Jiang Yang and Yusheng reined in all traces of their auras and headed south.
Decades had passed since the natural disaster. Prosperity had returned to the world, living beings were born, and spiritual vitality flourished.
Jiang Yang did not fly, but walked like a mortal.
He walked through recovering forests and plains, along rivers and lakes.
He watched flowers, grasses, insects, and beasts; birds, trees, and schools of fish.
He savored the distinctive character of the Bronze Age.
The feeling reminded him of his journey through the wilderness in the Golden Age.
Back then, he had traversed mountains and rivers, honed himself against the firmament, and comprehended the form of the Golden Crow. That had been the spiritual foundation of his fire form, from which his golden-flame Sacred Fire had arisen.
Every age had its own character.
Immersed in the changes of the ages, Jiang Yang suddenly seemed to sense that he had discovered a truth.
The fire of wisdom lit his golden eyes, and the brilliant golden flames seemed to see through past and future.
He pondered.
Suppose the Golden Age had been like the beginning of spring after winter, when heaven and earth were wild and untamed, and desolation and vitality coexisted in the world.
Then the Silver Age had begun at the turn of spring into summer, only to end abruptly in high summer with the invasion of devils. All things had flourished and sprouted, flowers blooming like brocade, only to wither in an instant.
The Bronze Age, then, had skipped high summer and autumn's splendor, beginning in late autumn and continuing into winter, and was now advancing toward spring. An air of slaughter rose, and the clangor of metal rang high.
This was the first turning of the four seasons in the Sixth Epoch.
It seemed