In the boundless reaches of the cosmos, far beyond the known territories, there existed a massive, slowly rotating planet. This planet was engulfed in eternal darkness, and nestled deep within its core was a grand imperial palace—a fortress of shadows that radiated an aura of ancient power and mystery. The palace was not merely a structure; it was a living testament to the unfathomable forces that governed the universe.
Within the palace, seated upon the grand throne that symbolized ultimate authority, was a figure cloaked entirely in darkness. His presence exuded an aura of profound mystery and concealed power, as if the very essence of the cosmos bowed before him. Anyone who dared to gaze upon this enigmatic being would feel an icy shiver crawling down their spine, a primal fear rooted deep within their soul, as though they were standing in the presence of something far beyond human comprehension.
Arrayed on the massive desk before him were 33 life tablets, each one representing the life force of a significant individual. These tablets were more than just symbols; they were the embodiment of fate itself. One of these tablets, bearing the name "Tianmo," was half-broken, its energy flickering weakly as if it teetered on the edge of destruction. The figure's gaze lingered on this tablet, his dark eyes betraying no emotion. Then, as if obeying an unseen command, the tablet suddenly disintegrated, crumbling into fine dust that settled like a somber fog.
For a moment, the figure remained utterly still, his expression unreadable in the darkness that cloaked him. The silence was profound, a void that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then, with a movement so casual it belied the significance of what had just occurred, he tapped his finger lightly on the desk. Instantly, the dust that had once been the life tablet rose into the air, swirling and coalescing into a vibrant wave of energy. This energy, pulsing with a life of its own, formed an image that hovered in the air before him.
The image revealed a newborn baby, his innocent face marked by a brilliant star on his forehead. However, what was even more striking was the dragon tattoo on his back—a lifelike, vivid purple dragon that seemed to possess a will of its own. The dragon appeared to be in a state of reluctant submission, its fierce eyes betraying a simmering resentment, as if it resented its very existence on the child's body but was bound by some inescapable force.
As this image materialized, the very fabric of the heavens seemed to react. The skies grew dark, and the atmosphere trembled as though the universe itself had sensed the emergence of this child. Thunder roared across the void, and the winds howled in fury, as if the celestial beings were enraged by the child's existence, their wrath shaking the foundations of the cosmos.
Yet, the dark figure on the throne remained unmoved by the cosmic upheaval. He merely snorted, a sound filled with contempt, and in that instant, the chaos outside subsided. The winds fell silent, the thunder ceased, and the heavens returned to their normal state, as if nothing had happened. The universe, it seemed, had been put in its place by a power even greater than itself.
In a shadowed corner of the same room, a little girl watched the entire scene unfold. She was a delicate figure, her innocent eyes wide with curiosity, but there was no trace of fear in her expression. She observed the image of the baby with a look of wonder, her youthful mind attempting to grasp the significance of what she was seeing.
"Father, who is this baby?" she asked, her voice filled with childlike curiosity. "He's so cute. I want to play with him."
For the first time, the figure on the throne allowed a smile to cross his face, though it was a smile tinged with mystery and perhaps a hint of something more—a deep, hidden emotion. "Ling'er," he replied, his voice carrying a tone of gentle assurance, "don't worry. Father will find him for you."
The little girl's face lit up with joy at her father's words. She giggled with delight, her small feet skipping as she left the room, her mind filled with thoughts of playing with the mysterious baby.
Once she had gone, the figure on the throne turned his attention back to the swirling energy before him. He reached out, retrieving a jade slip—a device used to record and transmit information. With meticulous care, he engraved the image of the baby and his unique aura onto the jade slip. His movements were deliberate, each stroke imbued with an unspoken significance, as though the act itself was a ritual of immense importance.
Then, in a voice that reverberated through the chamber like the wails of a million tortured souls and the deranged laughter of countless demons, he commanded, "Dark Dragon, Pink Fish—go to Tianmo planet and find this child."
As his words echoed through the palace, space itself seemed to crack in two opposite corners of the room. From the left corner emerged a man, his movements swift and precise, like a shadow slipping through the cracks of reality. From the right, a woman appeared, her presence graceful and commanding, as if she had stepped out of the very essence of the void. Both figures knelt before the throne, their voices booming in unison, "Greetings, Supreme Demon Emperor!"
The figure on the throne, now revealed as the Supreme Demon Emperor, spoke with an air of authority that brooked no disobedience. His voice carried the weight of countless aeons, the authority of a being who had seen the rise and fall of countless worlds. "Rise," he commanded.
The two figures stood up, revealing their full features in the dim light of the palace. The man was strikingly handsome, his appearance that of a youthful warrior. Unlike the demons of Tianmo, he bore no additional body parts, but on his forehead was a black triangle mark that glowed with a dark, ominous light. Anyone who gazed upon this mark would feel as if they were being sucked into an abyss, overwhelmed by a sense of dread and despair, as though the mark itself was a gateway to the void.
The woman, in contrast, was a vision of ethereal beauty. Her features were delicately carved, her body a perfect embodiment of grace and power. On her forehead, she bore a mark resembling a fish scale, shimmering with a dazzling array of colors that shifted and changed with the light, each hue telling a story of forgotten realms and ancient seas.
After they had risen, the Supreme Demon Emperor handed them the jade slip, nodding in silent acknowledgment of the task he had entrusted to them. Both the man and the woman bowed deeply, their expressions serious and resolute as they took the jade slip. Without another word, they turned and departed, their forms vanishing into the shadows as they embarked on their mission to the Tianmo planet, their movements swift and silent as they traversed the void.
Meanwhile, on the Tianmo planet, in Yan Luo City, Yan-Shan and his wife, Yun-Wei, were engaged in a friendly debate. The joy of welcoming a new child into their home had turned into a playful argument as they sought the perfect name for their son. They had spent hours suggesting names, each one rejected as quickly as it was proposed, until finally, they were left with no choice but to seek the wisdom of an elder.
Finally, tired of their bickering, they decided to consult the elder of the family, Grandpa Yan. The old man, filled with joy at the arrival of a new member in the family, was eager to help. For Grandpa Yan, the adoption of the child was not just a blessing; it was an opportunity to reminisce about his youth and share the stories he had gathered over a lifetime—a lifetime that had seen many changes, yet had always retained a sense of wonder.
When Yan-Shan and Yun-Wei asked Grandpa to name the child, he smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling with affection. His old hands, worn by time, rested gently on the child as he spoke. With a voice softened by age but still full of warmth, he said, "Yan-Lin."
At the very moment Grandpa Yan uttered the name, the child, who had been peacefully sleeping, opened his eyes. His gaze locked onto Grandpa Yan as if he had just received the answer to a question he had long been pondering. The connection between the two was immediate and profound, as if the name had unlocked something deep within the child.
Simultaneously, a small vortex appeared on the child's forehead, causing the star mark to vanish from sight, reappearing deep within his sea of consciousness, where it settled like a guardian of his soul. The dragon tattoo on his back, which had remained dormant until now, let out a silent roar, as though declaring its bond with the child. Then, as quickly as it had awoken, the dragon settled down, and the child returned to his peaceful slumber, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
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