What's Left to Talk About Ruling the Three Realms?

This, perhaps, was the deepest predicament of the Heavenly Dao Saints.

In the eyes of the world, they stood above the ages, at the pinnacle of the Primordial Wilderness. With a single thought, they could decree life and death; with a single breath, reshape mountains and rivers. Trillions of living beings burned incense and bowed before them, revering them as gods.

Yet only those who had stepped into this realm understood: so-called "supremacy" was merely the beginning of another set of shackles.

Above their heads, there had always hung the master of all Saints, the Heavenly Dao Incarnation—Hongjun.

In ordinary times, the Saints could still sit high within Purple Cloud, wield the laws, and radiate imposing majesty;

but once Hongjun's will was involved, even the slightest deviation would make that shred of dignity vanish in an instant, like thin ice meeting fire.

Nuwa withdrew from the world—was it truly because she had grown weary of the mortal realm?

Of course not.

She had retreated so cleanly and decisively because she had long seen through the truth beneath that layer of golden paint—

the Six Saints of the Heavenly Dao sounded exalted, but in truth, they were no more than six chess pieces in Hongjun's hand;

nominally acting on behalf of Heaven, yet in their bones, they had to bow their heads and obey.

Whenever the tide of destiny shifted, even if it went against their hearts and ran contrary to their Dao foundations, they could only move at the command.

Where was the unrestrained pride and passion they had possessed when they roamed the eight wilds, slaying demons and eliminating evils?

Undying and indestructible was far from a gift—it was a price.

The turning of Heaven and Earth had its own rhythm that could not be defied:

birth bred death,