Primordial Era: Starting by overwhelming the Sages, Hongjun was stunned!

Di Jun staggered backward, nearly falling to the ground.

Donghuang Taiyi forcibly steadied himself, his face ashen white.

Nuwa covered her lips with her delicate hand, her eyes filled with disbelief and horror.

The scattered fragments of Fuxi's Bagua compass trembled simultaneously at that moment.

A mouthful of blood welled up in the throat of the Old Ancestor Hongyun, but he forced it down.

The illusory image of Zhen Yuanzi's Earth Book shattered with a roar, only to frantically reassemble itself.

The Kunpeng's wings trembled violently, and it fell to the ground.

The twelve ancestral witches' blood and energy surged like boiling water, and Gonggong and Zhurong could barely suppress the rampaging source within their bodies.

The two Westerners were completely limp, and the guide muttered incantations, but they didn't even know what they were saying.

Among the Three Pure Ones, Lao Tzu's pine-patterned wooden staff had long since turned to dust, and the Daoist principles of non-action were completely disrupted.

The light of the Primordial Jade Purity Immortal flickered, and his face turned ashen.

The hand that held the sword in Tongtian's hand had veins that bulged out like the roots of an old tree.

He stared intently at Kong Xuan.

He wanted to argue.

He wanted to roar.

He wanted to say: Absurd! The Taoist patriarch has preached for three thousand years, every word a golden lotus, every sentence a profound mystery, and we have all comprehended it, making progress in our cultivation!

How could it be shackles?!

But he opened his mouth.

No sound could be produced.

Because he suddenly remembered that during these three thousand years, whenever he immersed himself in the Dao of Heaven and the Dao of Heaven, and perceived the vast and boundless mysteries of the Primordial Chaos, there was always a very faint sense of unease deep in his heart.

It was as if an invisible thread had quietly wrapped around his Dao foundation.

The other end of the thread was not inside his body.

And in...

He suddenly raised his head and looked up at the high platform.

Looking towards Hongjun.

I looked toward the figure in purple robes.

Hongjun did not look at him.

Hongjun is looking at Kong Xuan.

The figure in purple robes remained seated cross-legged on the cloud platform, his face serene.

But within his purple sleeves...

Five fingers.

It's already bleeding from being squeezed.

Kong Xuan's gaze remained calm.

He looked at Hongjun and slowly spoke:

"When you became a saint, the selfish desires of Heaven had already arisen."

"On the day the sermon is preached, the shackles of the Heavenly Way are already in place."

"Three thousand years."

"Three thousand mortals, three thousand seeds of the Dao."

"Three thousand seeds of Dao took root and sprouted, connecting with the origin of the Heavenly Dao..."

Kong Xuan paused:

"Closely connected".

"When you attain the Dao, the selfish desires of the Heavenly Dao will grow stronger."

"These three thousand seeds of Dao will transform into three thousand chains."

"Lock up the path of these three thousand people, lock up the future of the Xuanmen lineage, lock it up."

He raised his eyes and gazed at the vast, primordial world outside the Purple Cloud Palace:

"This world was created by Pangu sacrificing his life."

The words fell.

Within the Purple Cloud Palace, a deathly silence reigned, as still as the ancient wilderness.

Three thousand worldly travelers, none can speak.

No one dared to speak out.

They looked down at their hands, at the Daoist aura surrounding them, and at the opportunity to become a saint that they had cultivated for three thousand years, comprehended for three thousand years, and cherished for three thousand years.

It is still itself.

But it is no longer what it used to be.

It is the Way.

It's also a lock.

It was a matter of chance.

It was also a calamity.

Hongjun spoke slowly.

His voice was hoarse, like ice frozen for millennia.

"Fellow Daoist."

"Today's sermon at Zixiao Palace is ordained by Heaven."

"My attainment of sainthood and the union with the Dao was predetermined when Pangu created the world."

"Definite number?"

Kong Xuan interrupted him.

The voice remained calm, yet carried an indifference that transcended eternity:

"When Pangu separated heaven and earth, he only established the form of heaven and earth, the division of yin and yang, and the order of the four seasons."

"Never ordered."

His gaze narrowed slightly.

"Whose holy position, whose lineage, whose..."

"shackles."

Hongjun remained silent.

The heart of a sage is already cracked like a spider web.

He suddenly understood.

This person has sat in silence for three thousand years, not uttering a single word. He was not just passing by, not taking a break, and not showing disdain.

He is waiting.

After the sermon is finished.

Wait until the three thousand seeds take root and sprout, wait until the three thousand chains take shape.

When Hongjun himself tied these three thousand chains to the foundation of the three thousand mortals' Dao, he would wait.

then.

Tell him you're wrong in front of three thousand people.

You were wrong from the very beginning.

I wasn't just passing by.

They've come to kill.

Cut off his path.

Hongjun slowly closed his eyes.

Blood seeped from between her fingers from her purple sleeves, dripping onto the cloud platform.

He lost.

Defeated by his cultivation level.

Defeated by one's own lack of skill.

Defeated by that silent confrontation that lasted for three thousand years.

He didn't even know who this person was.

Kong Xuan withdrew his gaze.

No longer do I look at Hongjun, no longer do I look at the three thousand mortals, no longer do I look at the stagnant purple mist in Zixiao Palace.

He turned around.

The ink-black robe fluttered lightly.

"I will not kill these three thousand Daoist seeds."

The voice was calm and reached everyone's ears:

"Slay them! Your three thousand years of arduous cultivation will be reduced to ashes."

"Keep them; when the selfish desires of Heaven awaken in the future, you will be the first sacrifices."

"To keep or to retain, to cut or to continue."

Kong Xuan paused.

"Choose for yourself."

The words fell.

He took a step forward.

Beneath his feet, a radiant lotus platform flowed, carrying him slowly toward the palace gate.

His dark robe fluttered lightly, and his black hair fell down.

His silhouette, like a primordial mountain, has suppressed eternity.

Behind.

Three thousand worldly travelers stood frozen in place.

No one dared to stop them.

No one dared to chase after them.

No one dared to speak, not even utter a single word.

The Three Pure Ones bowed their heads.

Lao Tzu's hair and beard were all white; his Daoist philosophy of non-action was like a candle flickering in the wind.

The primordial jade-pure immortal light was completely contained, and his face was as cold and stern as if covered with frost.

Tongtian's hand, which had been resting on his sword, slowly fell to his sides.

He watched the figure in the black robe gradually disappear into the distance.

Watching the black robe disappear into the misty purple aura, watching the figure blur, fade, and about to completely vanish outside the palace gates.

His lips moved slightly.

He wanted to catch up with them.

He wanted to ask: Senior, who exactly are you?

He wanted to ask: Senior, is there a way to break the shackles of Heaven that you mentioned?

He wanted to ask: Senior, will you come back?

But he ultimately didn't speak.

Because he suddenly remembered.

It's been three thousand years.

This person has sat in meditation for three thousand years and has never asked any of them a question.

Who are you.

Where do you come from?

Where are you going?

I haven't asked the Three Pure Ones.

I haven't asked Di Jun and Tai Yi.

They did not ask Nuwa or Fuxi.

They didn't even ask the Sage Hongjun.

He doesn't need to ask anything.

Because he already knew the answer.

They didn't even have the right to ask him.

Outside the palace gates.

The chaotic currents continued to flow slowly, as they have always been.

Kong Xuan stood outside the door.

His black robe fluttered gently, his gaze calm.

He didn't turn around.

His figure transformed into a stream of chaotic light and headed towards Mount Buzhou.

Inside the Purple Cloud Palace.

Hongjun slowly opened his eyes.

Her purple sleeves fell down, concealing the five fingers still bearing traces of blood.

He gazed at the empty, chaotic expanse outside the palace gates.

The sound was calm, like the sound of the Great Dao, without any ripples.

"The sermon is finished."

"Everyone, let's disperse."

Three thousand worldly travelers awaken as if from a dream.

No one dared to stay.

No one dared to ask.

No one even dared to look them in the eye.

Streams of light rushed into the chaos and scattered in all directions.

Zixiao Palace returned to silence.

Only on the high platform and cloud throne, the figure in purple robes sat alone.

a long time.

Hongjun muttered to himself:

"Who are you……"

The voice was aged, like that of a frail old man.

"Why...why are you doing this to me...?"

No one answered.

A purple aura slowly swallowed up that lonely figure.