Let a hundred flowers bloom, each telling its own tale.
Cultivators of the primordial world could not escape the struggle for supremacy. Even becoming a saint required struggle—for merit, for destiny.
Far to the west, atop Great Sumeru Mountain.
The spiritual energy here still carried a trace of barrenness and bitterness compared to the east.
Although Jieyin and Zhunti had painstakingly cultivated this land for years, using great divine abilities, immense perseverance, and occasionally making raids on the east, repairing the earth veins and gathering spiritual energy, it was still woefully insufficient compared to the nearly liquefied innate spiritual energy of the east.
Deep within their cultivation ground, Daoist Jieyin and Daoist Zhunti sat facing each other. The sorrow etched onto their faces for countless years had become so thick it seemed ready to drip. It was as if the Heavenly Dao had docked ten epochs' worth of their wages and informed them their pension accounts were empty.
The three successive waves of Heavenly Dao thunder and golden merit radiance from Kunlun Mountain, each grander than the last, struck their fragile Dao Hearts like three crushing hammers.
"Alas..." Jieyin sighed before speaking. This sigh was longer and more miserable than any before, as if it contained all the desolation and barrenness of the western land.
"Bitter... Senior Brother, our west is bitter..."
The usual shrewd gleam had vanished from Daoist Zhunti's face. All that remained was the immense frustration and anxiety of watching other people's children get admitted directly into Tsinghua and Peking University while one's own child was still struggling in cram school. He beat his chest, his voice trembling with tears.
"Senior Brother! Did you hear it? Did you see it? The Three Pure Ones! They actually... actually established teachings and became saints one after another!"
"Establishing teachings!