Entering the Immortal Path

Among the broken walls and ruins, the hopeless wails gradually died away.

In their place, a faint radiance called "hope" rekindled in the survivors' clouded eyes.

They looked up at the figure in the sky, who emanated a strange, peaceful aura, like drowning men clutching at driftwood.

Zhou Qing said no more. He knew the power of words was pale and feeble before absolute strength.

What he had sown at this moment was only a seed.

His figure turned into a stream of light, shuttling across this ravaged land.

Wherever casualties were heavy and resentment had gathered, he would stop for a moment, preach of the "Heavenly Dao," scatter a thread of faint yet tenacious clear light, soothe the dead souls, stabilize the earth veins, and dispel the evil miasma.

He could not save everyone, nor could he change the outcome of the True Immortals' struggle.

All he could do was leave the name of the "Heavenly Dao" upon the ruins, and leave behind a possibility of order and protection, different from those Immortal Gods who regarded the common people as straw dogs.

This process continued for several days.

Only when the rosy light on the eastern horizon abruptly drew in did the terrifying shockwaves of battle gradually subside.

In the end, Zhou Qing did not know who obtained that incomplete Yimu Green Spirit Vine, nor did he care.

All he knew was that this disaster, born from an "Innate Spiritual Root," had left the mortal kingdom below nine homes empty out of ten, with living beings plunged into misery and suffering.

When the last trace of phenomenon and Dao rhyme dispersed, the True Immortals who had participated in the struggle either fled far away with the treasure or departed wounded, leaving only a scene of utter devastation behind.

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