The emperor's eyes were filled with sorrow and pain as deep as the sea, as if he alone bore all the world's past grief and tragedies.
This was quite an interesting development. In the official histories, this part was recorded very briefly, with a distinctly understated, Spring and Autumn Annals sort of feel. But in an era of such vast cosmic scale, a mere five hundred years wasn't enough to turn history into legend. It was basically what you'd call contemporary history. In his previous life, Yu Lian had had the chance to read some still-classified official Imperial records.
He still remembered what Chancellor Shair had written in person in The Black Draft of History: Boro III's final behavior really had been more like that of a completely deranged lunatic, speaking and acting without any rhyme or reason. Even when Empress Ivenya's loyal knights and the Imperial Guard were fighting each other, he had done nothing but shout a jumble of incoherent nonsense.
Yet now, it seemed that His Majesty the Emperor still had his wits about him. The profound sorrow in his eyes wasn't merely a river flowing backward; it was practically swelling into an ocean, deep enough to drown the hearts of a whole host of simpering, romance-addled girls.
Overall, though, Yu Lian remained emotionally stable. The eyes of sages and pioneers who grieved for all humanity, loved without bounds, and truly wanted to save the world and put an end to all suffering throughout time didn't look like this. Their gaze was always clear and open, their resolve as firm as iron, their zeal as fierce as fire. There was no room for so much fragility and affected, tangled sentiment.
Having lived three lifetimes, the old straight man Yu Lian had always believed, deep down, that this