At thirty-six, Wang Huai’an transmigrated with two million yuan of debt on his shoulders.
For ten years in the Yunhuang Realm, he trained with everything he had, all for the chance to open a passage home.
When the passage finally opened, he could return for only ninety minutes.
He saw his wife writing in her diary late at night: “Paid off another installment today. We still owe 1.87 million.”
He saw that his daughter had drawn 365 pictures, each one bearing the words: “Waiting for Dad to come home.”
He thought he could bear it.
Until a single drop of his daughter’s blood crossed between two worlds and restored the memories that had been eroded from him:
He had never been cultivating the path of heartlessness. He had been cultivating the path of longing for home.
