No one in this world could make Amos yield.
Except, perhaps, a tear-streaked Little Chu Zao.
Amos was on one knee, kneeling before the sobbing, breathless child.
He was silent for a long time before sighing.
“Daddy is fine.”
Amos had made many crucial decisions before—like resolving the interstellar beast crisis that once threatened the galaxy, or confronting the massive empires that tried to invade Holy Cas territory… Later, the crises were all resolved; even the vast empire nearest Holy Cas had long since collapsed.
But now, he found himself at a loss.
His little cub, shaking with tears like a lost young beast who couldn’t find his way, was finally swallowed up by anxiety.
“Don’t cry.”
Amos reached out, cupped the little one’s cheeks, and gently wiped away his tears with his fingertips.
“You’re a good baby, and good babies don’t cry.”
Amos’s halo crown floated above his head as he soothed him.
Though Amos’s state was off, his halo crown still looked powerful: thick foundation with ornate branches like lush leaves.
Amos held the little one’s face.
“Look, Zao Zao, Daddy can stay with you for a very long time.”
Amos knew he couldn’t hide it, so he simply let the child see.
Even though the crown was shattering faster and faster, the Hymn Organization—who had ruined so many immortal species’ myths—had clearly underestimated him.
Amos’s desire to live had never been stronger than at this moment.
Especially when the little cub looked at his crown, then took off his own, comparing them strand by strand, yet still looked at Amos with tears in his eyes.
“But, but—it’s still broken—right here, a huge piece is gone—Baba…”
The cub tried to hold back, but the tears still kept falling. He put his own halo back, reached out to try to fix Amos’s—plus there was that bitter scent again, stronger than ever. Zao Zao didn’t like it, didn’t like it one bit, didn’t want that smell on Baba at all.
Not even the sweet fruit—usually the cub’s favorite—could cover it. The little one sobbed, his own halo flashing rapidly; in that instant, the cub grew briefly dizzy, but it didn’t affect him much. Amos thought maybe Little Chu Zao had just cried too hard, suddenly catching his breath.
But when faced with the little cub’s reaching hand,
Amos dodged sideways, making his own crown instantly disappear.
Amos had never seen Little Chu Zao with so many tears.
The little one was used to crying in secret, showing strength in front of others to avoid being bullied. Even when Amos found him on the mining planet, he’d only sobbed quietly in Amos’s arms.
Never had he been this sad.
The commotion had drawn attention.
In the hallway, Butler Mori dared not approach, while Anya and Frey stood in their own doorways, not stepping out but watching closely.
“Baba—”
The little one was already a tear-stained mess, his hand caught in Amos’s grip.
“Listen, Zao Zao.”
Amos gazed at the child.
“Making you anxious again is Daddy’s fault for not being thorough, but you see, Daddy will be with you for a long time yet. Don’t cry anymore, or when the system checks, it’ll want to find you a new daddy. Trust Daddy, alright?”
Amos’s tone was soft and gentle.
He had rarely shown such affection before.
Little Chu Zao’s crying quieted, though tears still fell.
But again, exhaustion overwhelmed him.
“Okay.”
He was still choking on sobs, his milky voice hoarse.
“Zao Zao, Zao Zao trusts Baba.”
“Good.”
Amos managed a small smile.
“So, shall we go to sleep?”
The cub looked at him, tears still brimming.
Amos thought for a moment, but in the end didn’t take the child back to his own room.
Instead, he carried the little one to the side of the bed.
He rarely slept with anyone else.
Only recently had he made an exception for this little cub.
He set the little one on the inside of the bed. The small figure instantly turned over, big eyes gazing at him.
He still anxiously gripped the sheet.
Come to think of it—
With everything happening, they’d had little time to notice or fulfill many of the child’s needs.
A five-year-old Crown Clan member—even Amos remembered how, when he was young, he’d keep a favorite model weapon at his pillow to sleep.
But the little cub had none of that.
He didn’t seem to have anything of his own and was used to curling up like a little shrimp every night.
Amos suddenly realized something.
He fetched one of his uniforms from the closet. He removed every badge and metal accessory, even the buttons, found some decorative ribbons from old clothes, and, relying on a memory of a rough how-to he’d seen about making a bear plush from rags, awkwardly tied together a rather unattractive rag-bear.
Round teddy ears were fixed in place, tied securely, the head rounded, but it had no facial features. Amos had wanted to do more with the body, but it just wasn’t working, so he left it—now it looked like a ghost-bear.
Little Chu Zao lay on the bed watching him.
Big eyes blinking.
Still with tears.
Amos came over and handed the makeshift ghost-bear to the little one.
“It’s so late. If you decide what you like, let Mori prepare it tomorrow, okay? Want to try sleeping with this?”
The bundle of not-so-soft fabric was tucked in the little one’s arms; he blinked, his babyish cheek nuzzling the bear, and he could smell Amos’s scent. Slowly, he squeezed the bear tighter.
He was so small, but Amos’s clothes so big—so the bear ended up quite large for the child.
His little feet tangled around it, hugging it close.
Half his face was hidden behind the bear as he still peered at Amos.
—He seemed to like it.
Amos breathed a sigh of relief.
He then got on the bed, too. With the cub hugging the ghost-bear, another hug from Amos would have been uncomfortable.
He wasn’t picky with his sleeping position, lying on his side against the headboard, covering the cub in a blanket, and spreading his snow-white wings loosely over him, engulfing the child in his aura.
“If Baba doesn’t feel well—he has to tell Zao Zao.”
The cub, after such a thorough cry, grew calmer, his voice muffled and weak.
But soon, he seemed too exhausted, his halo above dimming slowly.
His breathing grew steady.
He’d finally fallen asleep.
Amos exhaled.
There was a quiet knock at the door.
Frey’s voice came: “Zao Zao okay?”
“He’s fine, go to bed.”
Amos replied, and felt a rare fatigue himself, closed his eyes, and soon entered dark dreams.
The blood and carnage that had often haunted him did not appear this time.
Nor did the countless breaking crowns in his mind.
Instead, hazily, he saw a little figure sitting among flames.
Soft black curls partly hiding his face—
Amos instinctively took a step forward.
The cub in the flames slowly looked up—it was Zao Zao—holding a freshly patched halo, surrounded by a heap of broken ones.
“Baba—”
The tender, weak little voice; above, the small golden halo wobbled as if about to fade. In the next instant, as Amos’s pupils widened slightly, the beautiful golden halo began to fracture—
Boom—
A blast of mental strength blew the window open.
Cold wind swept in. The palace’s AI system instantly detected the change and quickly shut the window.
“Honored Majesty, do you require assistance?”
The machine-voice in the quiet night sounded hollow.
Amos instinctively checked on the cub by his side.
He’d been dazed for a second or two, thinking it just an odd dream.
But then, he saw the little one’s flushed face, clenched eyes, beads of sweat falling from his brow. He was burning hot and trembling, weakly calling—“Baba…”
“Zao Zao!”
The Dwight palace was suddenly ablaze with light in the middle of the night.
Anya and Frey were jolted awake, sitting on the sofa as Amos sat across from them.
Amos’s black hair was rarely so tousled; Little Chu Zao’s hair seemed to take after him, both father and son with wild curls when unkempt.
Amos was in pajamas, the collar stained with the sweat from picking up the child. He wore a blank face, staring forward, fists slowly clenching.
In the other room, the emergency medical team was at work, the little cub lying there, worrying everyone with no sign of waking.
The living room was oddly quiet.
But just looking at Amos’s face, one could sense his fury.
“Your Majesty.”
The medical group was split in two: one for the mental strength, one for the physical condition.
Everyone was exceptionally tense, as the last exam of the little one’s health had been so poor.
The mental strength team came first.
Their faces were hesitant.
“His Highness’s mental strength looks fine overall, but the numbers keep rising—it’s odd.”
Normally, Crown Clan mental strength increases steadily with age, eventually peaking, but never rises so quickly—especially since Little Chu Zao’s numbers had been stable for a long time.
“Is it because I showed him my crown?”
Amos got up, went to the doorway, looking at the sickly cub inside, and asked in a deep voice.
“I didn’t let him touch it.”
He had thought he was being extremely careful, so why was there still a problem?
Never having cared for a cub before, and now that this one weighed more and more in his heart, Amos was even more anxious.
“This isn’t certain, but if so, we’re beginning to understand what unique attributes His Highness’s mental strength has—”
The treatment team explained.
“There’s a possibility it’s the stuff of legend—manipulation, possibly even transformation.”
If this were true, it would explain why Little Chu Zao could touch other Crown Clan members’ mental strength crowns, and why his mental strength weapon could change others’ emotions; his rarified, near-mythical mental strength traits could influence the life-critical crowns of the Crown Clan.
“We suspect His Highness was simply too young. The first time he patched Meilun’s crown, then used his own strength to repair it, he was already weak and couldn’t recover—which is why he chewed Meilun’s weapon. Later, helping Kaman, His Highness became exhausted due to too short a gap before recovery. This time he may have adjusted Your Majesty’s own mental strength, forcing himself to do even more.”
They turned to look inside again.
“Under harsh conditions, life will advance and adapt. Majesty, we checked you too, your mental state is stabilizing. If His Highness’s physical condition is fine, then that confirms it.”
This was nothing short of a miracle for the Crown Clan—no, perhaps even a divine sign.
“Your Majesty!”
The other medical team, seeing the results, relaxed and quickly reported—
“Majesty! His Highness’s vitals have improved since before—there’s no damage to his body!”
Frey and Anya were stunned.
Amos pressed: “No effect on his health?”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
The medic’s hands were trembling.
On this calm night, it seemed they had witnessed a new chapter in Holy Cas Empire’s history.
Beyond the window, the crimson flag that had fallen at night seemed to billow ever onward.
“His Highness is just too young. Don’t patch crowns again back to back—he won’t recover.”
“But he’s feverish now.”
“With mental strength this active, that’s normal. May last a few days. With this level of activity, His Highness may have disordered memory, slow reactions, but once he stabilizes, he’ll be fine.”
The team hesitated a bit.
“But this level of mental energy, we’ve never seen before in one so young.”
They had endless Crown Clan data, but this situation was new to them.
It felt as if—
As if—
“Uhh…”
Little Chu Zao finally woke, groggily sitting up, flushed face, looking dazed, his mind in chaos, blinking sad big eyes.
“I feel bad—”
He seemed to be searching faces, but ended up shrinking away in fear.
Atop Little Chu Zao’s head, the golden crown started to glow, then tremble faintly.
Everyone tensed.
They saw the mental strength crown—supposedly fixed at birth for the Crown Clan—slowly form a new, golden, star-bright branch.
Little Chu Zao just felt his brain blank out, memories jumbling, making him sluggish, not recognizing people, but somehow he found Amos. He wasn’t really processing who it was, but on instinct, he reached out.
“Zao Zao… feels bad, want a hug, hug Zao Zao—”
Amos froze for two seconds, then walked quickly to hug the little one, checking his crown, where the golden new branch was vibrant and growing.
Little Chu Zao seemed to recognize Amos.
He was still slow, dulled.
“Baba… Zao Zao, what’s wrong?”
Amos thought for a moment. He himself didn’t quite know—could that crown really grow?
He held the little one.
“You grew a new halo.”
Cub, you’ve got more brain now!
The dazed cub, amid muddled flashbacks, also heard countless painful cries from throughout the royal court. Everything was foggy, but hearing this, he cocked his head slowly, a big question mark practically popping above it.
Huh?
*
After all that trouble and with a fever, the little cub slowly drifted back to sleep.
Everything seemed to be moving in a direction they’d never dared hope for.
But Amos was still tense as ever.
He simply couldn’t sleep, keeping watch.
Anya and Frey were awake too, digesting the news.
Had the Crown Clan’s ruin been halted by this little cub?
Centuries of despair suddenly felt easier—leaving a sense of strange emotion.
Something like relief, numbness, and bewilderment all at once.
When Little Chu Zao woke again, he was still dazed and wooden.
Feverish still, a cooling pad on his forehead, his pale face tinged with red, sitting on the sofa staring ahead.
Then, he was scooped into Amos’s arms.
Frey and Anya gathered around.
Little Chu Zao’s mind was chaotic. Amos stuffed a bottle’s nipple into his mouth. The cub bit down instinctively, suckled some sweet milk, then looked at Amos and spat out the nipple.
“Want…”
His baby voice was weak, probably because of agitated mental strength and his brain still “growing.” He wasn’t very hungry, but for some reason, he suddenly reached out his little hand, gesturing to Amos.
“That—”
“What?” Amos gently asked, looking down.
The little one seemed to have a bit of trouble expressing.
“This big—that—hold—”
He gestured anxiously, soft as cotton, looking up at Amos expectantly.
Something to hold?
Amos pondered.
He had Mori bring over the ghost-bear the cub had abandoned after developing a fever yesterday.
That’s what Little Chu Zao wanted; he reached for it, only relaxing when the bear was in his arms.
“What’s that?”
Frey and Anya both looked over.
Bewildered by the ugly little bear.
Amos held the cub, attempting to work the bottle’s nipple into his mouth another way, and answered coldly, “Ghost bear.”
“What ghost bear? Where’s that from? This rough fabric isn’t fit for kids, is it? Let’s swap it out—use a pillow for now…”
Anya reached for a throw pillow.
“I made it.”
And was shot down by Amos before he finished.
Anya: …
But Amos did agree the uniform’s cloth was too rough to cuddle with always.
He took the pillow, meaning to trade out the ghost-bear from the cub’s grasp.
The little cub seemed off in his own world, pale with a rosy flush, cooling pad on his forehead, clutching the bear tightly—until it was tugged away.
In that moment, the little cub’s crown flashed.
Golden, childlike mental strength brushed against his family’s strength, making their crowns appear.
Several images and fragments flashed through their minds—
The little cub found a soft toy that another angel cub ahead had dropped.
He instinctively hugged it, curious and cherishing it, but—
He spoke hesitantly: “Not Zao Zao’s.”
In the end, Little Chu Zao struggled to flap his wings, caught up to the other angel cub and his parent, returning the toy.
But before he’d flown far, still foraging nearby—
He heard—
“Don’t play with that anymore, it’s dirty, and was brought back by that little one—we can’t be sure if his mutation will affect other angels; best to destroy it.”
The little cub peeked out from the shrubbery.
Watched as the toy he so cherished, though not his, was burned to ashes with a bit of magic.
The little cub blinked, watching, then slowly drew back in.
It’s okay—
It wasn’t Zao Zao’s…
…If Zao Zao hadn’t picked it up or returned it, would it not have been burned…?
His little wings drooped, and he continued looking for fruit in the grass.
The sunset cast lonely rays on the cub.
The adults snapped back to themselves.
They exchanged glances—realizing at that moment, they had all seen it.
Not a hallucination nor despair-fueled dream.
And now, too, the cub was slowly loosening his grip.
Looking at the ugly ghost-bear.
“…Not Zao Zao’s…”
He murmured softly.
It’s okay.
Zao Zao, it’s okay.
The tiny cub slowly let go.
But in the next second, the rough, unsuitable bear was stuffed back into his arms.
Amos quickly denied the cub’s murmur: “It is Zao Zao’s.”
The cub looked up, repeating, “It is Zao Zao’s?”
“Yes, it’s Zao Zao’s.”
At last, he hugged the ghost-bear tightly again, staring at Amos with big, round eyes; after a moment, his attention was caught by something else.
He hugged the bear, struggling to get up.
Amos stayed put, letting the feverish little one clumsily stand with his ghost-bear, reaching out to help.
He wasn’t sure if the little one was all there, as he’d been confused and slow ever since his fever started, not even recognizing people clearly.
Now the cub fixed his gaze on Amos’s crown.
As if confirming something.
Amos remembered the crying the previous night, and lowered his head.
“See, it’s fine now—it’s just like yesterday, isn’t it?”
Then the cub, still holding the bear, looked around, and—demonstrating epic filial piety—chomped right onto Amos’s halo, with all the force a cub could muster—
Anya, Frey: !!!
Amos: …?
He’s leveled up—he’s really biting Amos’s “brain” now!