Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Sunlight of the Apennines

After leaving the skies above Kyoto, I did not immediately head to the next destination.

The relentless bloodshed, especially the storm of carnage in the Land of Bandits, although a settling of blood debts, still left a towering resentment and killing intent that inevitably weighed on Yiyi’s heart. She was still so young, and I did not wish for her world to be filled solely with cultivation and battle.

She should see sunlight, hear laughter, and experience the vibrant colors of this world.

So, I tore open the fabric of space, first taking Yiyi back to Huaxia, where I deposited the recovered national treasures and countless rare ancient texts from the Land of Bandits into the National Museum. Then, with her by my side, I crossed half the globe and descended directly into Rome, Italy.

The moment our feet touched the ancient stone roads weathered by a thousand years, and the warm Mediterranean sunlight spilled over us, both Yiyi and I felt a long-lost sense of relaxation. The air was filled with the aroma of coffee, the mellow notes of an accordion played by a street musician, and the vibrant chatter of the people.

Here, there was no oppressive demonic aura, no strange monster energy—only the thick, inescapable warmth of mortal life.

“Papa, it’s so lively here,” Yiyi said, her eyes wide with curiosity as she took in her surroundings. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed pedestrians, the majestic and ancient ruins of the Colosseum, and the colorful gelato shops along the street—everything was a brand new experience for her.

“Do you like it?” I asked with a smile.

She nodded vigorously, her cool, clear eyes sparkling once more with a child’s curiosity and wonder.

“Then let’s stay here and have a good time for a while.”

I withdrew all traces of my aura; at that moment, I looked no different from an ordinary Eastern father traveling with his daughter. We used no spells, simply bought a map like the most regular of tourists, and began our Roman holiday.

We visited the Trevi Fountain. I watched as Yiyi, imitating others, awkwardly turned her back to the water, tossed in a coin, and then looked up at me with a face full of hope. “Papa, will my wish really come true?”

I chuckled, ruffling her hair. “If you’re sincere, it just might. But, what did you wish for?”

She clasped her little hands behind her back, adopting a mysterious air. “If I say it, it won’t come true!”

Seeing her playful manner, whatever lingering hostility I felt quietly faded away. Tears of the Holy Grail, the Tribunal of the Holy See—all these matters were set aside for now. In this moment, nothing was more important than my daughter’s smile.

We sat together on the steps of the Spanish Square, each holding a towering cone of gelato, watching the pigeons stroll leisurely among the crowds. Yiyi ate like a little kitten, cream smeared all around her mouth, blissfully unaware and simply squinting her eyes in happiness.

I didn’t use magic to clean her up; instead, I did as any ordinary father would, taking out a napkin and gently wiping the cream from the corner of her mouth.

After a few days in Rome, I brought Yiyi to Florence—the cradle of the Renaissance.

This city brimmed with artistic spirit. Strolling along the Arno River, artists with sketchpads slung over their shoulders could be found everywhere. Under their brushes, the dome of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore mingled with the silhouettes of modern tourists, forming vivid and lively scenes.

Yiyi was drawn to an elderly man with a white beard, who was sketching with an ink pen.

His style was simple yet expressive; with just a few strokes, he captured the essence of passersby. Yiyi stood behind him, quietly watching for a long time.

Noticing his attentive little audience, the old man paused, turned around, and in heavily accented English, kindly asked, “Hello, little lady from the East. Do you like drawing?”

Yiyi, a bit shy, nodded.

I stepped forward and smiled. “She loves it very much, but she doesn’t know where to begin.”

The old man laughed heartily and pulled a new sketchbook and pen from his supplies, handing them to Yiyi. “Art doesn’t need to know where to start; you just feel, and then express. Here, this is for you—draw what your eyes see, draw what your heart feels.”

Delighted, Yiyi accepted the sketchbook and pen, glancing at me for approval.

I nodded encouragingly. “Go on, draw anything you like.”

So, over the next few days, Yiyi found a new hobby. She no longer just observed with her eyes, but began to use her brush to record the world she saw.

She drew pigeons soaring over the squares, the Ponte Vecchio bathed in sunset, the sweet shapes of gelato, and even secretly sketched a profile of me reading in a café.

Her drawings were unskilled, the lines crooked and the proportions a bit off. But in my eyes, every stroke brimmed with her purest feelings and love for the world.

Her heart was being filled, little by little, with these beautiful things.

Before leaving Florence, I took Yiyi to a renowned local boutique for bespoke fashion.

“Welcome,” the elegant proprietress greeted us, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but she quickly composed herself with a professional smile.

“I’d like to have some dresses custom made for my daughter,” I said directly.

Yiyi tugged at my sleeve and whispered, “Papa, my clothes now are fine.” She was used to plain garments and felt a bit out of place among these ornate dresses.

“You’re a girl—you should dress beautifully,” I said gently but firmly. “Go pick out the styles and fabrics you like. Today, you’re your own designer.”

With encouragement from the shop owner and me, Yiyi’s initial reserve gradually gave way to curiosity. She gently touched the silky satins and soft laces, wonder lighting up her eyes.

In the end, she chose several shades as blue as the sky and sea, along with a gold as warm as sunlight.

When she finally emerged from the fitting room in a sky-blue dress trimmed with delicate lace, even the shop owner, accustomed to serving socialites and ladies of the nobility, couldn’t help but gasp in admiration.

In the mirror stood a girl with skin like snow and hair as dark as a waterfall, her cool elegance blending perfectly with the graceful dress—like a little sprite who had accidentally fallen to earth.

Yiyi was stunned by her own reflection. Spinning lightly, the skirt swirling around her, she broke into a radiant, dazzling smile more beautiful than I had ever seen before.

In that moment, I imprinted her smile deep within my memory with a touch of spiritual power, to cherish it forever.