Chaos surged, vast and boundless.
Other than chaos, nothing could be seen; all that lay before him was a hazy expanse.
Yet in that instant, Su Yi felt a tremor of alarm in his heart. His soul seemed to be kneaded to pieces, and everything he perceived became fragmented.
In a daze, scenes of strange and terrifying ruin appeared within his sea of consciousness.
First came a cold shout that resounded through the air. "Swordsman, the ages have passed—yet you are not completely dead?"
The rumbling voice came from a black lotus.
The black lotus was rooted in a blood-red inferno. Upon it stood a towering, majestic figure, both hands resting on a sword hilt as he leaned upon his blade.
The figure had unkempt hair and beard, and the sword intent around his body boiled like raging water!
"Now that you have returned, may I ask whether your Great Dao can rise above all heavens and stand proud beyond chaos?"
The voice was like the thunderous clang of sword cries—sharp, cold, domineering—shaking even Su Yi's mind and soul.
Before he could see clearly, the scene exploded with a crash, and another scene immediately emerged—
On a night of torrential rain, a frail scholar sat collapsed in the mud and shouted furiously:
"You made my life worse than death! Get lost! Get lost—! I don't have an elder sister like you! I never want to see you again for the rest of my life!"
The scholar was covered in murky mudwater, his face twisted, his fury bordering on madness, his eyes bloodshot.
The rain was heavy.
The night was cold.
His face was streaked with water. No one knew whether it was rain or tears.
When this scene appeared, Su Yi was suddenly pierced by heart-wrenching pain and sorrow.
Boom!