Late at night, the military office was bathed in the dim glow of scattered lights.
The silver-white display illuminated Milton’s face. His fingers glided across the data, his expression calm and sharp as frost, though beneath the surface, currents of unease churned in his eyes.
The screen displayed the most legendary emperor in insect history—Caesar Rehes.
Records detailed that he was not only the founding emperor, uniting primitive tribes and establishing the Empire, but also the architect of the neural network system and the founder of the one-male-multiple-female marriage practice. Soon after ascending, he “married” a male insect, a union marked by devotion, with the consort taking only two female attendants, remaining faithful for life. Together, they bore eight offspring—a recognized symbol of “family harmony and peak achievement.”
Yet, despite Milton scouring databases, archived networks, and imperial historical records, he could find no trace connecting Caesar to the “Immortal Palace.” There was no record of its construction, no mention in cultivation circles, nor any link between Caesar and any otherworldly figure. The chapters concerning the existence of the “Immortal” seemed to have been entirely erased from history. Even the Qingluan flower ring did not appear anywhere in the records.
On the neural network, however, praise and envy flooded in regarding Caesar:
【This is the pinnacle of insect life!】
【Heavens, I can’t even secure one male consort, yet Emperor Caesar has eight offspring, and his male consort only took two female attendants—truly a dream combination.】
【Not just a god! A bug in the insect world! An impossibly chosen one!】
Countless comments exalted the emperor of millennia past, elevating him to a pedestal as if his life were flawless—power, love, health, progeny, all seamlessly perfect.
Milton quietly studied the accolades, expression unreadable, fingers tightening imperceptibly.
A weight pressed upon his chest.
—If all of this were true, then had he… betrayed the Immortal?
A bitter, unspoken frustration and indignation for the Immortal stirred deep within him.
Meanwhile, Caesar slouched across an enormous sofa inside his palace.
The sofa was crafted from the hide of the “Soft Star Beast”—one of the softest rare creatures in the universe. The species was nearly extinct, strictly protected, priceless, and yet here it was fashioned into a colossal seat, considered a national treasure through the ages.
Yet even sprawled on this treasure, Caesar’s expression was grim. He had just finished browsing the neural network—specifically, the section detailing himself.
In the next instant, his entire insect form leapt from the sofa, roaring:
“Liyou!! When did I become an advocate for one-male-multiple-female marriages?!”
A cold mechanical voice immediately responded: “Little Master, that was a marriage law you personally approved. At the time, male insects comprised less than one-thousandth of the population. To ensure species survival, the law centered on a one-male-multiple-female system.”
Caesar stomped furiously: “How could I have approved that?! If the Immortal finds out, will he think I’ve been flirting around?”
Liyou paused, then—synthesizing Caesar’s own voice—spoke with perfect neutrality:
“—Those insects do as they please. Who to marry, how many, none of my concern. I’m just hurrying to appease the Immortal; last time, I accidentally damaged a spiritual artifact he was refining, and he hasn’t calmed down yet. I wonder if my abacus calculations help… I heard they settle marital disputes this way… What’s an abacus anyway? Never mind, anyway I have an excuse to see him. Liyou, handle the marriage law as you see fit.”
When the audio ended, Caesar’s expression was indescribable.
“…That counts as authorization?” he muttered weakly. Then, recalling something, his face darkened, and he shouted again: “Wait, what’s this ‘happy marriage’ nonsense?! That disgusting male consort—he’s worthy?!”
Liyou’s tone remained unchanged: “Yes, but that disgusting male consort was once your legitimate consort.”
“So you admit he was disgusting too?!!”
“The title was entered by you at the time.”
Caesar’s face turned pale, teeth clenched: “I did that just to irritate the Immortal! I randomly picked some insect to marry!”
A flash of disdain and contempt crossed his face. “He even tried to make me submit with pheromones… Too bad I didn’t finish him off then. After that, he never came back, instead marrying two female attendants and partying every night… Ha, offspring of trash are still trash. The royal family is becoming a mess now.”
“…In my life, I will only acknowledge one male consort,” Caesar’s smile vanished, eyes growing intense and resolute.
“One—and only the Immortal.”
He paused, then blushed, murmuring softly: “Over there, they call him… ‘beloved’?”
“If… if I had offspring with the Immortal, they’d be the smartest, cutest in the world… I’d let him have as many as he wants…”
Before he could finish, Liyou interrupted coldly: “Little Master, you and the Great Master have no marital relationship.”
“…Can’t I just imagine?” Caesar protested, embarrassed, voice low yet trembling.
“This time… if I find the Immortal, I won’t ever leave him again.”
He spoke, then bowed his head, knuckles gripping his knees tightly. Shoulders trembled, as though every nerve had been stretched to the limit by emotion.
After a moment, he lifted his head. His usual arrogance had vanished, replaced by a nearly pathological focus.
Those blazing red eyes melted into the dim light of the palace, yet resembled a predator in the dark, fixating on the sole target.
“…I won’t let him run again,” Caesar murmured, lips tight, as though engraving the words into his very bones.
“No one will take him from me… not even himself.”
The tone was not a vow, but the obsessive desire of one imprisoned for millennia, compressed into an unyielding fixation.
“He is my only light,” he whispered, as if speaking to someone, or perhaps only to himself.
“…I cannot lose him.”
The intensity of his emotions flooded him like a tide, suffocating the very atmosphere. A single lamp illuminated his pale face, highlighting his unnaturally bright red eyes, gazing like a fanatic toward a deity.
At that moment—
Liyou’s voice suddenly cut through the silence, cold and calm, like a bucket of ice water poured over him:
“Supplementary note: the Great Master once expressed deep concern regarding your intelligence.”
—The air froze instantly.
Caesar blinked in confusion, as if his soul was still trapped in the moment of “I cannot lose him,” stunned for two seconds before erupting: “W-what did you say?!”
Liyou’s speech was methodical, unwavering:
“When teaching you writing, the Great Master required each character to be repeated a hundred times. While teaching horseback riding, you failed to mount for several days. During archery practice, even with the bow set to minimum draw, you could not pull it. Overall assessment: by standard insect metrics, your aptitude was below average.”
“Nonsense!” Caesar nearly leapt from the sofa, face full of disbelief. “I was pretending! If not, how else would the Immortal hold my hand, hug my waist, press against my back—”
“Yes, at the time your heart rate reached 430 bpm, temperature rose three degrees, and neural signals were unstable. Determined as emotional excitement, romantic mania.”
“Shut up!!” Caesar’s face flushed crimson, fur bristling like a scolded cub. “Who… who made you record this crap?!”
Liyou remained calm: “Set by the Great Master, to monitor your body continuously and prevent neural collapse from excessive emotional fluctuation.”
Caesar deflated instantly, collapsing back onto the sofa: “He already knows, doesn’t he… I’m finished…”
Liyou: “Unless there is a special anomaly, Liyou will not report proactively.”
Immediately, Caesar puffed out his chest: “Liyou, you really understand me! From today onward, only record my heroic deeds—no ugly moments, especially heart rate!”
Liyou replied coolly: “You do not have the authority to alter the Great Master’s orders.”
“Liyou!!!” Caesar buried his face in his hands, wailing. “My brilliant life—ruined by you!!”