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

Kong Xuan continued walking up the rock face.

The mountain became steeper and the road narrower.

As he approached the summit, he saw a stone slab stuck diagonally in a crevice in the rock.

It has the same material as the fragment at the bottom of the riverbed.

Kong Xuan squatted down and took out the stone fragment.

The stone slab was smaller than the one on the riverbed, with rounded edges, as if it had been washed by water for many years.

The surface texture is different from the previous one; it is finer and denser, like a net that has been folded many times.

He held it in his palm; the stone was warm.

The patterns began to move slowly, as if they had come to life.

After swimming for a while, they stopped and froze into a new shape.

This time, it's a fork in the line.

One main vein branches out into two thinner branches, like the root system of a tree.

Kong Xuan stared at the pattern for a long time.

He then tucked the stone into his sleeve and placed it side by side with the one on the riverbed.

When the two stone pieces came together, they each trembled slightly.

It was as if they recognized each other.

It was very windy at the top of the mountain.

Kong Xuan stood on the mountaintop, gazing into the distance.

The wasteland stretches out on the horizon, gray and flat, like an old mirror that has been polished smooth.

At the end of the wasteland, there was nothing.

But he knew there was a road there.

Someone walked by. Buried something. Left fingerprints. Left a mark.

Then continue walking forward.

He stood on the mountaintop, the wind rushing in from all directions, blowing his robes.

He looked down at his hands.

The light from the five fingerprints had dissipated, but the residual warmth remained.

He clenched his fist, carefully storing the warmth, then leaped into the air and returned along the same path.

When they returned to the crack, it was nearly dusk.

The Golden-Winged Roc was still sitting under the tree, with half a bamboo strip on his lap. Seeing him land, he put down his work and looked up at him.

"How is it?"

Kong Xuan landed in front of him, took out two stone pieces from his sleeve, and laid them side by side in his palm.

"There's something on the mountain," he said. "Someone went to that mountain before me."

"He buried the stone slab, pressed his fingerprint, and then left."

The Golden-Winged Roc looked down at the two stone fragments: "Then who is he?"

"have no idea."

"But he was giving directions. One after another, pointing to places further and further away."

The Golden-Winged Roc was silent for a moment, then asked, "Shall we follow?"

"Okay," Kong Xuan said, "Follow along."

He put the two stone pieces back into his sleeve and stood in front of the crack.

A breeze surged from the white light, brushing against his face. He gazed at the distant mountain, which became a dark gray silhouette in the twilight.

He knew that the mountain was just the beginning.

That person walked a long way.

Many stone slabs were buried.

Each piece points to the next location.

And now, he is standing next to the first road sign on that road.

"I'll go to the next place tomorrow," he said.

The Golden-Winged Roc didn't speak, but simply picked up the split bamboo strip again and continued weaving his cage.

The wind was calm at night. Kong Xuan sat under the tree, placing two stone shards on his lap.

The patterns shimmered slightly under the starlight, like two quiet little rivers.

His fingertips gently traced the lines of one of the patterns, memorizing its direction.

The second piece is more complex, like a fine net.

He looked at it for a long time, until his eyes felt a little sore, before he put it away.

Kong Xuan woke up as the first rays of dawn broke through the darkness.

The golden-winged roc was still asleep against the tree trunk, its hands already weaving the shape of the cage bottom with bamboo strips.

Kong Xuan did not wake him.

He stood up, walked to the crack, stood there for a moment, and then flew northwest.

The patterns on the two stone slabs unfolded in his mind, like two folded maps.

He needs to find the next place, to find the next stretch of road that person has walked.

Fly over the wasteland, over the dried-up riverbed, over the gray-white mountain.

Behind the mountain lies a more open plain.

He landed, his boots sinking into the soft, gray earth.

The soil was very fine, like years of accumulated ash flattened by the wind.

He squatted down and placed his palms on the ground.

Deep underground, something awaits him.

Kong Xuan landed on the flat ground, the dust covering his boots.

The wind blew in from the other side of the mountain ridge, carrying fine dust that rustled against the hem of my robe.

He didn't rush to sense what was underground.

Stand still for now.

Feel the flat land, feel the terrain behind this mountain.

It's so smooth it looks like it was smoothed out by someone, not like it was formed naturally.

Kong Xuan took nine steps forward.

As I landed on the ninth step, the sole of my boot hit a hard object.

He squatted down and brushed away the dust with his hands.

The soil layer is very thin; it can be easily broken with a single pull.

There is a stone slab underneath.

The stone slab was not large, about two feet square.

The surface is polished smooth, and the edges are neat, as if it had been cut by someone.

Three lines are carved on the stone slab.

The first line is straight, extending from the left end of the slab to the right end.

The second line, above the straight line, is an arc, like an arched bridge.

The third line, below the straight line, is a row of short horizontal lines, evenly spaced, as if measured with a ruler.

Kong Xuan stared at it for a long time.

These three lines are simple, but when combined, they resemble some kind of instruction.

Straight is the road.

The arc shape represents a mountain.

A short horizontal line could represent a forest or a waterway.

He memorized the pattern of the stone slab and did not dig it out.

Place it back in its original position and cover it with ash again.

After doing all that, he stood up.

The stone slab under your feet was left by that person when they passed by.

Perhaps he only stayed for a moment, squatted down, finished carving these three lines, and then got up and continued on his way.

Kong Xuan's gaze followed the direction of the stone slab's pattern.

Due west.

He looked up and saw nothing on the western horizon.

There are no mountains, no trees, and no reflection of water.

There was only a gray and white wasteland stretching to the horizon.

Kong Xuan did not hesitate.

He rose into the air and flew westward.

A dry, warm wind blew in my face.

The wasteland beneath our feet slowly receded.

After flying for about an hour, the wasteland began to change.

There were more cracks on the ground, varying in width and length, as if the sun-dried earth had cracked open on its own.

The crack edges are neat, unlike a natural crack.

Kong Xuan slowed down and flew low.

He saw the cross-section of one of the cracks, revealing layers of soil of different colors underneath.

The color of that layer of soil was different from the grayish-white of the surface layer; it was more yellowish and darker.

It looked like it had been turned over and then covered up.

He landed and crouched at the edge of the crack.

At the cross-section, there is a very shallow scratch hidden in the crack of the soil layer.

It looked as if someone had used their fingertips to gently draw a line while the soil was still soft.

It drew a short arc.

It's exactly the same as the second arc on that stone slab.

Kong Xuan looked in the direction of that short arc.

Slightly north of west.

He got up and continued forward.

After flying for about half an hour, the cracks on the ground gradually decreased, and in their place appeared a low stone hill.

The stone mounds are not high, each only about ten feet high, and they are scattered around.

Like chess pieces scattered haphazardly.

Kong Xuan landed on a rocky hill and looked around.

The arrangement of the stone hills seemed disordered, but when he stood on high ground and looked down, he could see it.

The hills are connected in a line.

It curves gently from southeast to northwest, like a folded road.

He didn't rush into the rocky hill.

Standing on high ground, take in the layout of the entire rocky hill, memorize it, and then step into the air.

It flew northwest along the curve formed by the rocky hills.

The sunlight shifted from overhead to the west, casting his shadow on the rocky hills below, leaping from one to another.

He stopped flying over the thirty-seventh hill.

Because at the top of that hill, there was a flattened stone.

Unlike the surrounding angular stones, this one has a smooth surface, as if it had been polished.

It looks like a small table.

Kong Xuan landed next to that flat stone.

There is a shallow groove on the stone surface, as if it has been repeatedly pressed by something round and blunt.

The shape of the groove matched the outline of the two stone pieces in his sleeve.

Kong Xuan took out the larger stone fragment from his sleeve and placed it into the groove.

Perfectly fitted.

The moment the stone slab embedded itself, the hill beneath his feet trembled slightly.

A very faint sound, as if coming from inside the rocky hill.

Then, a crack appeared at the bottom of the hill.

The gap is narrow, only about the size of a fist, but a dry breeze can blow out from it.

The wind carried the smell of dust and old wood.

Kong Xuan did not rush to look at the crack.

He waited a while to make sure the crack hadn't widened further before crouching down and listening closely to it.

There was a sound coming from the crack.

Extremely light, extremely far, like someone striking another stone with a stone from a great distance.

Once, twice, three times.

The spacing is uniform.

It's like clapping a rhythm.

Kong Xuan listened for a moment, then straightened up.

He took out a stone shard from his sleeve, embedded it into the groove on the stone surface, and waited for a few breaths. Then, a sound of a mechanism turning came from inside the stone mound.

The gap widened a little more.

There was enough room for one person to squeeze in sideways.

Kong Xuan stepped sideways and into the crevice.

The crevice is a narrow passage that slopes downwards.

The walls of the passage were smooth, as if they had been washed by water for a long time, but the place was as dry as a kiln.

After walking for about the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, the passage ahead suddenly opened up.

A stone chamber.

It's not large, only about two zhang in circumference.

In the center of the stone chamber, there is a stone platform.

A stone box was placed on the stone platform.

The stone box was uncovered and left open.

Kong Xuan walked over and looked down.

Inside the stone box was a scroll, its original color no longer discernible, now a dark brownish patina.

Like animal hide, or the fiber of some kind of plant, it has become thin, brittle, and curled over countless years.

He reached out, his fingertips hovering above the reel, but didn't touch it.

If something is left out for too long, it might break if you touch it.

He withdrew his hand.

Turning my gaze to the base of the stone platform, I noticed a carving on the side of the base, resembling a road sign.

The direction of the carvings points to the west wall of the stone chamber.

Kong Xuan walked to the west wall.

There is a line of text carved on the wall, the characters are ancient and the strokes are rough.

Kong Xuan spent a long time trying to decipher the outlines of a few characters.

"North, three..."

The words at the back have been weathered and eroded, leaving only some shallow indentations.

North, what's that?

Three days? Three thousand miles? Three mountains?

Kong Xuan noted down the location and direction of those words, then turned and returned to the stone platform.

The scroll in the stone box is still there.

He looked at it for a moment, but did not take it.

Turn around and go back the way you came.

The crack appeared, and the fissure at the top of the hill slowly closed after he left.

It was as if nothing had happened.

Kong Xuan stood atop the rocky hill, gazing northward.

The sky had darkened, and on the northern horizon lay a deep, dark blue, like a closed eye.

He did not set off immediately.

I sat down on the rocky hill.

The wind came from all directions, blowing his robes.

The two stone pieces lay quietly in my sleeve, without vibration or warmth.

It was as if they were waiting for him to think things through first.

Kong Xuan sat and thought for a while.

The road begins at the riverbed, goes up to the mountainside, to the stone slabs, and to this rocky hill.

Each place is a marker, and each place points to the next place.

This person walks slowly, but very steadily.

Kong Xuan didn't know how long he had been gone, nor why he had left.

But he knew that this person was not running away.

It is a search.

Once you find something, carve it down and leave it for future generations.

Like lamps lit one by one, lit in the wilderness.

The wind has died down.

Kong Xuan stood up and flew north.

There were no clouds in the night sky, and the starlight was very bright.

The undulations on the ground became smaller and smaller, and the surface became flatter.

The wasteland shimmered with a grayish-white light under the starlight, like an old cloth washed by moonlight.

After flying for about two hours, a black outline appeared ahead.

It is neither a mountain nor a hill.

It is a forest.

Not tall, but dense.

Every tree was about the same thickness and height, so neatly arranged it looked as if it had been measured.

Kong Xuan landed at the edge of the woods.

The trees were thinner and straighter than he had imagined.

The bark is dark brown with a very thin layer of cracks on the surface.

It's like firewood that's been dried for a long time, stuck into the ground and arranged in a row.

He went into the woods.

There were fallen leaves underfoot, but they made no sound when you stepped on them.

The fallen leaves were dry, as thin as paper, with curled edges.

He walked for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn before stopping.

In the middle of the forest, there is a different kind of tree.

It was thicker than the surrounding trees and three feet taller.

The bark is a darker color, almost black.

There is a mark on the tree trunk.

Like the engravings I've seen before, the edges are smooth, as if they were repeatedly traced with a blunt instrument.

The mark is shaped like a diagonal line.

From the lower right to the upper left, diagonally through the tree trunk.

Kong Xuan reached out and touched the engraving.

The moment the fingertip touched it, a very faint echo came from inside the tree trunk.

It felt like a piece of wood had been tapped.

He withdrew his hand.

The diagonal line points northeast.

Without hesitation, Kong Xuan turned and walked towards the northeast.

It took about the time it takes to burn two incense sticks to walk through that neat grove of trees.

At the end of the woods was a gentle slope.

The slope wasn't high, but it was covered with a very short layer of grass, grayish-green, as if it had just sprouted and then been frozen.

Kong Xuan walked up the gentle slope and stood at the top.

To the northeast, on the horizon, there was a very faint light.

Like an old lamp hanging under the eaves in the distance.

The light was very weak, as if it was about to go out, but it was indeed shining.

Kong Xuan gazed at that light.

He knew that was the next marker.

He walked along this road for a day, from mountains to stone slabs, from stone hills to stone chambers, from stone chambers to forests, and from forests to the top of hills.

Each point points to the next, like a disassembled chain that he reconnects link by link.

And that light is the next section.

He didn't rush to set off.

I sat down at the top of the hill.

The wind blew from the northeast, carrying the scent of that light.

Dry, old, like something that was lit long ago and has been burning until now.

There was a figure in the firelight, a small cluster, like a person sitting by the fire, head down, face obscured.

Kong Xuan did not look away.

He stared at the shadow for a long time.

The night wind was still blowing, and the light was getting closer and brighter.

The figure in the light gradually became clearer.

It looks like a person sitting cross-legged by the fire, holding a thin twig and poking at the fire.

Kong Xuan stood up and stepped into the air.

They flew toward the direction of that light.

He was thinking that perhaps that shadow wasn't a shadow at all.

Perhaps it was that person himself who traveled a long way, stopped there, lit a fire, and waited for someone to come.

The wind surged in from the northeast, lifting his robes and pushing him forward.

He doesn't fly fast, but he's very steady.

Like a taut thread, it pierces through the night, drawing ever closer to the light that awaits it.