Law of Tunyuan

The first time Su Ye saw the abyssal core was at his father's funeral. The gray-brown crystal slipped from the crack in the coffin and rolled to his feet, stained with a circle of wet mud. The federal condolence officials didn't notice - they were busy crossing out an unimportant name on the book, 4 copper coins per word. The shorter the name, the cheaper it is. Su Ye bent down to pick it up and held it in his hand. It was cold and heavier than he expected. But there was something beating inside, like some ancient heartbeat that did not belong to the light, one after another, as if asking him: Are you afraid? He didn't hand it over to anyone, put it quietly into his pocket, lowered his head, and let his tears fall into the soil. He was twelve years old that year. He would think of this image many times later - not out of sadness, but out of curiosity. What kind of monster lives in that abyss core? When it died, did it feel that its death was not worth it? That was the first time he felt the breath of the abyss, and it was also the last time he cried. Not because he became strong. It's because he finally figured out that tears can't solve any problems, and there are still many problems he has to solve.