Gao meant marshes, rivers, and streams.
Jie meant everything.
To see everything was to know everything; to know everything was to be all-powerful.
Wherever water flowed, Gao Jie knew all.
Wherever water flowed, Gao Jie could do anything.
That was what he emphasized, and what he needed the world to remember.
Cang meant a "granary" of water—a storehouse that produced grain and nurtured billions of living beings.
But the Cang Sea, despite bearing this beautiful name, was not beautiful at all.
Perhaps it had been beautiful in some distant, ancient age, but at least in all the years recorded in the histories that had been passed down, it had always been this harsh.
Yes, harsh was exactly the right word.
Perhaps it would be more accurate to put it this way: the Cang Sea was indeed a "granary" of water, but the billions of living beings who dwelled there were the Cang Sea's grain.
The Cang Sea was like a greedy giant beast, devouring countless lives.
The frequent Soul Annihilation Tsunamis, the Eternal Dark Vortices that appeared irregularly and everywhere, the World-Ending Thunderclaps that swept across thousands of miles as soon as they appeared...
There were far too many dangers.
Though the Cang Sea stretched boundlessly and could bear billions of living beings, the places where they could truly settle in peace were few and far between.
The Sea Race had never stopped exploring the Cang Sea, yet it often took hundreds or even thousands of years to find a new Pure Land.
So why, when the Sea Race had such difficulty reproducing and far less potential for war than the Human Race, were they so eager to fight in the Lost Realm?
Because they yearned desperately to return to the Present World!
And because... the Cang Sea had too