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

Kong Xuan stood there, gazing in the direction it had disappeared.

The snow is still falling, but it's become sparse.

The gray layer was slowly fading, as if something had drained its power from within.

The Golden-Winged Roc dispersed its feather blades, glanced at Kong Xuan, and remained silent.

Kong Xuan remained silent.

He stood under the tree, a thin layer of snow on his shoulders.

The withered flower was still pinned to her lapel, its petals damp with snow, the edges curled up slightly.

He did not brush it away.

Just standing there.

The wind blew from the depths of gray, cool and dry.

The sapling swayed gently in the wind, and the new bud on its branch, moistened by snowmelt, appeared even greener than before.

Kong Xuan reached out and gently touched the bud.

Then withdraw your hand.

"It's almost dawn."

He whispered something, as if speaking to the tree, or perhaps to himself.

The Golden-Winged Roc stood behind him, asking no further questions, but simply following his gaze into the distance.

The gray hue on the horizon gradually faded, revealing a sliver of pale blue.

The wind softened a bit.

Snow stopped.

A thin layer of white had accumulated on the wispy clouds, which shimmered slightly in the morning light.

The leaves of that little tree were covered with tiny water droplets, as if it had just emerged from a light rain.

Kong Xuan sat down under the tree.

The black robe lay spread on the clouds, its hem damp with snow water, leaving a small dark patch.

He leaned against the tree trunk, tilting his head slightly upward.

The tender bud on the branch twitched twice in the wind.

He sat under the tree for a long time.

When the morning light fully spreads, when all the snow on the clouds has melted, and when the leaves of that tree are dried by the sunlight.

He then stood up and stood in front of the crack, remaining there.

Just like before, just like every day.

The sound of the wind pierced through the white light, carrying the scent of grass and trees from that side.

The leaves of the small tree behind him swayed gently in the wind, its roots spreading silently beneath the wisps of clouds.

The Golden-Winged Roc also stood up and stood beside him.

The two stood side by side, gazing at the quietly shining white light.

Like two shadows bent by the wind but not broken, they stand between the sky and the earth.

The morning light fell on my shoulders.

As the sun rose higher, it shone down from above the clouds.

The white light faded slightly in the sunlight, but it was still there.

The cracks are still there.

The door is still there.

The wind is still blowing, carrying the scents from that side as well as those from this side.

Two kinds of energy converged and intertwined at the edge of the crack, like two rivers meeting at the mouth of the sea, making it impossible to tell which one came from which place.

The leaves of that little tree swayed gently in the wind.

Like breathing.

The sunlight rose a little higher.

Kong Xuan stood in front of the crack, gazing at the door.

The door was still open.

The white light still flowed, but something new appeared at its edges... extremely faint, like a thin mist condensing on grass leaves in spring, covering the edge of the white light.

That was the fine net woven underground by the tree's roots after they seeped in.

It's not a wall, but it's more flexible than a wall.

The Golden-Winged Roc squatted under the tree, gently parting the clouds with its hands to observe the direction of the golden roots.

He looked at it for a long time, then looked up and said, "It went around the crack. From the south."

Kong Xuan didn't turn around: "How far did we go?"

"It's hard to say, but the roots are angled. Like water flowing around a rock."

Kong Xuan was silent for a moment: "It's looking for another way."

The Golden-Winged Roc stood up and dusted off his hands. "You mean that dark shadow? Does it know this tree is circling around it?"

"Know."

"It's been watching."

The Golden-Winged Roc walked to Kong Xuan's side, gazing at the white light: "Then why isn't it moving?"

"It's waiting," Kong Xuan said, "waiting for the tree's roots to grow deeper, so deep that they can't be pulled out."

"At that time, it won't need to go around this tree."

"It can follow this tree."

The Golden-Winged Roc remained silent.

He stood there, gazing at the white light, and at the thickening mist at its edge.

After a long pause, he spoke up: "So what do we do?"

Kong Xuan did not answer.

He just stood there, in front of that little tree.

The wind rushed out from the crack, blowing his robes.

The voice came from deep within the white light.

Extremely soft, extremely slow, like the faint sound of ice cracking in the distance.

Kong Xuan.

Kong Xuan looked up and saw the shadow slowly rising from the depths of the white light.

It's different from before; the edges are clearer and the outline is more distinct. It's no longer a surging mass of black, but more like a shape.

Like a person.

It stopped at the edge of the crack, neither crossing it nor approaching it.

It simply stood there, looking at Kong Xuan through the thin white light.

"Your tree has grown all the way to the south."

Kong Xuandao said, "It grows everywhere."

The shadow tilted slightly, as if looking at Kong Xuan: "That tree to the south, did you plant it?"

Kong Xuan looked at it: "You saw it."

The shadow did not answer.

It was silent for a moment, then slowly spoke, its voice softer than before: "The one to the south is different from this one."

Its leaves are round, like little bowls.

The branches are grayish-white, covered with a thin layer of fuzz, and feel like newly grown deer antlers.

Kong Xuan remained silent.

That tree to the south wasn't planted by him.

The wind blew in from the crack, through the tree canopy, and brushed against Kong Xuan's cheek.

A thought popped into his mind: the tree to the south came from the other side of the crack.

The wind carried the seeds across the doorway, landing them on that unknown land.

That seed took root on its own, sprouted on its own, and grew into a tree exactly like the one here.

The shadow didn't urge them on; it simply waited quietly.

After a moment, Kong Xuan spoke up: "That tree, I didn't plant it."

The shadow swayed slightly at the edge, as if processing the words.

Then it slowly spoke: "Who planted that?"

"wind."

The shadow remained silent for a long time.

It stood at the edge of the white light, its outline trembling slightly in the light.

Then it took a step back, and the sound became softer than before.

"The wind will plant trees in every corner. Can your roots stop me?"

Kong Xuan looked at it: "I can't stop it. But that tree can reduce the distance you can go, even by an inch."

The shadow did not respond.

It stood in the white light for a moment, then slowly sank down, like a stone sinking into deep water, its outline gradually blurring until it finally disappeared completely into the depths of the white light.

Kong Xuan stood there, gazing at the empty white light.

The Golden-Winged Roc walked to his side: "That tree to the south, was it really blown there by the wind?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Kong Xuandao said, "It could have been carried there by birds, it could have been covered by snow, or it could have rolled there by the seeds themselves."

The Golden-Winged Roc was silent for a moment, then said, "So, does it belong to that side, or this side?"

"It grows over there."

"The roots have reached this side."

"Which side does it belong to?"

Kong Xuan thought for a moment: "It belongs to itself."

The Golden-Winged Roc did not ask any further questions.

He stood back beside Kong Xuan, gazing at the white light.

The wind rushed out from the crack, blowing the two men's robes.

The shadow of the tree to the south shone quietly on the edge of his perception.

Like a lamp that someone lit without knowing who.

That evening, as the sun began to set, the clouds were tinged with a warm orange hue.

Kong Xuan sensed that aura approaching for the second time.

It came from the south.

From the direction of that tree to the south, across thousands of miles of mountains and rivers, a faint trace of energy is moving towards this place.

The aura wasn't from the shadowy figure, nor was it from the underground heat source. It was like a seed of grass being swept up by the wind, drifting across the fields, and landing in a place no one had anticipated.

It was slow, non-hostile, and didn't even have a clear sense of direction.

But it is indeed moving closer.

The Golden-Winged Roc also sensed it, stood up from under the tree, and looked south.

Something is coming.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. It hasn't taken shape yet."

The Golden-Winged Roc turned to look at him: "Should we stop him?"

Kong Xuan did not answer.

He simply stood there, gazing in the direction of that wisp of southern breath.

The breath was still moving, not fast, but with each step it was getting closer.

Like a dandelion being pushed by the wind, it is crossing the last mountain ridge.

The evening wind swept in from the south, carrying the dry smell of dust and a very faint scent of grass.

The aura had already crossed the mountain ridge and was now passing through the edge of the tundra.

It has already crossed the outermost ravine and is moving this way.

When Kong Xuan sensed it, it had already crossed the last ravine of that gray snowfield and was moving along the roots of that tree.

The Golden-Winged Roc gripped its feather blades tightly.

The breath stopped.

They stopped less than a hundred miles away from them, neither advancing nor retreating.

It's like they're waiting.

The Golden-Winged Roc asked, "Shall we go over and take a look?"

Kong Xuan thought for a moment and said, "I'll go."

"You stay here and watch the door."

The Golden-Winged Roc nodded: "Be careful."

Kong Xuan rose into the air and flew south.

The journey of a hundred li will take only a short while.

He landed where the aura was located, on a low grassy slope.

The grassy slope was covered with sparse wild grass, most of which had withered and turned yellow, with only a few clumps of green remaining in the sheltered areas.

In the middle of the grassy slope, a bird stood.

The bird wasn't big, not much bigger than a sparrow.

Its feathers are grayish-brown, indistinguishable from ordinary birds found everywhere on the tundra.

Kong Xuan landed in front of the bird and squatted down.

The bird did not fly away.

It tilted its head and looked at him, its dark eyes sparkling like two pebbles that had just been washed.

It looked at him, then opened its mouth, and something fell out.

It was a tiny thing, smaller than a sesame seed, with a dull golden luster.

Like a seed that has been ground round.

Kong Xuan looked down at the object.

The bird pecked at his fingertips, as if to remind him.

He reached out, picked up the object, and held it in his palm.

It is a seed.

It was smaller and flatter than the previous one, with a thin layer of scorch marks on the surface, as if it had been burned or frozen.

But it still has a temperature.

The temperature was very faint, as faint as a wisp of heat blowing across the edge of a candle flame.

But it is still alive.

Kong Xuan stood up, holding the seed, and asked the grayish-brown bird, "Where did you bring this from?"

The bird tilted its head, as if it were reminiscing.

Then it turned around and called out to the south.

The call was short, as if it were pointing him in the right direction.

Kong Xuan looked south.

In the distance, the gray-white tundra spread out in the twilight, stretching to the horizon indistinctly.

Kong Xuan carefully put the seed away, then turned to look at the bird.

The bird remained standing in the same spot, tilting its head to look at him.

Kong Xuan took out a water pouch from his sleeve, poured a little water into his palm, and placed it on the grass in front of the bird.

The bird lowered its head, pecked at the ground, drank a few mouthfuls, then flapped its wings and flew away to the south.

Kong Xuan watched it disappear into the twilight, then turned and stepped into the air to return.

By the time they returned to the crack, it was already dark.

The Golden-Winged Roc was still guarding under the tree. Seeing him return, it glanced at his hand and asked, "Did you get it?"

"Got it."

"A single seed."

"It's smaller than the last one, and it looks like it's been baked or frozen, but it's still alive."

Kong Xuan walked to the small tree, squatted down, dug a small hole in the cloud-like material next to the tree root with his finger, put the seed in, covered it with cloud-like material, and gently pressed it down.

The seed did not sprout immediately after being planted in the soil, but the scent it emitted changed.

That extremely faint warmth was slowly spreading, seeping into the surrounding clouds.

As if sensing something, the roots of the sapling twitched slightly, stretching towards the direction of the seed.

It didn't entangle it, but simply moved closer, as if sizing up a new neighbor.

Kong Xuan looked at the tiny distance between the roots and the seed, and said nothing.

He stood up and went back to the crack.

A breeze surged from the white light, carrying the scent of the night from that side.

Above the southern tundra, a grayish-brown bird streaked across the sky, flying towards a more distant place.

Kong Xuan stood under the tree, looking at the seed that had just been planted.

It was covered by a thin layer of wispy clouds.

The roots lingered beside it, like an old resident eyeing a new neighbor, neither too close nor too far.

There was no movement.

The seed was still warm, but it did not sprout.

It is waiting.

What are you waiting for?

I don't know.

A breeze surged from the white light, rustling the leaves.

Kong Xuan stood there for a while, then returned to the crack.

The Golden-Winged Roc perched on a cloud, holding a blade of grass in its hand, weaving something.

As the fingers moved, the grass stems overlapped and gradually took shape.

"You can do this too?"

"What I learned recently."

"That old tortoise up north taught me. He said weaving keeps your hands busy."

The golden-winged roc didn't even raise its head, meticulously weaving its brocade.

The grass stems weaved between his fingers, becoming smaller and smaller.

Finally, the enclosure was a tiny cage, woven from grass stems, translucent and empty.

He lifted the cage, looked at it, then at the branches of the tree, and walked over to gently wed the cage between two forked branches.

The cage wasn't big, about the size of a small bowl.

The wind rustled through the gaps in the grass stems, making a very faint sound.

"We can have it when there are little birds."

"Your tree will bear fruit, and birds will rest on it."

After he finished speaking, he walked back, squatted down again, and didn't explain further.

The next morning, Kong Xuan stood in front of the crack and saw the seed move slightly.

Tiny cracks spread from the surface of the seed coat, like an eggshell being pushed open from the inside.

A sliver of golden light, as fine as a hair, shone through the crack.

Then, a very thin white sprout emerged from the seed coat and reached out into the air.

The buds are white, like fresh snow, without any green leaves.

It paused for a moment after emerging from the seed coat, as if adjusting to the light from this side.

Then it slowly bent down and gently rested its head on a root of the small tree.

Like one hand grasping another.

The roots neither hid nor entangled themselves.

It just stayed there, letting the white bud rest on it.

The spot where the two thin filaments touched lit up for a moment, then dimmed again.

Kong Xuan watched this scene without saying a word.