Mortal God
Deep in the forested mountains, children babbled.
Beneath the Great World Locust Tree of the Sorrowful Emperor Realm, Bei Huai sat across a table from a black-robed phantom. Three bowls of blood-red liquid rested atop the table.
Its life aura was so dense it seemed ready to spill over.
"You have grown dimmer than before."
A gentle breeze drifted through, and Beming at dusk was exceptionally pleasant.
Bei Huai sat upright, tall and heroic. As he spoke, he lifted the blood wine before him and took a small sip, his tone rather relaxed.
Across from him, the Ghost Ancestor's figure was hazy. Compared to Its last appearance, It had visibly become more "ethereal."
It said nothing.
Before Bei Huai, the Ghost Ancestor was sparing with words.
That failed to douse the enthusiasm of this lonely researcher of life. Bei Huai set down the stone bowl, yellowing around its rim, looked across at It, and continued on his own: "The Dao of Soul has long been set in stone. Those who climb higher will inevitably crash against the Supreme. This should have been the hour of your final contest."
"Yet Hua Changdeng is now eroding your authority. Your 'soul' is being nibbled away, while you remain unmoved."
"Why?"
Bei Huai stared at It, his eyes filled with nothing but pure curiosity.
He greatly resembled a refined scholar, exuding the aura of books and knowledge, along with an intense interest in the unknown and in newborn things.
Outsiders could not see it, but from Bei Huai's perspective, he could make out streams of power leaking from the black-robed figure opposite him into an invisible vortex behind It.
And the Ghost Ancestor had not taken even the slightest measure to stop any of it.
Bei Huai spoke again, probing:
"If you