With that touch of his finger,
a vivid green sprout brimming with life broke through the soil in the shadows. Then, at a speed visible to the naked eye, it put out branches, grew leaves, and shot upward. Its trunk thickened, and its lush crown spread like a parasol, soon raising a vibrant green mushroom amid that deathly still expanse of iron gray.
The crown cast a shadow, not black, but pale green, a symbol of flourishing life.
As the Xuanhuang Wood grew, that pale green halo rapidly spread outward from the center, steadily consuming the hollow, cold, iron-gray shadows.
But the process lasted only a short while before coming to an abrupt halt.
When the little Xuanhuang Wood reached roughly a foot in height, it stopped growing. Its branches and leaves no longer stretched outward, and its crown no longer expanded. The pale green halo representing its abundant vitality remained trapped inside the iron-gray "void." About an inch short of the nearest mountain range's source, its "dragon head," the halo exhausted its strength and could advance no farther.
Zheng Qing could not help frowning.
The situation seemed even worse than he had anticipated.
Waghar's bones had lain in this Small World for who knew how many years, and the aura belonging to that Legendary dragon had long since become deeply interwoven with the world. A Legend's essence stood far above the laws of the Small World, so the Legendary remains that had fallen into it naturally became the world's new core. That was why all the world's mountain ranges and rivers converged toward the bones, taking them as their source.
In other words, Waghar's bones had once been this world's "heart." The aura that had spread in every direction was like a network of meridians, circulating through the earth