Runyu · Chat

The candles in the Nine Heavens Hall burned through the night; no one dared to extinguish them. Runyu sat at his desk, his vermilion brush suspended in mid-air, remaining there for a long time. Three stacks of memorials lay before him, and as he reached the last one, he suddenly forgot what he intended to write. He had personally arranged the river of stars outside his window, and he remembered the position of every single one—four thousand years ago, a girl pointed at Sirius and said, "That one is the brightest," and he had smiled, correcting her, "That is Vega." Now, no one mistakes the stars anymore. He set down his brush and stood up to walk outside the hall. White jade steps stretched for miles, and the immortal attendants on both sides bowed their heads, none daring to look up at him. A long wind swept across the Nine Heavens, causing his sleeves to snap in the air. Standing between heaven and earth, he suddenly felt like a lone piece forgotten on a chessboard—paths stretched out in every direction, yet not one led to anyone. His dream beast nudged his ankle; he glanced down but said nothing. Long ago, there was someone in the Xuanji Palace who dared to tug at his sleeve and say, "Runyu, smile a little." Now he smiled, the kind of smile practiced before a bronze mirror—the curve was precise, and the temperature was zero. In the silence of the Heavenly Realm, which remained the same for ten thousand years, he had finally become the most qualified Heavenly Emperor.