In his past life, gods and ghosts feared him. All things in the world were in his palm, and life or death hung on a single thought. In this life, he only wants to be an ordinary person. No matter how turbulent the world may be, all he asks for is a simple, peaceful life. But the cycles of the world turn, and everything has long been decided in the darkness. In the end, there is no escaping fate.
The sun stood at its zenith beneath a clear, bright sky when a deafening crash suddenly rang out. A horrifying fissure split open in the heavens, as if the sky had been forcibly torn apart. Immediately, a flood of blood-red light poured from the opening. When it fell upon the mortal world, people stared in horror: it was fresh, crimson blood. In an instant, the world was drenched in its radiance. A white-robed figure drifted through the sky like a cloud, standing out starkly against the blood-red light, like a lone boat adrift on the waves. The figure swept a long sleeve, conjuring a tempest that gathered up the blood-red light. Yet the deep wound in the sky remained. After gazing at it for a moment, the figure clasped both hands behind their back and flew like a sword toward the opening. The white robes slowly unfurled in the wind, growing larger and longer until, at last, they sealed the fissure.
