A spark of true fire ignited, illuminating the body's Five Great Secret Realms, illuminating the void-like Great Universe, illuminating the past, future, and present of the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths.
Lin Xian's Primordial Spirit was flawless and radiant. Holding a torch, he looked like a saint kindling the flame of hope.
A thousand autumns from now, who would wield the brush and record the deeds of heroic spirits?
Only he remained, attaining the Dao of Legend. His True Spirit dwelled at an infinitely lofty height, having obtained the Other Shore Characteristic, with half a foot already standing upon the Other Shore.
If one day the Immortal Emperors of the Myriad Realms fell, ancient history was tampered with, and the years themselves were refined away, after enduring one cruel bewilderment after another, all races and living beings would become muddleheaded, and the myriad worlds would sink into confusion. Like figures in a book or ink in a painting, they would be freely smeared over by the Plateau's strangeness. The long night would stretch on, with not a trace of hope in sight.
He would eternally remember and become that sole spark.
"Only I am left—"
At the end of the river of time, a white-clad Empress, ethereal and detached from the world, sighed. Once invincible, she was now so sorrowful and lonely. Her voice tore through time and space, echoing through all ages—in the past, the future, and the present.
The Empress folded one little paper boat after another and sent them into the Ocean of Time, following different trajectories toward different realms, carrying life's hope.
But how could the Plateau allow such a thing? Immortal Emperor-level beings were difficult to erase. So long as the Myriad Realms retained a trace of memory, a fragment of ancient history, or a