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Wang Sheng listened to Qinghua as layer upon layer of figures appeared before him.
They once stood at the summit of the Great Dao, only for it to cast them aside.
Qinghua spoke in his usual steady, calm, and unhurried tone, as if no emotion stirred within him. Yet beneath his composure lay a long suppressed weight of grievance and indignation that had finally been given voice.
Through the shifting phantasm before him, Wang Sheng seemingly saw Ziwei try to hold up a collapsing world, only to fall without regret and leave behind a few faint Dao traces to guide those who would come after. He saw the ancient battlefield where millions of corpses had drifted for hundreds of thousands of years, until even their bones had become nourishment for celestial insects.
He saw the once lofty immortals and deities of the Heavenly Court, now curled into corners, hiding in silence.
There was no wine right now. Otherwise, Wang Sheng truly would have drunk deeply with his supposed uncle-in-law and drowned their sorrows together.
Even now, he still did not know whether Qinghua was male or female, or whether he should be considered his and Mu Wanxuan's senior. Perhaps using gender to define Primordial Beings was shallow to begin with. Considering Qinghua and Mu Wanxuan were both spirits born...
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