The bugle fell silent.
The fine rain fell as before.
The old soldiers supported one another as they went off into the distance.
But the charge bugle still echoed in Lian Youming's heart, reverberating between heaven and earth with a spirit that stirred mountains and rivers.
Lian Youming stood motionless in the rain for a long time, holding his umbrella, as though he had become a stone statue, quietly watching people come and go before the mausoleum.
Among them were veterans of a hundred battles, young soldiers, and ordinary civilians-men, women, children, and students. At this moment, all wore solemn, dignified expressions as they bowed in respect.
In truth, all these people were ordinary in Lian Youming's eyes, but their gathered convictions influenced him invisibly, like little flames coming together to sweep across the plains, stirring him and illuminating him too.
"So this is the great tide."
Understanding dawned on Lian Youming.
Small convictions gathered into a great conviction; the momentum of one person merged with that of millions.
Such a stirring was not actually unfamiliar to him.
Lian Youming had felt it in his parents too.
But that had merely planted a seed, which had taken root and sprouted through imperceptible influences.
Now, it had grown strong.
He also understood why that supreme killing intent could only be grasped intuitively and was difficult to put into words.
Heaven's way had changed, and the mortal world had changed.
The person who had carved that inscription had waged war on heaven's behalf. He must have been a peerless master in a time of turmoil, with the resolve to cleanse the world, seeking to affirm his way through killing and restore order from chaos.
But did that predecessor's conviction accord with the world of today?
He did not know.
It was precisely