Jiang Zhao had completely dissipated.
That wisp of dark golden light drifted in the air for a long time—so long that everyone thought it would remain there forever.
But in the end, everything still vanished like smoke and clouds.
A bell seemed to toll above the heavens, its source unknown. The sound was distant and deep, as though some power were answering this farewell.
No one spoke. Tens of thousands of cultivators aboard several thousand Cloud Boats remained silent.
Most of them had never seen the Literary Emperor in person, yet they knew what kind of man he had been... From those few scattered words just now, they had glimpsed the outline of an emperor's life.
Though that outline was vague, it carried an indescribable weight.
Then they looked at the Tianxuan Female Emperor, whose fame had spread throughout the Immortal Realm—the woman who stood high above all others and had never shown the slightest weakness before anyone—as well as the infamous Prince Jing and his sister. Faced with their father's departure, they were like children.
For cultivators, how often had they looked back only to find their loved ones reduced to a handful of yellow earth?
This path had always been lonely. The longer one lived, the emptier it became around them. Gradually, they forgot the faces of their family, unable to recall their voices.
After a brief silence, someone was the first to speak, their voice solemn. "Literary Emperor, go well."
Then came a second voice, then a third.
One voice followed another, scattered at first, then becoming unified, until they converged into a torrent. Ten thousand people spoke as one, making the heavens hum. Even the edge of the Black Abyss rippled beneath the waves of sound.
Lin Heng raised his head and looked at the now-empty