Chen Xun sat down on the stone steps.
No one knew how many years those steps had lain silent beneath the passage of time. Their surface was carpeted in thick moss, their edges rounded blunt by wind and frost, like some old object repeatedly caressed by time, quietly bearing his weight.
He said nothing. He merely sat there in silence, his gaze passing over Qian Qiong, past the ruined old Dao ground before him, and toward some profoundly distant place. His eyes were deep and unfathomable as an abyss, quietly concealing everything in their deepest depths.
Qian Qiong.
Back in the Heavenly Wheel Sect, he had been the little young spirit always following behind Wuhen. He spoke little and went unnoticed, not even particularly outstanding among all those heavenly prodigies.
Only those eyes had been unforgettable—pure and flawless, as clear as a mirror untouched by dust, faithfully reflecting all things between heaven and earth.
Now, those eyes could no longer see.
Chen Xun let out an almost imperceptible sigh. It was so faint that the mountain wind nearly scattered it, like a wisp of blue smoke rising, vanishing, leaving no trace.
"What began it back then? What caused the chaos?"
His gaze slowly settled back on Qian Qiong, yet it seemed to pass through his body, through this mountain region, through all the reality before him, toward a place only he could see.
"Dao Ancestor, after you left..."
Qian Qiong spoke, his voice level. Yet the instant those words left his mouth, an intense expression of pain surged across his face. It came without warning, like a dark current buried beneath the earth for countless ages suddenly bursting from a crack, impossible to suppress.
He said in a strained, low voice, "That was the most prosperous and glorious era of