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

into the night.

The white sprout had grown taller, and its color had changed from snow-white to light blue.

Its tip has a thin crack, like an open mouth.

It is breathing.

The wind that drifted out of the crack made a very faint sound as it passed through the gap.

Like a thin flute.

The Golden-Winged Roc heard this, walked over, squatted down, and listened for a moment: "It's blowing wind."

"There will be a sound when the wind passes through it."

"Will the sound carry even further when the wind picks up?"

Kong Xuandao: "Yes."

The Golden-Winged Roc didn't ask any more questions. He squatted there and listened quietly for a while, then got up and went to sleep.

Day three.

The white sprout had grown to two inches tall, with a tiny leaf sprouting from its tip, as thin as a cicada's wing and almost transparent.

The veins of the leaves are pale golden and are faintly visible under sunlight.

It no longer clings to the roots of that tree.

It stood firm on its own, its roots sinking into the clouds like a tiny nail.

The tree's roots receded half an inch, giving it some space.

The Golden-Winged Roc squatted under the tree, resting its chin on its left hand and gently touching the leaf with its right.

The leaf trembled slightly at his fingertips, but did not move away.

"It's different from the leaves of that tree; it's thinner, almost translucent."

"It will be a different kind of tree."

The Golden-Winged Roc withdrew his hand and tucked his sleeve into place: "Will it bloom?"

Kong Xuan thought for a moment: "Not necessarily."

"It and that tree are not from the same seed."

"Those that fell from the same flower ended up in different places."

"What grows out might also be different."

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

As evening approached, a gentle breeze blew in from the south.

A faint floral fragrance wafted in the air, unlike any of the others.

This floral fragrance is lighter and thinner, like a flower that has just bloomed far away, only managing to send its scent here before it has exhausted its strength.

Kong Xuan stood in front of the crack, the wind passing by his side.

He sensed the source of the fragrance.

At the edge of the southern tundra, that unnamed little tree blossomed.

Its flowers are not white.

It is pale purple, a very small cluster, hidden among the leaves.

He pictured the tree in his mind, its flowers swaying gently in the evening breeze, like a speck of stardust falling on the gray earth.

He withdrew his senses.

"That tree is in bloom."

The golden-winged roc poked its head out from under the tree: "What color is it?"

"Pale purple."

"Is it pretty?"

Only three flowers bloomed, hidden behind the leaves.

"It will look even better once more of it has been blooming."

The Golden-Winged Roc retreated again and continued to fiddle with the grass cage he had woven.

That night, the grayish-brown bird came again.

It landed on the edge of the grass cage, tilted its head to look at the cage, and then tilted its head to look at Kong Xuan.

Then it lowered its head and pecked at the bottom of the cage, as if checking if the inhabitant was comfortable.

Kong Xuan did not chase it away.

The bird stayed in the cage for a while, then flapped its wings and flew away, disappearing into the night.

The next morning, a tiny feather was found in the cage.

It is dark brown with a dark purple sheen at the tip.

Like the petals that fell from that pale purple flower, they gently landed in the woven grass nest.

Kong Xuan bent down to look at the feather, but did not reach out to touch it.

When the Golden-Winged Roc woke up, it saw it too and came over to take a look.

Who put it there?

"That grayish-brown bird."

"It came here?"

"I've been here."

The Golden-Winged Roc didn't ask any more questions. He just squatted in front of the cage for a while, then got up and left.

He walked a few steps away, then turned back, tightened the cage again, and then walked away.

In the following days, the fragrance of flowers from the south gradually increased.

The pale purple flowers were blooming one by one.

The fragrance drifted across the tundra, over the mountain ridges, through the ravines, and finally landed on the cloud where Kong Xuan was.

Sometimes the Golden-Winged Roc sits under a tree, eyes closed, head tilted to the side, as if listening to the fragrance of flowers carried on the wind.

He said, "It's opening more and more."

Kong Xuandao said, "When it's in full bloom, it might wither."

What happens after it falls?

"It will produce seeds."

"The wind will carry the seeds to farther places."

The Golden-Winged Roc opened its eyes: "Will one fall on our land too?"

Kong Xuan did not answer.

That night, when the wind blew from the south, it carried a tiny speck of something that gently landed on the cloud.

It is a tiny seed, grayish-brown, smaller than a grain of rice, with a layer of extremely fine hairs on its surface, like a newly formed dandelion.

Kong Xuan squatted down, looked at the seed, but didn't pick it up.

The seed lingered on the wispy clouds for a moment, then was swept up by the night breeze and gently drifted toward the direction of the white light.

It drifted past the edge of the crack without stopping, continuing to drift in that direction.

Passing through the white light, it disappeared on the other side.

Like something that has been returned.

The Golden-Winged Roc stood beneath the tree, gazing in the direction the seed had vanished, and quietly said, "It went back."

"Perhaps."

"Maybe it was always over there."

"The wind brought it here, and then it took it back."

"It's like sending a letter and receiving a reply."

The Golden-Winged Roc remained silent for a while, then turned around and walked back to sit down under the tree.

The wind is still blowing, and the fragrance of southern flowers is still drifting in intermittently.

The newly sprouted white bud grew another inch taller, and its leaves unfurled, resembling a tiny green hand.

Kong Xuan stood before the crack, the night wind rushing into his robes. In this world gradually filled with wind and roots, he stood quietly.

A sliver of light appeared on the horizon.

The leaves of that little tree were covered with morning dew.

One drop, two drops, slowly slid down the veins of the leaf, falling silently into the clouds.

As the first rays of dawn broke through, a very faint purple tinge appeared on the edge of the white bud's leaf.

Like ink entering water, the edges gradually become moist and stained.

The wind blew from the south, carrying the lingering fragrance of that pale purple sapling all night.

The Golden-Winged Roc leaned against the tree, half-closing its eyes, staring at that purple hue for a long time.

Then he turned over and sat up without making a sound.

Kong Xuan stood with his back to him, gazing at the white light with a calm and composed expression.

But he knew.

Some things have quietly passed.

The seed falls to the ground, sprouts, and takes root.

The flowers bloomed, then withered.

The wind carries the seeds to farther places.

On that other side, the shadow of the key, the underground heat source, and the gray net being woven—all have temporarily stopped.

Like a slow tide, it suddenly stopped when it reached its highest point.

Then start retreating.

...They haven't disappeared, they're just withdrawing.

Gathering strength.

But that doesn't matter. He has seen the tides and the marks left on the mudflats after the tide recedes.

The wind is still blowing, and the leaves are still growing.

Kong Xuan stood there, his black robes billowing as usual.

A new bud has sprouted from the branch of the small tree behind me.

Extremely small, extremely faint, like an unformed dream.

It hangs quietly in the morning light.

Waiting for the next wind.

Waiting for the next time, when someone will pass by.

The new bud hung in the morning light, like a lamp that had not yet been lit.

Kong Xuan didn't touch it.

His gaze lingered on the bud for a moment before returning to the white light.

The white light shone as brightly as ever, like an unbroken stream flowing from one end of the sky to the other.

A gust of wind swept in from that direction, carrying a few grains of extremely fine sand that clung to the edges of the leaves.

The Golden-Winged Roc woke up, sat up, and rubbed its eyes.

He looked at the tree, then at Kong Xuan, and then at the sky.

The sky was still the same sky, the color of the white light hadn't changed, and the gap hadn't gotten bigger or smaller.

Everything was the same as yesterday, but he knew it was different.

The small, pale purple tree to the south has blossomed.

The heat source to the north receded, and the grayish-brown bird had disappeared somewhere.

Kong Xuan took out the half-eaten ration from his sleeve, broke off a small piece, and put it in his mouth.

The dry rations were so hard they were gritty, but he chewed them slowly, not in a hurry to swallow.

The Golden-Winged Roc walked over, sat down next to him, and also broke off a small piece.

The two of them sat on the clouds, sharing the small piece of dry rations with the wind.

After finishing his meal, Kong Xuan patted the crumbs off his hands, stood up, and squatted down next to the tree.

The new bud was still hanging on the branch, a little bigger than it had been in the morning.

Like a grain of rice that has just been soaked in water, full and quiet.

He didn't touch it, he just looked at it, then stood up and went back to the crack.

It was a quiet day.

No snow is drifting in from the north, and the fragrance of flowers from the south has faded.

It was like that little pale purple tree that bloomed its last flower in the night and then began to rest.

There was still wind, but there was nothing in it.

The clean wind is like a window that has been wiped clean.

The Golden-Winged Roc sat under the tree for a whole day, neither hunting nor patrolling, nor making up anything else.

He just sat there, leaning against the tree trunk, gazing into the distance, motionless.

Kong Xuan glanced back at him occasionally, but neither called out to him nor asked him anything.

The two of them stayed there, one in front of the other, a few steps apart.

As dusk fell, a very faint purple hue appeared on the horizon.

It wasn't the color of the clouds, but the fragrance of the pale purple sapling's blossoms, warmed by the setting sun, that rose into the air and tinted a small patch of sky.

The Golden-Winged Roc raised its head, looked at the purple hue, and after a while, suddenly stood up.

"I'll go take a look over there."

Kong Xuan did not stop him.

The Golden-Winged Roc transformed into its original form, its crimson-gold wings unfurled, and it flew south.

His figure grew smaller and smaller until it finally merged into the pale purple halo and disappeared.

Kong Xuan stood before the crack, watching him disappear into the distance, then looked away and continued standing there.

The starlight was beautiful at night, scattered on the clouds like a handful of scattered rice grains.

The leaves of that tree gleamed with a dark luster in the starlight, the golden lines along their edges as fine as spider silk, trembling slightly in the wind.

The new bud is still growing, and it's a size bigger than it was during the day.

A very thin layer of down gradually appeared on the surface, like the soft fur that a young animal has just grown.

Kong Xuan squatted down and looked at it.

A breeze rushed in from the crack, brushing against the tip of the bud, causing it to sway gently.

It is growing, growing every moment.

It can't be seen or touched, but it is indeed moving forward.

What color flower will you bloom?

Kong Xuan spoke softly, as if talking to himself.

The bud did not answer; it simply hung quietly on the branch, its surface fuzz shimmering in the starlight.

Kong Xuan didn't wait for an answer. He stood up, returned to the crack, and continued to guard it.

In the latter half of the night, the wind picked up again from the north.

The wind was stronger than during the day, carrying a dry, cool feeling, as if it were blowing up from a very far underground place.

Kong Xuan looked up and saw that gray line reappear on the northern horizon, lighter than before, but it was definitely there.

He didn't move; he just stood there, staring at the gray figure.

The gray creature remained stationary in the distance, making no progress, like a bird perched on a wall, observing the scene.

It paused for a moment, then slowly receded, disappearing behind the horizon like a tide.

The wind stopped.

Night returned to normal.

The next morning, the Golden-Winged Roc returned.

He landed on the clouds, transformed into human form, and clutched something in his hand.

He walked up to Kong Xuan and opened his palm.

In the palm of my hand was a small handful of seeds, grayish-brown, slightly larger than grains of rice.

Each grain has a layer of extremely fine hairs on its surface.

"I picked some of the fruit from that tree."

He said, "Many flowers have fallen, and the branches are mostly bare, but a few remain, and they are forming seeds."

After he finished speaking, he squatted down, dug a few shallow holes in the cloud-like wisps next to the tree with his fingers, put the seeds in one by one, covered them with cloud-like wisps, and gently pressed them down.

He did it very seriously, as if he were cultivating a field.

Kong Xuan watched him plant the last seed and asked, "How many do you want to plant?"

The Golden-Winged Roc patted the dirt off its hands: "Watch them themselves."

"Let as many as they can survive."

"If you're alive, then stay and protect them."

Kong Xuan did not respond.

He walked over to the few newly planted seeds, squatted down, and gently pressed the surface of the cloud-like seeds with his palm.

The soil was soft and warm, like a blanket just pulled out of bed.

He withdrew his hand, stood up, and returned to the crack.

The Golden-Winged Roc crouched behind him, looking at the row of small mounds of earth, without saying a word.

In the evening, one of the seeds cracked open.

The crack is very fine, extending from the top of the seed coat all the way to the bottom, like a wound cut open by a knife.

A faint green light shone through the crack, as weak as a firefly flapping its wings in the dead of night.

Then a slender sprout peeked out from the crack, tender green, like an embroidery needle that had been soaked in water.

It paused for a moment after peeking out of the seed coat, as if seeing the outside world for the first time, and seemed somewhat hesitant.

Then it bent down and slowly plunged into the soil.

The Golden-Winged Roc squatted beside it, staring at the sprout, motionless.

His breathing was very light, as if he was afraid of startling it.

After the sprout took root in the soil, it remained quiet for a moment, then a tiny bit of green emerged from its tip, as if greeting the soil. The Golden-Winged Roc took a soft breath and remained silent.

He stood up, walked to Kong Xuan's side, and stood still.

The two stood side by side, looking at the row of small mounds of earth and the tender sprout that had just emerged.

As darkness fell, the starlight shone brightly once more.

The tender sprout glowed with a faint green light in the starlight, like a lit paper lantern.

The wind blew from the south, carrying the lingering fragrance of that pale purple sapling, brushing against the leaves, the buds, and Kong Xuan's robes.

He stood there, with the sapling, the new bud, and the row of newly planted seeds behind him.

Before him was that white light, and that door that had not yet been closed.

The wind is blowing. He is keeping watch.

Kong Xuan gazed calmly at the quietly flowing white light.

After a moment, he whispered, "The seed has fallen; it will grow tomorrow."

That night, the starlight never stopped, and the buds never stopped sprouting.

It did not sleep; like a newborn eye, it looked at the heavens and the earth, at the wind, and at the light flowing out from the crack.

Kong Xuan knew that the wind would carry the seeds to farther places.

He may not be able to reach those places, but that tree will watch over them for him.