The Twenty-Eight Mansions high in the sky vied with the golden sun in brilliance, their blazing radiance clamorous for a time.
The Demon Race had stirred up a tsunami in the deep sea of the Celestial Path, one that had stretched on for a hundred years. It had indeed barred Jiang Wang of that time.
But the tide of time had surged resolutely onward through more years. The Cicada Dream Startle of those days could not have foreseen the Demon Sweeping Heavenly Lord of today.
Just as Ksitigarbha had crossed the Heavenly Sea beneath that century-long tsunami, and Dantai Wenshu had tumbled about within the tsunami... today, he too moved freely through this deep sea. He even drew the Heavenly River into a channel, ranging across the heavens as he faced a host of Heavenly Demons across the river.
Today, with one sword guarding the pass, ten thousand demons could not draw near.
Lu Shuanghe was dead.
The sight of that white-haired True Person wielding his sword through the azure void had been the first extraordinary scene witnessed by that child on the banks of Phoenix Creek.
Now, even the image had wrinkled away.
Jiang Wang looked at his dripping-wet hand. The sword hairpin was icy cold, its palm-lines deeply etched. Beyond the gaps between his fingers flowed the Heavenly River, and within the Heavenly River, there was nothing at all.
It was as though he had finally realized just how much time had passed.
Forty years, like a single dream.
He faced the river as though gazing into a mirror.
His long, powerful fingers slowly closed around the hairpin, gripping it as though gripping a sword—
The instant he grasped the sword hairpin, even the proud, fierce and wild Yuan Xianting raised his battle halberd before him.
Heavenly Demons