The Final Gift, the Sun Clan's Decline!

The sky was filled with colorful clouds, obscuring the entire Southern Mountain Range.

Unlike Yun Tianfan's Dao Dissolution back then, where the falling clouds still carried a hint of warmth, Sun Yao's transformation was grayish-white and cold, devoid of any warmth.

It's as if all her lifelong obsessions and resentments have turned into this leaden cloud, weighing heavily on everyone's heart.

Yun Du stood atop the main peak, gazing up at the clouds.

The Daoist priest did not move, but simply tucked his hands into his sleeves, his knuckles slightly curled.

He knew this day would come.

He had been waiting for this day ever since Sun Yao announced her seclusion.

But when the time finally came, the stone that had been hanging in my heart for more than ten years did not fall to the ground; instead, it sank even deeper.

The clouds lingered above White Peak Cloud Gorge for several hours before finally dissipating and merging into this Blessed Land...

Strands of Cloud Dao energy disappeared into the sea of clouds in the canyon.

The density of the entire sea of clouds surged by several times in that instant, and the originally thin Cloud Dao energy became increasingly dense.

"This girl..."

Yun Du shook his head inwardly.

The spiritual energy that Sun Yao Dao Dissolution was even purer than that of Yun Tianfan.

All the accumulation of a century, all her cultivation, was given back to White Peak Cloud Gorge. The Blessed Land, which was originally expected to take another century to take shape, was burned down by her fire...

The progress was suddenly shortened by decades.

Perhaps, the next wisp of Cloud Dao energy will condense in about sixty years.

I wonder who will risk their life to attain the Golden Core realm then.

Inside the council chamber, the white banners were raised once more.

In just a few decades, White Cloud Temple has seen two Core Formation in succession: Yun Tianfan last time, and Sun Yao this time.

The two funerals left everyone in the sect in a state of panic.

Many disciples witnessed this scene of Death Dao and annihilation. Some lost their will to strive for higher goals on the spot, while others, though resolute in their will, were inevitably shaken.

"The Grand Elder failed to Core Formation back then because he lacked the Heaven and Earth Qi. Now, Aunt Sun Yao possesses the Qi of the Cloud Dao, so how could she..."

"Didn't you see the celestial phenomena that day?"

"The celestial phenomena dissipated so quickly; the Core Embryo certainly didn't solidify."

"Alas, it seems the Sun Clan line is about to be wiped out."

Private discussions quietly spread within the sect.

Sun Yao is one of only two Golden Core seeds in this generation of the Sun Clan.

If she succeeds in Core Formation, the Sun Clan can continue its glory for hundreds of years. But if he fails, the Sun Clan will fall out of the core circle of White Cloud Temple.

This is something everyone knows perfectly well.

Sun Mao knelt before Sun Yao's memorial tablet.

His hair turned completely white overnight.

What were once just graying temples have now spread to a full head of silver hair, Elder Zhang face is deeply lined with wrinkles, as if he has aged twenty years.

He was already old, and although his Foundation Establishment Middle Stage cultivation could prolong his life, the successive blows of losing his younger brother and sister had drained his energy and spirit.

First, Sun Lin and Sun Qiyan perished in the Kunyuan Secret Realm, and their remains were not even brought back.

Then there was Sun Yao, whose Dao Dissolution perished in the quiet room.

Sun Yao, Sun Lin, and Sun Qiyan— the first two were his closest relatives, and the third was a junior he had placed high hopes on. Now, they are all gone.

"Uncle Mao."

Sun Chengzu knelt beside him, his voice hoarse.

Sun Mao didn't turn around, but simply stretched out his withered hand and placed it on Sun Chengzu's shoulder.

"Chengzu."

"My nephew is here."

"From now on the Sun Clan... will be in your hands."

This sentence was spoken very softly.

Light as a Fallen Leaf, it drifted into the cold autumn Cold Wind.

Sun Chengzu trembled and kowtowed heavily. "Nephew... obeys the order."

After Sun Yao's seven-day mourning period, Sun Mao fell ill.

At first, it was just a cough, intermittent and not severe. Everyone assumed it was due to excessive grief that had damaged his lungs and didn't pay much attention.

But after arriving, the cough worsened, often causing him to vomit blood, his lungs and internal organs deteriorated, and his heart vessels were damaged, making him incurable by medicine...

Sun Mao's illness stemmed from his mental state.

The loss of two generations of core disciples in a row is a heavy burden for any Lineage, especially since Sun Mao was barely holding on, having developed health problems when the Sun Clan was nearly wiped out.

He was originally just trying to hold on to the clan affairs and the Sun Clan.

But now that last breath has been released, he is like a kite with a broken string, drifting and falling, his life nearing its end...

When the news reached Purple Firmament Peak, Shi Jian was lying by Leichi, basking in the sun.

After hearing about Sun Mao's condition, he remained silent for a long time.

Finally, with a sigh, he said, "The Sun Clan's fate has run its course."

So what?

"Could it be that you've felt pity for her?"

Purple Firmament's voice echoed in his mind. Shi Jian smiled and shook his head.

How could that be?

Fate is something you can't force.

"The Sun Clan currently has over a hundred cultivators, but only Sun Chengzu the Cheng generation has reached the Foundation Establishment, and Sun Qiyan of the Qi generation is dead; the rest are all mediocre."

"And the fifth generation, the Xiangyuan generation, hasn't produced many capable individuals either. Only a few promising candidates with Three Spirit Roots have emerged, and they haven't even fully developed yet."

"My relationship with the Sun Clan is limited to the first three generations. If Sun Chengzu also perishes in the end, I will probably abandon the Sun Clan and cultivate a new Human Race to work for me..."

"We're facing a food shortage," Purple Firmament said.

"It's more than just a food shortage."

"The Sun Clan is like a broken vine now, with a few leaves still hanging on it, making it look somewhat presentable, but in reality, it's hollow underneath."

Are you sure you don't want to lend a hand?

How can I help?

Shi Jian raised his eyelids. "I've already given the Sun Clan enough. The Qi of Heaven and Earth Qi belongs to White Cloud Temple, not to me, Shi Jian, as my private property."

"I might show favoritism once or twice, but I can't show favoritism forever."

"If the Sun Clan wants to turn things around, they ultimately have to rely on themselves."

"All I can do is to protect the Sun Clan for two hundred years, as agreed back then, which has now been one hundred and seventy or eighty years."

"From now on, if the Sun Clan cannot stand up and prove their worth, perhaps I will no longer care about them..."

"They are human, and I am a demon."

"He doesn't owe them anything, and they don't owe me anything. Perhaps they need me more than I need them..."

After falling ill, Sun Mao never got out of bed again.

He lay in bed, his waking hours becoming shorter and shorter each day.

He was mostly asleep, but when he occasionally woke up, he would ask about trivial matters, such as how Sun Chengzu's cultivation was progressing, whether the children of the Yuan generation had made any progress, and how business was going at the shops in White Cloud Immortal City, asking about everything in great detail...

It was as if he wanted to pour out all the worries he had accumulated over the past hundred years in his final moments, as if he were making his final arrangements.

Sun Chengzu often came here to pay his respects.

He sat on the edge of the bed and answered his uncle's questions one by one.

Sometimes, his great-uncle would fall asleep while listening, and he would sit there quietly, looking at that old and withered face, feeling as if an invisible hand was repeatedly kneading his heart.

It was a kind of sorrow that was hard to describe.