Fortunately, one of them had long since severed his thread of fate and stepped beyond the net of karma, no longer belonging to this river; the other four were no ordinary beings either, their bodies like floating feathers, neither sinking nor drowning, merely swaying gently with the current.
The long river carried them onward, leg after leg, toward an unknown destination.
In the next moment, would there be life or annihilation ahead? No one could answer.
Even Su Yang had lost all sense of time, unable to tell how long they had drifted.
Perhaps a hundred years, perhaps a thousand, perhaps ten thousand... one cosmic cycle, ten cosmic cycles, or even countless Spring and Autumn Annals.
Once cultivation reached profound depths, time became like tea smoke slipping between one's fingers. Close one's eyes for an instant, and upon opening them, the Vast Sea had turned to mulberry fields.
The world changed with every passing age; black hair in the morning became snow by dusk, so swift that one could not grasp its shadow or trace its veins.
It felt as though they had endured countless eras without dawn or dusk. The long river was silent, monotonous, deathly still; even the sound of the water was always the same.
Even if they were five supreme beings with Dao-hearts forged of iron, impatience gradually arose within them, and a layer of weariness settled Between Their Brows.
Drifting without end, with no shore, no light, no living thing, no unforeseen change—this river was far too barren.
If we keep drifting like this, sooner or later it will grind cracks into our Dao-hearts. We need to find a way out, Su Yang murmured inwardly.
He cast a sidelong glance at Luohu and the others, only to find every one of them pale-faced, with vacant