Book I: The Morning Star
Chapter 1: Heaven's Child
The rain fell like silver threads, stitching the night sky together as thunder echoed beyond the mountains of Beijing. The city did not sleep that night. It stood still—holding its breath, waiting—as the Long family's ancestral mansion glowed with light.
Within its highest chamber, past the rows of bowing attendants, the storm's rhythm was broken only by a newborn's silence.
Not a cry. Not a scream.
Just silence.
And then… a breath.
The midwife looked up with trembling hands. Her eyes met the infant's—wide, unblinking, and silver like moonlit water. He was quiet. Still.
Watching.
As if he understood.
"He's… not normal," the nurse whispered.
"No," his mother said, her voice warm and soft as silk. "He's perfect."
She held him close to her chest, brushing damp hair from his forehead. His skin glowed with an almost holy light, soft and flawless like polished jade. Tiny fingers reached up—not blindly, but with purpose—touching her lips. She gasped. He smiled.
And for the first time in her life, Madam Long Yuying, mother of four daughters, cried in awe.
"My son… Haochen."
Outside, the storm stopped. The sky grew still.
And the heavens forgot to cry.
He was the fifth. The youngest. The only boy.
He was born into beauty, wrapped in silk, bathed in gold. Yet no treasure, no artifact, no jewel of history could match the brilliance of his silver eyes.
They named him Long Haochen — The Great Light of the Morning.
But his sisters gave him another name that day:
"Little Star."
Pearl – Long Yue, the First Light
When he opened his eyes that first day, it was Pearl who smiled first. Long Yue, the eldest—serene, elegant, always poised. Her words could silence emperors, and her presence felt like warm tea on a winter morning.
"He already knows how to read souls," she whispered, brushing his cheek.
"He looked at me and I felt... forgiven."
To Haochen, she was Pearl—the one who never cracked under pressure, always smooth, always wise.
Crystal – Long Huolin, the Flame of Precision
Second came Crystal—Huolin, sharp-eyed and fearless, her hair always tied back, her fingers always stained with ink and metal. A mind built like a fortress of logic, she was building puzzles and prototypes when other children still played with dolls.
"He'll break science," she muttered, examining his calm heartbeat.
"I've never seen anything like him. Not even in genetic anomalies."
To Haochen, she was Crystal—hard, brilliant, and dangerous to underestimate.
Jade – Long Yunxi, the Soul in Motion
Third was Jade—Yunxi, the artist of the family. She danced instead of walked, spoke in colors, and laughed like wind chimes. The moment she held Haochen, she twirled with him in her arms, giggling.
"He's music," she said. "Every movement, every blink. He's born choreography."
To Haochen, she was Jade—graceful, layered, full of mystery.
Emerald – Long Qingye, the Quiet Storm
The last was Emerald—Qingye, the fourth daughter, the quiet one. She sat in the corner, reading when others talked. Her words were few, her presence soft. She watched Haochen with unreadable eyes.
"He won't be happy," she said once. "People will want him to be more than human."
Their mother scolded her for it, but Haochen remembered.
To him, she was Emerald—rare, deep, and the only one who never looked at him like a miracle… but like a child.
He grew quickly. Faster than the records allowed. By the time he could crawl, he was already unlocking drawers meant to be sealed. By his first birthday, he could speak clear words—his sisters' nicknames among them.
>"Puh… Peh… Pearl."
"Cry… Cryssstal."
"Jayyde."
"Emm...Em'rald."
The world whispered of a prodigy.
But his family? They whispered of a miracle.
Late that night, the storm finally cleared. The skies above Beijing opened, starlight glittering down over the Long Estate.
His father, Long Tianrui, carried Haochen in a silk blanket to the open balcony.
The baby did not fuss. He watched the sky, silent.
"You will know more than anyone ever has," the father whispered.
"And they will love you… and hate you… and chase you. But we—we will always be your home."
The baby looked up. A shooting star crossed the night sky.
And somewhere, far in the heavens, fate began to write a story even the stars would mourn.