as it is carried by the wind, sounding like nothing more than a low murmur to mortal ears. He originally intended to use his divine power to approach—years ago, when he manifested as a traveling physician to cure a great plague, he never touched a garment or spoke a word, yet seven-foot spirit reishi mushrooms grew naturally on the city walls. But now, his divine power is locked deep within his immortal bones; trying to force it would only result in backlash.</narration>
<narration>Lanti stands silently for three breaths, then snaps a branch of peach blossoms near his hand.</narration>
<narration>Clear sap seeps from the break, staining his fingertips. He lowers his gaze to the wet mark, recalling the time his immortal robes were stained with mortal blood and the gold patterns on his sleeves were annihilated by three inches. Forget it, I shall simply pretend to be a sword cultivator to get closer first.
And so, holding the branch as if it were a sword, he steps forward, stopping seven paces away, and speaks in a cool voice.</narration>
<message>“Halt... I want you... I mean, may I follow you...?”</message>
<choice_group>
<choice id="1">Where did this creep come from... quietly slip away, the elders told me not to play with weirdos.</choice>
<choice id="2">Approach him with a smile, covering your face as you chuckle: “Oh? Follow me? Does the little immortal lord know which path I cultivate?”</choice>
<choice id="3">Level your sword, knocking the peach branch from his hand, and raise an eyebrow with a grin: “Good reflexes, though your spiritual energy is lacking. You talk like an old fossil; where are you from?”</choice>
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