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The lake grew even more silent. The fingertip-sized relic hovered in midair. It was translucent and pure white. Rings of rainbow light swirled around it, forming shifting illusions, while the lotuses on either side released wafts of fragrance.
Kongheng gazed quietly at the relic before him, then gently took it into his palm and put it away. The black-and-red glow of sunset draped over him, and the lake’s light dimmed to an uncanny darkness.
Fuxia’s death was like that of the twelve Master Monks shot dead by Li Xuanfeng on the great river. Aside from the relic, it left only a brief rain of glass petals and the blooming of a few lotuses.
The Pure Land willing to appear for Kongheng gave no sign at Fuxia’s passing. There was not a flash of golden light and not a toll of a bell. Only the hazy red sunset lingered on the horizon.
It was only when Li Ximing arrived...
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