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And just like that, another year passed, another cycle of spring and autumn.
The palace within the Cloud Capital was ablaze with celebration. Even the bitter chill of winter seemed to ease.
The old matriarch, now 80 years old, sat at the head of the banquet. Her hair was snow-white, her features lined with time, but one could still glimpse the elegance that once turned heads across the empire. She smiled gently, watching her descendants fill the hall with laughter and light.
Far away, deep in the mountains, the man in the small wooden hut sat cross-legged in silence. He wore plain linen robes, draped with rough animal pelts.
His eyes had been closed in stillness until they suddenly snapped open.
Without hesitation, he moved to the corner of the wooden hut and lifted an ancient, battered wooden door onto his shoulder. Then, under the pale glow of the moon, he began his climb. Step by step, he trudged up the muddy slope toward the mountain’s peak.
Once there, he lifted his gaze toward the sky.
To most eyes, the heavens looked no different than usual, quiet and unremarkable.
But Li Yuan frowned.
Through his sight, the Underworld, thick with ghostly Yin energy, had finally drawn close to the Ancestral Land, closer than ever before.
But unlike what he had predicted, it wasn’t beneath the earth.
It was in the sky.
That meant there was nowhere for him to place the gate, nothing to anchor it to. He would have to hold it himself, suspended in mid-air, until the connection...
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