A flying insect, its thin wings transparent, its buzz faint.
Wang Xuan was startled. The first thing he thought of upon seeing it was: born at dawn, dead by dusk.
Yet this tiny creature had stirred countless reflections among the ancients, such as: life is like a mayfly, once gone, it cannot be climbed back to.
There was also a poetic sigh: entrusting a mayfly to heaven and earth, a single grain in the vast sea.
Wang Xuan had never associated mayflies with supernatural beings. When they were mentioned, it was usually for their minuteness, their fleeting and short-lived nature.
"Enough." The little insect carried a halo, yet spoke with the air of an old veteran.
The rotten monsters around them could crush swarms of mayflies beneath a single toe. No creature paid it any heed; all ignored it.
"Insect Immortal, what guidance do you have?" Wang Xuan truly did not understand and asked it. This insect was actually accusing him, so it could not be simple.
The mayfly spoke. "What do you take this place for? Fighting for supremacy and stirring up trouble, throwing Hell into unrest, scorning giant cities, ruining the peace."
Wang Xuan froze. Hell was peaceful? At night, whenever the moon rose, countless wanderers roamed the wilderness, dripping with blood. The entirety of Hell was in turmoil.
As for the mountains and plains, city after city appeared silent, but the moment one entered a city, one would immediately be attacked by monsters filling the streets. One slight mistake meant a miserable death and becoming a wanderer.
Wang Xuan had never seen Hell peaceful or tranquil at any point.
Still, he patiently explained in a mild tone, "I was forced to act as well. A group of supernatural practitioners encircled and suppressed me. I had no choice