The vast, pitch-black sea surged like a whale devouring heaven and earth, sending up splashes of ink-dark water. The spray fell upon the heads of people suspended in the void, instantly staining them crimson.
They were dead.
Among them stood a figure in the void, his feet upon milky-white gauze, his red robe as if drenched in blood.
He was alone, with only a saber and a sword.
Across from him stood millions.
He might not recognize a single person before him, but everyone knew
his name was Mu Juemian!
,
A month earlier, the eighteen-year-old boy would never have imagined, even on the day of his death, that a desperate attempt to escape would bring him here, away from the fate he had so desperately wanted to flee.
At a dilapidated street corner stood an ancient temple. Paint peeled from its walls, exposing mottled bricks, and its roof tiles were broken and incomplete.
Inside, a boy lay on a battered wooden bed. Whenever he turned over, the bed creaked as if it might collapse at any moment.
The sun was already high when Mu Qianqiu finally opened his tired eyes. He looked at the ruined temple, rolled his eyes, leaned back, and flopped down again.
Three seconds later, he sprang up from the bed and stared blankly at the unfamiliar... world before him.
His name was Mu Qianqiu, the "Qianqiu" meaning a thousand autumns, or countless generations.
Though they were separated by the far reaches of the void, [Fate] had intertwined their lives.
The Cry of the Phoenix is the story of that bond.
