At the summit of the Sacred Tower, beneath a green pine, the atmosphere was grave.
After Old Ancestor Cang Xuan's remnant image struggled to utter the words "Saint... clan...," it seemed to exhaust all his strength. His image fluctuated violently, growing ever fainter.
Those two words were like the mark of a taboo, carrying endless terror and pressure that froze even the air.
Yao Yao's delicate body trembled slightly, her cool eyes filled with shock and confusion.
The "Saint Clan"? What kind of existence was that, to make even a Saint's Remnant Soul fear it so deeply? And her origins were connected to such a terrifying force?
In that deathly silence, a calm voice carrying a trace of sudden realization and annoyance abruptly rang out:
"Saint Clan... so that was it. I should have thought of it long ago."
Everyone turned toward the voice and saw that Mo Lin had somehow risen to his feet with his hands behind his back. His brows were slightly furrowed, and complex emotions flickered in his black eyes—understanding, recollection, and a hint of helplessness over his chaotic memories.
"Brother Mo Lin?" Zi Yan blinked her violet eyes in confusion.
Yao Yao also looked at him inquisitively.
Mo Lin rubbed his brow as though trying to sort through the fragmented memories in his mind, sometimes clear and sometimes blurred.
He looked at Old Ancestor Cang Xuan's remnant image, his tone carrying a strange certainty. "Senior, there's no need to say more. About the Saint Clan, about Cangxuan Heaven's past, and about the world-destroying war that led to your fall... I probably already know."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Yao Yao and Zi Yan before finally settling on Old Ancestor Cang Xuan. "Even... what you intend to say next, and what you wish to ask