Chen Xun sat down on the stone steps.
Those steps had lain silent through untold years. Thick moss covered their surfaces, and wind and frost had worn their edges smooth, like an old keepsake caressed over and over by time. They quietly bore his weight.
He said nothing, merely sitting there in silence. His gaze passed over Qianqiong, over the ruined dao grounds of bygone days before him, and reached toward somewhere profoundly distant. His eyes were deep and dark as an abyss, hiding everything quietly in their depths.
Qianqiong.
Back in the Heavenly Wheel Sect, he had been the little Young Spirit who always followed behind Wu Hen. A boy of few words, inconspicuous, he had not even stood out among the many prodigies.
Only his eyes had been unforgettable-pure and flawless, clear as a mirror untouched by dust, faithfully reflecting all things in heaven and earth.
Now those eyes could no longer see.
Chen Xun let out an almost imperceptible sigh, so faint that the mountain wind nearly scattered it. Like a wisp of smoke, it rose, dissolved, and vanished without a trace.
"What started it all back then? What brought about the chaos?"
His gaze slowly returned to Qianqiong, yet seemed to pierce through his body, through these mountains, through all the reality before him, toward somewhere only he could see.
"Dao Ancestor, after you left..."
Qianqiong spoke in an even voice, but the instant those words left his mouth, fierce anguish flooded his face. It came without warning, like an undercurrent buried deep beneath the earth for billions of years suddenly surging through a fissure, impossible to suppress.
With difficulty, he said in a low voice, "Those were the most prosperous, glorious years of the Eternal Immortal Frontier. Its billions of dao lineages spread their blessings