The door was gently pushed open.
The sound of the wooden hinge turning seemed especially clear amid the lingering echoes of the strange phenomena filling the room.
A middle-aged man strode in slowly. His robes were immaculate, his features upright and refined. Frost touched his temples, yet his spirit was restrained. He had not hurried a single step, yet his steady presence seemed to suppress the lingering might of the heavenly signs within the room.
The head of the Meng Family, Meng Zhiyuan.
He first stopped just inside the doorway and bowed deeply—not to any person, but to the purple clouds and heavenly radiance still churning beyond the window.
"Heaven has bestowed an omen. I dare not show disrespect."
His voice was gentle, yet every word carried weight.
Only then did he raise his eyes toward the birthing bed.
The infant lay quietly in his swaddling clothes, his eyes still closed. Yet his tiny hands remained clasped in salute, his knuckles trembling faintly, as though he had not just entered the world, but was paying his respects one by one to heaven and earth, rivers and mountains.
Meng Zhiyuan's pupils narrowed slightly.
After a long while, he let out a soft sigh. There was no wild delight on his face, only solemn gravity.
"A Sage once said—'When a person is born, they are tranquil; this is Heaven's nature. Moved by things, they stir; this is nature's desire.'"
"This child has not yet seen the Mortal Realm, yet he has already performed his rites. He is not moved by desire; his nature has revealed itself."
He stepped forward slowly. His gaze grew gentler, but the reverence within it deepened.
"The Book of Documents says: 'Only the Sage, without reflection, becomes mad; only the madman, capable of reflection, becomes a Sage.'"
"When