On the Red Gauze Opera Stage, the last piece of memory finally fell into place.
The blue-gold crystal hovering above Yun Qing's chest gradually softened its glow. Then, with a crack, a tiny fissure appeared across it, and the entire crystal silently scattered into countless motes of light, which merged bit by bit into Yun Qing's Divine Soul.
Countless fragments lost for millions upon millions of years finally found their original places again.
His Divine Soul shuddered, and in the next instant-
"Hah-!"
Yun Qing's eyes snapped open, and he looked around.
"Hah... hah..."
His chest heaved violently, cold sweat covering his temples. Countless layers of memories surged through him like rivers and seas all at once, more than he could bear for the moment.
Qing Yun, Ji Shuo, Yun Qing.
Yun Si, Ji Huang, the Wei River.
And the Soul-Tracing Secret Rite, the Yun Clan Ancestral Hall... Even with his usually carefree disposition, Yun Qing lay there for a long while before recovering. He raised a hand to his brow, his voice hoarse.
"Mother..."
His voice seemed to choke up, leaving him unable to say anything more.
Around the Opera Stage, scraps of Red Gauze lay scattered and puppets stood motionless. Gui Lingyue was nowhere to be seen.
With that Nightmare Dream Illusion Play over, the eerily magnificent Red Gauze Ghost Domain had reverted to barren decay. Rot spread through the wood grain, and a few lonely scraps of Red Gauze hung from the beams, swaying gently in the cold wind, like an ordinary stage abandoned for ten thousand years.
Desolation filled the air, much like Yun Qing's heart at that moment.
Eldest Young Master Yun continued his silence, his recollections, his grief. Just as his emotions grew so profound that he wanted to compose poetry on the spot...