One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

After passing through the Mirror Forest, a bright and open view suddenly appeared before us.

It was a huge circular plaza. The plaza was paved with neat bluestone slabs, each slab about ten feet square, its surface smooth as a mirror, reflecting the distorted colors overhead. The slabs were covered with ancient runes, which were not any known script, but patterns composed of countless dots, lines, and circles, like some kind of ancient star map.

The runes are glowing.

A deep blue light emanated from the depths of the stone slab, pulsating like a heart. With each pulsation, the runes would subtly shift their positions, rearranging and combining to form new patterns.

The diameter of the square is at least two hundred meters.

In the very center of the square stands a door.

A huge bronze door.

It was about ten zhang high, five zhang wide, and its thickness was unknown. The door was made of bronze, but not ordinary bronze. A dark golden light flowed across the bronze, and countless tiny runes could be seen moving within the light, like living things. The surface of the door was completely undecorated, without patterns or reliefs, only displaying three enormous characters.

The words were carved with knives and swords, or rather, with something even sharper. Each stroke was about an inch deep, and the edges of the strokes were jagged, revealing the mood of the person who carved them—not anger, not madness, but... a desolate, all-knowing calm.

What is a person?

These three characters seem to possess a kind of magic. At first glance, they are just ordinary characters. At second glance, the strokes seem to move, as if they are alive. At third glance, countless questions involuntarily surface in your mind—

who am I?

where am i from?

Where should I go?

Why am I alive?

Why did I die?

What makes me a human being?

Nie Lingfeng stared at those three words, feeling as if his consciousness was being torn apart by some force. The questions were like countless hands, pulling at his soul, trying to drag him into some abyss. He took a deep breath, forcibly averting his gaze. The Qilin tattoo on his chest suddenly burned, and golden-red light flowed throughout his body. Only then did the tearing sensation gradually subside.

He turned to look at the others.

Zhang Chulan's face was deathly pale, veins bulging on his forehead, his eyes fixed on those three words, muttering something under his breath. Nie Lingfeng reached out and patted him, causing him to shudder and come back to his senses, panting heavily.

"Holy crap..." He wiped away a bead of cold sweat. "This word... is poisonous."

"Don't look at it for too long," Nie Lingfeng said.

After everyone calmed down, they noticed—

A person stood before the bronze gate.

It was an old man.

He wore a tattered Taoist robe, covered with patches of varying colors—some dark, some light, some worn white. His hair was gray and disheveled, as if it hadn't been combed in a long time. His face was gaunt, with prominent cheekbones, sunken eyes, and deep wrinkles, like the bark of an old tree.

But his eyes.

It's too bright.

It shines like stars, like the sun, like it can see through all illusions.

He stood there with his back to everyone, head tilted back, staring at those three words, motionless. Like a statue, as if he had stood there for decades, centuries, millennia.

"That is..." Zhang Chulan narrowed his eyes, his heart suddenly racing.

"Wugensheng," Feng Baobao suddenly said.

Her voice was calm, as if she were saying that the weather was nice today. But Nie Lingfeng could hear a very faint tremor beneath that calmness.

"Rootless?!"

Everyone gasped in surprise.

That legendary name, the instigator of the Jia Shen Rebellion, the former leader of Quanxing, Feng Baobao's "father," Zhang Chulan's grandfather's sworn brother... Wugensheng, is actually here?

The old man slowly turned around.

His face was very ordinary.

He was so ordinary he'd blend into a crowd—single eyelids, a flat nose, thin lips, nothing particularly striking. But his eyes were incredibly bright. So bright they reminded Nie Lingfeng of the eyes of the Queen Mother of the West—a light that seemed otherworldly, beyond the reach of the living.

"You've arrived."

He spoke, his voice gentle, like an old neighbor greeting someone. But if you listened closely, there was a strange quality to his voice—as if it came from a very, very far place, traversing countless times and spaces, finally settling here.

"Wugensheng...you..." Zhang Chulan clenched his fist, his eyes filled with complex emotions—hatred, doubt, curiosity, and a hint of inexplicable...closeness.

The old man looked at Zhang Chulan and smiled.

The smile was faint, like a breeze leaving no trace.

"Chu Lan, you and your grandfather look so alike."

Zhang Chulan gritted his teeth: "My grandfather...did you kill him?"

Yes and no.

The old man repeated the same thing, his tone as calm as if he were talking about someone else's business.

"What do you mean?" Zhang Chulan pressed.

The old man did not answer directly, but looked at Feng Baobao.

"Baby, you've grown up."

Feng Baobao looked at him and tilted her head: "Are you my dad?"

"Yes and no," the old man said. "I created you, but I didn't raise you. I wasn't a good father."

Feng Baobao thought for a moment and nodded: "Oh."

She was very calm, as if listening to someone else's story. There was no change in her expression, but Nie Lingfeng noticed that her hands clenched and then relaxed.

The old man smiled, then looked at the others, his gaze sweeping over Wang Ye, Zhuge Qing, Zhang Lingyu, Balun, and Xia Liuqing. Each person he looked at felt as if they had been seen through, as if all their secrets had been laid bare before him.

Finally, his gaze fell on Nie Lingfeng.

A hint of surprise flashed in his eyes.

"Qilin bloodline, Phoenix descendant... and that peculiar cultivation technique." He looked Nie Lingfeng up and down, his gaze lingering for a moment on the Qilin tattoo on his chest. "Young man, you... carry a heavy burden of karma."

Nie Lingfeng looked at him calmly, neither humble nor arrogant: "Whether I'm heavy or not is my own business. I just want to know, what are you? A true person, or an obsession?"

A hint of appreciation flashed in the old man's eyes.

"I am Wugensheng, yet I am not Wugensheng," he said. "Or rather, I am merely a 'thought' left here by Wugensheng."

"idea?"

"Yes." The old man nodded. "Years ago, I came here, saw this door, and understood 'what it means to be human.' Then, I left this thought behind, waiting for someone. Waiting for someone who can answer this question, someone who can open this door."

"Waiting for someone?" Zhang Chulan asked. "Waiting for whom?"

The old man looked at him, then at Feng Baobao, then at everyone else, and finally at the door.

"I'm waiting for you," he said. "I'm waiting for all those chosen by fate. I'm waiting for all those who refuse to be controlled by fate. I'm waiting for all those who want to know the 'truth'."

"What's behind that door?" Wang asked.

"Behind the door..." The old man looked at the bronze door, his gaze distant, as if he were looking through that door into another world. "It is the 'truth.' It is the ultimate truth about this world, about the 'Outcasts,' about 'what it means to be human.'"

He paused, then added, "But the truth is often cruel. Are you... prepared to face it?"

Everyone fell silent.

the truth……

They traveled through mountains and rivers, risking their lives, just for this, right?

For this, Zhang Chulan endured for twenty years, playing the subservient grandson for twenty years. For this, Feng Baobao searched her whole life, waiting for Wugensheng her whole life. For this, Wang Ye abandoned his family business and was drawn into this vortex. For this, Zhuge Qing defied ancestral teachings and joined forces with outsiders. For this, Zhang Lingyu betrayed his sect and embarked on this path of no return. For this, the two old men, Balun and Xia Liuqing, risked their lives to follow a group of young people into this hellish place.

Now, the truth is right before our eyes.

Just push open that door.

"Let's open it."

Zhang Chulan was the first to speak. His voice was a little hoarse, but his eyes were as firm as stone.

"Whatever it is, I want to know."

"Open." Wang Ye nodded, and the compass needle in his hand finally stopped spinning, pointing steadily at the door.

"Open." Zhuge Qing closed the ancient book, a hint of relief flashing in his eyes.

"Open." Zhang Lingyu put his hands together and performed a Taoist salute.

"Open." Baron gripped the dagger tightly, a smile playing on his lips.

"Open." Xia Liuqing exhaled a smoke ring, the smoke drifting into the air.

Feng Baobao didn't speak. She simply walked to the bronze door, reached out, and touched the cold door panel. The panel was very cold, bone-chillingly cold, but she didn't pull her hand away. She pressed her entire palm against it, as if sensing something, as if talking to the door.

Chen Duo looked at Nie Lingfeng.

Nie Lingfeng gripped her hand, nodded to her, and then looked at the old man:

"open."

The old man laughed.

That smile contained relief, acceptance, and anticipation, but also a hint of... barely perceptible sadness.

"Okay, then... let's go."

He raised his hand and gently pushed the bronze door.

The hand was old and withered, covered with age spots, but the movements were very gentle, as gentle as stroking a baby's face.

"Squeak—..."

The heavy sound of the door opening rang out.

The sound was long and deep, as if it came from ancient times, passing through countless years, and landing on this eerie square. The sound echoed in the square, striking the bluestone slabs engraved with runes, forming countless overlapping echoes that lingered for a long time.

The bronze door slowly opened.

The crack in the door grew wider and wider, from a line, to a palm's width, to an arm's width, and finally—

Completely open.

Behind the door was not a room, not a passageway, not anything anyone could have imagined.

It is a starry sky.

The vast, deep, and boundless starry sky.

Countless stars, some near, some far, some bright, some dim, slowly rotated, forming a giant spiral, like countless intertwined galaxies. The starlight fell on everyone's faces, reflecting their individual expressions—shock, awe, confusion, and anticipation.

And in the deepest part of the starry sky, there is a glimmer of light.

The light was faint, like a newly born star, or like a newly opened eye. It was slowly brightening, growing larger and larger, drawing ever closer.

Like eyes, slowly opening.

Keep an eye on them.