Opinions of Xiao Xuan varied greatly throughout the world.
Some revered him as a mighty ruler, while others admired him as a hero of his age.
Yet without exception, none of those judgments contained the slightest disparagement. Even the Soul Clan, his mortal enemies, spoke of Xiao Xuan's name with deep reverence and fear—feelings that had not faded even after a thousand years.
That reputation had also influenced Xiao Yan, his descendant, making him increasingly curious about the name Xiao Xuan.
And now, when Xiao Yan truly came into contact with this legendary ancestor, he finally understood that words could never describe even a fraction of what the man had given.
The old man before him, who appeared so worn by age, had truly treated a thousand years as a single day. Through his own actions, he had defended the last remnants of the Xiao Clan's pride and dignity!
"Ancestor."
Xiao Yan pressed his lips together, feeling an unbearable tightness in his chest.
"I know this may be very unfair to you."
Xiao Xuan sighed softly, bent down, and scooped up a pool of bloody water. "With your talent, even among the Eight Clans in their former glory, no one could have overshadowed you. But the Xiao Clan of today cannot bear the burden of your existence."
The bloody water in his palm was smooth as a mirror. Under the light, it reflected the face of a young man in green robes from long ago, gradually overlapping with the aged man before him.
"A tree that rises above the forest will be destroyed by the wind. Back then, I paid an incomparably painful price."
As he spoke, Xiao Xuan's bright eyes unexpectedly took on a murky agedness. He murmured in an incomparably conflicted voice, "Child, you are not the one