The Mortal Realm lay empty, a desolate expanse without a soul in sight.
That silent, icy world seemed to have been sealed in dust within the Long River.
Small towns, streets, fields, riverbanks-every place in the mortal world had lost the breath of mortal life...
The once-bustling cities, too, had become deserted ruins.
The wind blew through the streets, as though lamenting this unpeopled world, sweeping up two flakes of white snow before drifting on into the distance. That distance was so very far away, as though it could find no place to return to.
In a world without mortals, the cultivators gazed at the empty Mortal Realm, seemingly driven to despair by loneliness.
At that moment, the cultivators who had once stood high above others looked upon a world without mortals and suddenly discovered how laughable their former pride had been...
When there was no one left in the Mortal Realm, whom could they display their pride to?
Between that lonely heaven and earth, only cultivators remained!
Just how despairing was a world without people?
It was the loneliness of having predecessors before them, but no successors to come.
It was also the bewilderment of having no goal left...
When only cultivators remained in the world, those cultivators, too, had nothing left!
Despair, desolation, and endless sorrow shrouded heaven and earth, breaking the cultivators' minds and leaving their Great Dao lost.
"Ah..."
Some fell to their knees and roared wildly, their bodies trembling without end.
Some walked into the streets of the Mortal Realm and stood in a daze, gazing at the withered graves covering the ground beneath surging winds and clouds.
"What is cultivation for?"
Some asked themselves...
Yet none of it seemed to have any answer. Vast heaven and earth lay lonely and silent.
The world seemed