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As he slumbered, Su Yi heard strange, soft voices.
It was just that they seemed endlessly distant, as if they were emanating from over the horizon.
“Destiny is bequeathed by the heavens, the origin of life! My Grand Dao has long since gleaned the mysteries of Destiny, and the Book of Destiny is mine to control!”
“Those are nothing but the ravings of a madman! Who among those restricted by destiny can ever truly escape its cage?”
“Destiny is impermanent, and impermanence is a cage. Those who cannot grasp it cannot break it!”
“Strange. That scholar, Xiao Jian, has long since perished. Why hasn’t the imprint he left in the Book of Destiny dissipated?”
“Xiao Jian, that damned liar. He deserves death by a thousand cuts!”
A clamor of voices arose. From time to time, fierce arguments broke out.
Su Yi suddenly awakened from his slumber, and the voices faded away without a trace.
His brow furrowed, and he looked at the yellowed tome.
It wasn’t particularly thick, and it was yellowed with age. It looked perfectly ordinary, but anyone who held it would...
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