The day Lin Mo failed to ascend, a crack opened in the sky above the Daoist Sect.
From that day on, no one dared ask who sat at the heart of the Great Unity Formation.
No one dared mention the second senior brother, clad in white with ink-black hair, who once crossed swords with the first senior brother amid the fragrance of rice blossoms on Kunlun Mountain.
No one could stop the demonic seed from taking root and sprouting in the mortal world anymore
It was an idea, not a plague.
It said the weak deserved to be eliminated, and people began to believe it.
The old order quietly crumbled along with that crack.
These were the worst of times, and the best of times.
The Three Realms made excuses to devour one another.
“Little junior brother, what difference is there between you and me?”
Someone laughed on the far bank of the Demon River. Someone on the Frozen Throne opened their eyes one last time.
Someone saw the lost Nine Heavens Mountain-Suppressing Blade among the sickles of ten million old farmers. Someone shattered their own faith under the backlash of the Myriad Forms Life-and-Death Hammer.
Amid the fragrance of rice blossoms, the curtain of the era slowly rose.
Someone had been waiting for him to come home for three hundred years.
