Sigh.
Wang Jixuan vaguely heard a sigh, and he found himself sighing along with it.
An inexplicable sorrow slowly grew within his heart.
The Stone of the Past before him flickered faintly, and an image slowly appeared before his eyes.
It was this very hall.
Outside, flashes of light constantly flickered. It seemed to be the aftermath of a fierce battle, and Wang Jixuan vaguely saw violet flames soaring into the sky.
This did not seem to be merely an image.
The scorching air, the violent turmoil of spiritual energy, the wails of grieving souls, and the fear of living beings—all of it could be faintly sensed at this moment.
A phantom sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion, his entire being steeped in dejection and despair.
He looked to be only a little over thirty.
The phantom was a remnant soul. Unless one deliberately altered it, a remnant soul recorded the appearance one had at the time of death.
Before his death, he must have made many preparations to ensure he looked dignified. Cranes and white clouds were embroidered on his silk robe, his long hair was combed up and fastened with a Dao Hairpin, and his face was immaculate. Even those seemingly ordinary boots appeared to be made from exceptionally refined materials.
Yet his eyes were hollow, numb, devoid of any fluctuation.
It was as though he had died completely.
Several figures rushed into the hall, nearly crying as they threw themselves behind the remnant soul.
Wang Jixuan should not have understood this civilization's "dialect."
Yet somehow, he understood every word.
"Pioneer! Great Pioneer!"
"Please save us! The rebels have colluded with foreign enemies. The City in the Clouds is about to fall, and three of the six leaders have already died in battle!"
"You are the only one