Jiang Chen’s fate was a blank slate.
They gave him the identity of a loser, a broken lantern, a length of iron chain,
and a wasteland full of wandering souls.
He did not reap souls or guide them on their way.
He simply crouched down, listening to all the sobs and stories buried deep in the earth,
then watched them sink into the soil and bloom into pale golden flowers.
Later, the gods collapsed, and the wasteland began devouring the last of the light.
Jiang Chen crouched down once more, pressing his palm against this world, silent for a thousand years.
This time,
he breathed life into the land itself,
and all the civilizations buried beneath it.
“Souls return to my embrace; the earth bears their grief.”
“I am Houtu, and all the world’s dust is mine.”
