Mark stared at her.
Lan Xia sat there with her knees pulled to her chest, face half-lit by the soft glow of the distant stars above them, expression calm as if what she’d just said had no significance.
He didn’t speak for a mont. Truth be told, he didn’t know what to say.
"I’m married, Lan Xia," he finally said.
"I know," she replied without hesitation, like she had rehearsed this conversation in her mind a hundred tis.
She turned her gaze away, eyes trailing the stars. "Shang Jiao told ... You married two won. One you love, Song Yue. The other, Shen Ling... a princess of a kingdom, you had a political marriage with her, right?" Her voice was even. There was no jealousy, no bitterness. "I also heard you had children with them."
Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Then you already know why I can’t..."
"I don’t see what’s wrong with marrying , though," she cut in softly.
Lan Xia turned to face him fully, her silver hair fluttering in the cold wind. Her tone remained calm, but her words struck like a blade drawn clean.
"I’m an immortal-level cultivator. You’ll be going back to the mortal plane one day. With by your side, you’ll not only have an expert watching your back, but our children will be born with unparalleled potential. You carry the bloodline of Blizzard Pegasus and I carry the bloodline of Frost Dragon King...and both were spouses, too. If you think that way, the sa destiny flows through us."
Mark blinked in surprise.
She leaned in slightly, eyes still steady, voice unwavering as she continued. "If you marry , whether you or I becos the next clan head, the entire Lan Clan will be yours to command. That’s more power than any mortal princess could offer. I don’t know whether I’m pretty or not, but you said I was beautiful once, didn’t you? So... I’m beautiful in your eyes and that ans, my appearance isn’t a problem for you either."
Mark looked away for a second, exhaling.
He wasn’t flustered.
He felt... more like cornered. Because all her argunts made sense. And he had to instill so sense into her to get her out of these silly thoughts.
"I only love one woman in this life, Sister Xia." His voice was quiet, but firm. "Song Yue’s the only one I’ve ever really wanted. Shen Ling... yeah, that was political. But she has her own goals, her own hunger for power. So, she doesn’t need my attention either. But you..."
He paused.
"I see you as a friend. A comrade. Soone I trust to watch my back when things go to hell. But love? That’s not sothing I can give you. It’s not sothing I will give. And going back to the mortal realm... It’s not a life I would want for you either. You’re an immortal. Invincible, practically. But in my world, you’ll have nothing to do. No one to fight. No goals to chase. No love to feel. No aning to live."
He turned back to her. "Do you really want such a boring life?"
Lan Xia’s response ca with the sa quiet defiance that marked everything about her. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away.
"But, you always do interesting things, Gege," she said plainly. "You make machines no one’s ever seen. You have this certain set of skills that I just don’t see anywhere. Every day, I follow you, and I find things I have never encountered. I don’t think I’ll be bored as long as I follow you."
The wind blew between them, soft and endless.
Neither of them said anything for a while.
Mark eventually rubbed his temples, a bit frustrated. "You follow here, however or whenever you want, because I don’t mind it. But on Earth, I won’t let you do that if Song Yue feels disturbed. Or feel jealous. I don’t want another woman in my life who makes Song Yue feel like she is competing with them or worse, feel inferior."
There was a pause from Lan Xia. But then, Lan Xia blinked as if she realized sothing. "So as long as your wife doesn’t feel jealous... I can just follow you around?"
Mark opened his mouth—then closed it. "I guess so?"
"Hmm." Lan Xia nodded, filing that away like she was collecting checkboxes.
She glanced sideways. "If I marry you, would you force to just stay in the house?"
"What?" Mark frowned. "No? Why would I? I don’t oppress won."
"So, if I marry you... Can I take up any profession I want? Like establishing a sect, or maybe taking disciples of my own?"
Mark, already two steps behind in this conversation, replied reflexively. "Of course. That won’t be a problem."
It wasn’t until a second later that his eyes narrowed slightly.
Wait... what?
"And," Lan Xia said smoothly, eyes still on the stars, "if I marry you, you’ll give a child, regardless of whether you like or not?"
Mark blinked. Slowly.
Then rubbed his forehead again.
"That goes without saying," he muttered. "But he won’t have any rights over the empire I built. I promised, only Shen Ling and her descendants would inherit the throne. No exceptions."
Lan Xia stood up, brushing imaginary dust from her robes.
"Alright then," she said plainly. "After this war ends and we return to the sect, let’s get married."
Mark looked up, dazed. "What?"
Lan Xia turned and walked back toward camp, her silver hair catching the moonlight. She didn’t even look back.
"Huh?" Mark was still sitting there, jaw half open. "What just... happened here?"
He looked at the stars. They didn’t answer.
For the rest of the night, Mark didn’t sleep.
Every ti he closed his eyes, Lan Xia’s voice echoed in his mind like a contract he’d accidentally signed.
After this war ends... let’s get married.
He didn’t even rember agreeing.
But sohow, he had.
To forget the whirlwind Lan Xia had left in his head, Mark did what he did best.
He worked with his Creation.
But not on guns or bullets. He channeled his Creation Ability—this ti, into Explosives.
Not just any explosives.
These were compact, rectangular, and matte black, eerily reminiscent of C4 from Earth. But inside? They didn’t carry thermal or kinetic payloads. They were laced with anti-matter particles, so only have like 1-10g while so have as much as 100 kg. With his enormous ether reserves, almost instant recovery ability, and the AI’s help, he made a couple of hundred of them every hour.
By dawn, he had more than a thousand units tucked away in his inventory, each one ready to be planted across the battlefield. He beca fully focused on the war, a new plan erging in his head.
As the orange haze of morning stretched across the barren plains, Mark returned to camp. His boots crunched against the scorched soil as he made his way toward the command tent.
Two guards stood at attention. They straightened when they saw him.
"Vice Commander," one of them saluted.
"The Commander’s still asleep," the other added with a respectful tone.
Mark didn’t break stride. "Wake him."
"Uh... sir?"
"I’ve got sothing important. Wake him."
There was no room for doubt in his voice. The guards exchanged a nervous glance and hurried into the tent.
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