Yang An seemed to feel the delicacy of a breeze. He stood within the territory of this small sect. There was no sunlight, and the sky was dim, yet this place seemed to be growing brighter and brighter.
Figures passed through his field of vision one after another, each leaving behind traces, more or less.
Some were people Yang An knew, while others were people he had killed.
More of them were people entirely unfamiliar to him.
Time kept rewinding. Nothing here changed, yet people came and went.
Some left, never to return.
Some remained as the years changed.
Some were forgotten, while some were remembered.
Some began to go mad, while others grew ever clearer-headed.
Only within the dwelling at the very center did no one ever emerge from the darkness, yet its occupant enjoyed everyone's reverence.
Gradually, Yang An also noticed that more and more people were appearing around him. Yet they were all separated from him by a layer of gauze. Perhaps with only the movement of a finger, he could easily pierce it.
Yang An's feelings grew increasingly complicated, but he still made no move. He merely watched everything before him in silence.
As the years turned, things remained while people changed.
His figure soon appeared in a remote village.
A woman in a long dress stood quietly outside the village. She wore a bamboo hat, its brim veiled by a layer of black gauze.
This figure made Yang An look twice, solely because he sensed a faint familiarity from the woman, though she did not overlap with the figure in his memories.
The village was desolate, devoid of life. Even the wind was bleak and cold, as though it had frozen the spiderwebs hanging beneath the thatched roofs.
It seemed no one had set foot