Within the Spirit Ruins, all four seasons were like spring.
It made one forget the turning of the seasons in the world outside.
Beyond the Spirit Ruins, late autumn had come once again.
The yellow leaves had all blown away, the autumn wind rose, and northern geese flew south.
Watching the flock soar into the distance, the amorous glow faded from the Thousand-Spirit Saintess's face. "Husband, there are less than two years left until that moment!"
That moment-the nineteenth day of the ninth month, two years hence.
Now, it was already late autumn of their second year in the Archaic Realm.
The wheels of time turned without mercy, carrying them step by step toward that moment...
Even though the Thousand-Spirit Saintess had now regained the strength of the Spirit Race prodigy she had been a million years ago, and had even risen higher, capable of contending with ordinary Third Mastery cultivators-a true mighty expert-she still knew full well that amid such Heaven-and-Human Dao contention, there was precious little she, an ancient mighty expert, could do.
Not just her-even her father, who had already taken "that step," could not hold up the heavens single-handedly against the surging tide of this era.
"Our brief, radiant lives are bounded; even an ordinary parting can shatter the soul. Do not decline the frequent feasts of wine and song..." Lin Xiaosu softly recited.
The Thousand-Spirit Saintess completed it. "Mountains and rivers fill my eyes, yet thoughts of distant ones are futile; fallen blossoms in wind and rain deepen my grief for spring. Better to cherish the one before me!"
Of all the Daxia poems to the tune of "Sands of the Washing Stream," this one had touched her most deeply during her stay at Tashan Lake.
Reciting it now filled them both with endless sorrow.