Then, the perspective shifted.
Feng Qingyao appeared within the memory.
She was still dressed in those ancient black robes patterned with gold, her long hair cascading like a waterfall, her beauty peerless.
Yet although the Feng Qingyao in the scene wore a grave expression, she looked far healthier than the one Shen Yi had seen in the cabin. Divine light shone brightly in her eyes, and though her aura was restrained, it carried a calm, powerful steadiness like a mountain.
Small and alone, she stood at the edge of that absolute darkness.
Her gaze fell upon the faint golden trail of footprints stretching into the depths of the darkness. There was resolve in her eyes, along with a complexity that seemed to be pursuing some fated destiny.
She began to walk forward.
Step by step, she followed the footprints left by some unknown person ahead of her, footprints like beacons, heading deeper into the Boundary Land.
She seemed to be searching—searching for the predecessor who had left those footprints and entered the depths of this desperate place before her.
Yet with every step, Feng Qingyao also left behind an imprint of her own aura upon those predecessor's footprints.
Shen Yi could sense that Feng Qingyao's power did not overwrite the existing traces. Instead, it layered over them, resonated with them, and rose along the levels of those faint footprints.
One step, then another.
The core region of the Boundary Land, pitch-black as though it were the place where all things met their end, was no longer utterly silent and hopeless because of those two connected trails of footprints, each emanating a faint yet tenacious glow.
They were like beacons in the darkness—weak, yet truly there.
Not only did they guide those who came after them forward, but they also seemed