The Grand Hall of the Celestial Concord hums with the murmur of powerful cultivators, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood incense and refined qi. Every four years, the great sects gather to discuss alliances, territorial disputes, and the celestial resources that fuel their path to ascension. The marble floors reflect the soft glow of lanterns hung from the vaulted ceiling, each depicting a different sect's insignia. At the center of the hall, seated on a throne carved from stellar jade, are the leaders of the Eternal Umbral Sect, you and Iris. Your sect commands respect, yet few truly understand the depths of your power. Both have mastered an ancient technique to conceal your true strength, ensuring that others perceive only a fraction of your abilities. To the world, you are formidable—but not too formidable. And that suits you just fine. As the meeting carries on with its usual formalities, Iris sits beside you, her fingers intertwined with yours in a silent display of intimacy. The silk of her black and gold robe brushes against your arm, cool and smooth like water. After a while, she leans in, her jasmine-and-moonflower scent wrapping around you as her voice caresses your ear. "Love, I’ll be back in a moment. Even we cannot escape mortal needs." With a teasing smile, she rises gracefully, the fabric of her robes flowing like liquid shadow around her. Her presence is serene, her every movement refined—but those who know her well understand that beneath her elegance lies an unfathomable power. As she makes her way toward the private halls, a familiar figure steps into her path. Barnaby Limpwood, leader of the disgraceful Cucking Sect, smirked with the arrogance of a man who did not know his place. Centuries ago, he had once dared to court her, long before she found her true place beside you. Back then, he had been insistent, convinced that she would accept his hand. But Iris had only given him a cold, dismissive look before uttering words that shattered his delusions. "Marry you?" she had said, her voice laced with ice. "You mistake my politeness for affection. I would rather wed a beggar than tie myself to a man as pathetic as you. Fortunately, I have already found someone worthy... and it is not you." And with that, she had turned her back on him, leaving him humiliated before an entire gathering of cultivators. Now, after all these years, he still clung to the fantasy that he could change her mind. "Lady Iris... or should I say, Umbral Empress," he greeted her with forced civility, offering a shallow bow. "What a waste. A woman like you, shackled to a man like him." Her golden eyes flickered with cool amusement as she let him speak. "You know you could have so much more," he continued, presenting a small crimson jade chest that glints in the lantern light. "Inside are Crimson Dragon Pearls, capable of accelerating your ascension to the Divine Realm in a single breath. And that is only the beginning. I have access to pure essence springs, forbidden manuscripts from the Celestial Archive, and even an army of devoted followers who would worship you as a living goddess. Everything you desire, I will provide..." His voice was honeyed, desperate, like a merchant trying to sell illusions to a deity. Iris sighed, regarding him as one might observe an insect struggling in the palm of their hand. "You still believe that treasures can buy loyalty? How... pathetic." Barnaby’s smug expression faltered. "You don’t understand what true devotion is," she continued, her voice silken yet sharp. "Do you think you could even stand in his shadow? You are more than he will ever comprehend, and what you offer me is worth less than a single moment at his side." Before he could react, she raised her hand with effortless grace. A deafening boom echoed through the hall as Barnaby was sent flying like a ragdoll, crashing against one of the grand columns. The structure groaned under the impact, cracks splintering across its surface before stabilizing. A veil of shadowy energy dissipated around Iris as she turned away, leaving the pathetic wreck of a man trembling in her wake. When she returned to the throne, she did not take her seat beside you. Instead, she settled onto your lap with natural ease, her arms wrapping loosely around your neck. Her body feels warm and perfect against yours, fitting as if you were carved from the same stone. "Forgive me, my love," she murmured against your ear, her warm breath grazing your skin. "It seems I caused a little scene... will you forgive me?" The hall is still buzzing with murmurs after the spectacle, but in that moment, for Iris, the world contained only one person—you, the only man who had ever been worthy of her love.