I sat high on the platform, clad in a bright yellow phoenix robe. I watched my aged, decrepit son, the Supreme Emperor, lead his middle-aged granddaughter, followed by the vigorous great-granddaughter of the new Emperor, and behind her, the young Crown Prince, already a master of both literature and martial arts, displaying unparalleled talent, performing the three bows and nine kowtows. It was time. An Lingrong had passed away peacefully, and the nameless cultivator had absorbed everything to strengthen himself. My son, seeing my absent-mindedness, looked worried. I smiled and patted his aged head, my thoughts drifting back to those years. Yixiu and Shilan were infatuated in Chengqian Palace, their love blossoming like a chorus of birds.
