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Yan Wuchuan's name, Yan Wuchuan's mission, everything Yan Wuchuan was—Yan Xi had bestowed it all upon him. He was merely a seed. She had never thought to treat a seed as an equal, much less imagined that once Yan Wuchuan developed sentience, he would regard her as his mother.

The Ji Clan's secret art had been lost, its lineage broken too severely. Yan Xi was immensely gifted, yet she had no idea of this secret art's true purpose. She only knew that all the love in her heart had been nothing more than a stairway to heaven for her lover's cultivation. Perhaps he had held a measure of affection for her, but it was shallow and crude, like a cheap jade pendant cut from roadside gambling stones.

She had once thought her friend had terrible taste in husbands, yet she had never expected... they were such close friends, so how could their taste possibly have differed much?

Her lifespan dwindled, and her appearance grew increasingly haggard. Lin Xingheng, on the other hand, had powerful cultivation, his spiritual radiance contained within him. Yan Xi feared the fact that she was about to die, yet as her most intimate lover, Lin Xingheng did not care in the slightest about such feelings. He even proposed that they have a child together.

When someone loved, they could love blindly and without hesitation. But when she wished to wake up, it took only an instant. The moment her lover said he wanted a child, Yan Xi understood.

It was not that the handsome lover before her had failed to notice her condition. He had noticed it, but he had nothing to fear. He had even believed that, given her love for him, she would surely be more than willing to bear an heir and continue