Late at night, crimson heavenly light illuminated all directions. Far in the distance, powerful figures were locked in battle, causing an enormous commotion.
In a small mortal city.
Lin Jiuxiao sat in the courtyard, dressed in plain white robes. Stubble covered his chin, and his expression was despondent, making him look especially downcast.
His gaze rested on the end of the horizon, on the phenomena transmitted by the battle between powerful figures, and he remained silent.
Ten years had passed. Ever since his defeat at the hands of the Heavenly Lord, when he had fallen into the wilderness and been brought back by a herb gatherer, he had lived here for ten years.
Lowering his head to look at his hands, he found that the power which had once allowed him to burn mountains and boil seas with a single thought had vanished without a trace. He had become a mortal.
In a corner of the small courtyard, a black iron longsword was stuck into the ground at an angle.
Perhaps after enduring wind and rain, it was covered in rust and looked quite old.
The wooden door suddenly opened, and a graceful figure pushed it open and entered the courtyard. The woman was gentle and elegant—not an unparalleled beauty, but still a lovely and refined young woman.
She was Wang Ying, the herb gatherer from this small city who had brought Lin Jiuxiao back from the mountains all those years ago.
"Brother Lin, can't you sleep either?" Wang Ying entered the courtyard, sat to one side, and looked up at the fiery clouds in the sky, murmuring to herself.
Lin Jiuxiao did not respond, as taciturn as ever.
Wang Ying did not get angry. She continued speaking to herself, long accustomed to Lin Jiuxiao's silence.
"The world is growing