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

Kong Xuan stood before the crack, motionless all night.

As the morning light spilled through the clouds, the tender sprout grew even taller.

The leaves unfold into a circle, like a small copper coin.

The Golden-Winged Roc squatted beside him and gently flicked the leaf with his finger. The leaf bounced as if in response.

"They came back to life."

"Um."

"Is that tree to the south also looking this way?"

Kong Xuan thought for a moment: "It doesn't need to look."

"It grows there, and the wind will carry the message there."

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

He got up, walked to the row of mounds, squatted down, and looked at them again.

Of the five seeds, three have already broken through their shells, and tender shoots are emerging from the cracks, all pointing towards the white light.

Each bud is straight, like a newly enlisted soldier.

Why are they all growing in that direction?

Kong Xuan glanced over and said, "They know there's light over there."

"The light over there is warmer than here; they're chasing it."

The Golden-Winged Roc remained silent for a while, then reached out and gently ruffled the soil next to the nearest sprout. It didn't touch the sprout, but simply loosened the soil a bit.

Then he stood up and dusted off his hands.

"Then I'll go take a look to the south."

"That pale purple tree, the flowers should have all fallen. I'll go check if there are any new buds."

Kong Xuan nodded.

The golden-winged roc spread its wings and took flight, its crimson-gold wings drawing an arc across the sky before quickly disappearing into the south.

A breeze surged from the white light, brushing past the row of tender buds, which all bent over in unison before straightening up again.

It looks like they're practicing gymnastics.

Kong Xuan squatted down and drew a shallow arc with his finger about a palm's width away from the tender bud.

The arc bypassed the row of tender buds, forming a semicircle.

It's like a courtyard.

He did nothing more, stood up, and returned to the crack.

The sunlight gradually rose higher.

The new bud had grown larger, and the fuzz on its surface was denser, like it was wearing a thin gray sweater.

Kong Xuan looked at it for a while, but didn't touch it.

Suddenly, a very faint sound came from deep within the crack.

Kong Xuan looked up.

Deep within the white light, a tiny shadow was approaching.

It wasn't a shadow; it was smaller and lighter, like a thread being blown by the wind.

It floated past the edge of the crack without stopping, and landed directly on the leaves of the small tree.

It is a thin filament, light gray in color.

The moment I touched the leaf, it curled up slightly, as if confirming something.

Then the leaf unfolded, and the gray thread slid down the vein and landed on the cloud-like wisps at the base.

The ashes returned to the earth, quietly, as if nothing had happened.

Kong Xuan walked over, squatted down, and looked at the gray thread.

The gray threads were extremely fine, finer than a human hair, and trembled slightly on the surface of the cloud.

Then it started to fade, as if it had been absorbed by the soil.

A few breaths later, it disappeared.

The leaves are still there, the roots are still there, and the new bud is still there.

Everything is the same as before.

But Kong Xuan knew that the gray thread was left by the shadow.

It didn't come over; it just sent over a thread.

Like a spider threading a line on the wall to test the wind direction.

Kong Xuan did not pull out that thread.

The silk is gone; it's been swallowed by the soil.

He stood up, returned to the crack, and continued to stand there.

Around noon, the wind suddenly picked up.

A breeze swept in from the depths of the white light, carrying the scent of grass and earth.

A tiny object was wrapped in that breath and landed on Kong Xuan's shoulder.

He raised his hand to catch it, opening his palm.

It is a seed.

Dark brown, round, not much larger than a grain of rice.

The seeds have a thin layer of oil on their surface, which reflects light slightly in the sunlight.

Kong Xuan recognized its taste.

The seeds came from that small, pale purple tree to the south.

It was blown by the wind from the south to this side, then through the crack, and landed on his shoulder.

He looked down at the seed, then walked to the row of sprouts, squatted down, dug a new hole next to the last mound of earth, put the seed in, and covered it with soil.

"You're late, but you made it in time."

After Kong Xuan finished speaking, he stood up.

The wind was still blowing, ruffling his robes.

The row of tender buds bent over in unison in the wind, then straightened up again.

It looks like a platoon of new recruits saluting their officer.

Kong Xuan looked at them but did not laugh.

But his gaze softened slightly.

The white light shone quietly, and golden roots covered the edges of the crack.

After the gray silk was buried, it never reappeared.

The grayness in the north has also stopped.

The fragrance of flowers in the south has faded, but the seeds are on their way.

The world seemed to suddenly fall silent.

It's not the calm before the storm, but the calm after the wind has stopped.

Kong Xuan leaned against the trunk of the small tree and slowly sat down.

He was indeed quite tired.

But he remained upright in his sitting posture, leaning against the tree trunk with his head slightly tilted back.

The new bud on the branch was right at the end of his line of sight, like a star placed on the treetop.

He stared at the bud for a long time.

The bud hasn't opened yet; it's still growing.

Then let's wait.

He didn't close his eyes, but just stared at the bud, at the white light, and at the row of growing buds.

The wind blows from the south, it blows from the north, it surges from the white light.

The wind was not strong, as if someone was gently stirring the whole world.

Those tiny things are coming to life, inch by inch, in their own way.

The sunlight moved from overhead to the west, then sank below the horizon, and dusk began to fall.

The Golden-Winged Roc has not yet returned.

Kong Xuan sat under the tree and did not get up to greet him.

He knew the Golden-Winged Roc would return.

Sure enough, as the first star lit up, a crimson-gold arc streaked across the southern sky.

The golden-winged roc folded its wings and landed in front of Kong Xuan.

He was holding something in his hand. He walked up to Kong Xuan, squatted down, and opened his palm.

There is a handful of seeds in the palm of my hand.

It was larger, rounder, and fuller than the previous ones, with a light purple pattern on the surface.

"That tree was laden with seeds."

"I picked out some of the plumpest ones and kept them."

As the Golden-Winged Roc spoke, he got up and walked to the row of tender shoots, squatted down, and planted the seeds one by one.

He planted them very carefully, spacing each seed a hand's width apart, arranging them neatly.

After he finished planting, he patted the soil off his hands.

"Once they grow up, there will be a row of trees."

Kong Xuan looked at him but didn't reply.

The Golden-Winged Roc stood up and stretched his legs, which had gone numb from squatting.

"By then, that white-flowered tree, that pale purple tree, and those saplings will have grown into a grove."

"When the forest is big, the wind will blow from the south, from the north, and from the cracks."

"The wind blows through the woods, carrying scents from that side here and vice versa."

After the Golden-Winged Roc finished speaking, he sat down next to Kong Xuan.

Dusk had completely fallen, and starlight filled the clouds.

The row of newly planted seeds lay quietly in the night, waiting for dawn.

The white light shone on them, as if covering them with a thin blanket.

Silent all night.

The next morning, when Kong Xuan woke up, the first thing he saw was that new bud.

It opened.

The petals are pale purple, five in number, and as thin as cicada wings.

A very fine silver line runs along the edge, shimmering slightly in the morning light.

The stamens are pale gold, like a crushed starlight.

The flower hung on the branch, swaying gently in the wind.

It was like she was greeting him.

The Golden-Winged Roc also woke up, sat up, looked at the flower, and paused for a moment.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and whispered, "It's open."

Kong Xuan looked at the flower with a calm gaze.

But the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"Yes. It's open."

The pale purple flower swayed gently in the morning breeze, like a child who had just learned to stand.

Deep within the flower's stamen lies a tiny, minuscule point of light, nestled in the very center of the flower's heart, like a miniature star nucleus.

Kong Xuan's gaze fell there, paused for a moment, and then looked away.

He turned around and faced the white light.

The wind rushed out from the crack, causing robes to flutter and rustle.

He stood there, as firm as a mountain, guarding the gate and the burgeoning grove of young trees.

A mountain breeze from the south carried the scent of pale purple wildflowers; they had only just begun to sprout, yet they already knew which direction to grow in.

The white bud grew into a sapling half a foot tall, with round leaves and flowing purple veins along the edges.

It stood at the very front of that row of new buds, like a leader.

The golden-winged roc was perched among the saplings, using a thin branch to prop up a small support for one of the crooked seedlings.

He didn't make a sound and moved very gently, as if afraid of startling it.

After he finished, he took two steps back to look at it, then stepped forward to adjust the angle, stepped back again to look at it, and nodded in satisfaction.

Kong Xuan stood before the crack without turning around, but he could sense the growing life behind him.

The soil is loosening, the roots are spreading, and the leaves are breathing.

The white light was still shining. The wind was still blowing.

He will continue to guard this door.

The wind passed through the white light, brushed past the row of tender buds, and brushed past the pale purple flower.

The flowers swayed gently in the wind, as if greeting it.

Kong Xuan had his back to it, but he could still sense it.

After that flower bloomed, a very faint purple hue appeared at the edge of the crack.

It's as if someone used a thin stroke of ink to outline the edge of the light.

The Golden-Winged Roc squatted beside the nursery, using a thin branch to prop up a crooked seedling.

He did it very carefully, his movements were light and slow, as if he were glazing something fragile.

After finishing, he straightened up, took two steps back to look at it, then stepped forward again, adjusted the angle of the support frame, and finally withdrew his hand with satisfaction.

"Once they grow bigger and their roots are firmly established, they won't need support anymore," he said.

"At that time, they could stand on their own."

Kong Xuan did not turn around.

But a thought popped into his mind: the Golden-Winged Roc seemed to be talking about more than just these trees.

The wind is blowing from the south again.

This time, a few tiny particles were carried by the wind and landed on Kong Xuan's shoulder.

He reached out and caught them; they were two grains of bluish-gray sand, smaller than sesame seeds, as if they had been carried by the wind from a very, very far place.

The surface of the sand is dry, but it has a very faint warmth when touched.

It looks like it was just picked up from under the sun.

He put the sand into his sleeve, mingling it with the leaves, grass stems, and petals.

As night falls, the sky is covered with stars.

The row of tender buds gleamed faintly in the night, each one tilting slightly toward the white light, like a group of children facing the light.

The pale purple flower closed its petals in the night breeze, like a closed hand.

The tiny, star-like glimmer in the heart of the flower still shines, like a hidden spark of fire shining through the gaps in the petals.

Kong Xuan stood under the tree, gazing at the white light.

He wasn't waiting for anything, nor was he guarding against anything.

He just stood there.

The wind died down, and the night grew quieter.

In the distance, a golden bird flew through the night, landed on a branch, looked down at the closed flower, then flapped its wings and flew south.

The Golden-Winged Roc peered out from under the tree, glanced in the direction where the Crimson-Gold Bird had disappeared, and then retreated back inside.

"It went to inform the lilac tree," he said, "to tell it that the flowers here have bloomed too."

"They were so far apart, yet they seemed to recognize each other."

Kong Xuan did not respond.

But he remembered the white flower on the mountaintop, and the way Pangu bent down when he planted it.

That movement is very similar to the way the Golden-Winged Roc supports the seedlings today.

He suppressed the thought and didn't say it aloud.

The next morning, one of the buds sprouted a second leaf.

The leaf was a size larger than the first one, and the purple veins around the edge were deeper, making it look like a carefully carved copper coin.

The Golden-Winged Roc squatted beside it and watched for a long time, then reached out and touched the tip of the leaf, as if to say hello.

"You're growing," he said. "Growing slowly."

The wind died down a bit that day.

The gray hue from the north did not appear, and the fragrance of flowers from the south had not yet returned.

The sunlight changed from bright white to warm and soft, and then from warm and soft to pale gold.

The white light in the crack remained bright, without flickering or dimming.

It was as quiet as a sleeping stream.

In the afternoon, Kong Xuan suddenly sensed a presence.

The scent was so faint that he almost missed it.

It comes from deep underground, like a tiny crack left after a fine needle pierces the earth's crust.

Kong Xuan squatted down, placing his palms on the ground.

Beneath the wispy clouds, those golden roots are silently weaving an even denser net.

One of the lateral roots, as it stretched northwest, touched something.

It's neither stone nor soil.

It was a small blank space.

It's like a tiny, thin fragment, quietly embedded in the strata.

There was no warmth, no breath.

It's not alive.

But it's there.

Kong Xuan did not move, but merely sensed the size and shape of the fragment.

Smaller than a fingernail, with jagged edges, it looked like it had been peeled off from something.

Its surface seemed to be engraved with some kind of pattern, extremely fine and shallow, but Kong Xuan could not make out the shape.

He only remembered the general direction of the pattern.

Then he withdrew his hand and stood up.

The Golden-Winged Roc walked over from the edge of the nursery and stood beside him: "Is there something down there?"

Yes. Very small.

"Should we dig it out?"

"No rush. It's been in the soil for a long time; a little longer won't make a difference."

Kong Xuan looked to the northwest, his gaze passing over the sea of ​​clouds and landing on that unknown land.

That direction wasn't from where the shadow came from, nor was it the trajectory of the heat source.

It's another direction.

It's like something was buried there a long time ago, waiting.

The Golden-Winged Roc followed his gaze but saw nothing.

But he didn't press further, only saying, "We'll talk about it when it figures it out."

The wind changed direction as night fell.

The wind blew from the northwest; it was dry and slightly warm, as if it had been pushed up from very deep underground.

A tiny speck of dust, carried by the wind, landed on the back of Kong Xuan's hand.

He rubbed the dust between his fingertips; the texture was like burnt pottery shards or ancient stone dust.

He brushed the dust off without saying anything more.