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

Kong Xuan watched the ball of fire fly closer and closer.

The firelight wasn't a lamp, but a bonfire.

Born on the wilderness, with no shelter around.

The wind came from all directions, blowing the fire askew, but it didn't go out.

Kong Xuan landed in front of the fire, his boots sinking into the ashes.

A person was sitting by the fire.

He wore a greyish-white linen dress, with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, and held a thin twig in his hand.

He is poking at the fire.

The man looked up at Kong Xuan, then lowered his head again and continued to stir the fire.

Kong Xuan did not speak immediately.

He sat down opposite the fire, across the flickering flames.

The firelight cast shadows on their faces, creating an interplay of light and shadow.

The man tended the fire for a while, then threw thin branches into it.

How far did you go?

The voice was very soft, as if it had been dried out by fire, and somewhat hoarse.

Kong Xuan thought for a moment and then said, "We'll start from the riverbed."

"Go to that grove, go to that slope."

"Seeing the firelight over here, I came over."

The man nodded: "Then you're not walking slowly."

"They walk faster than I did back then."

Kong Xuan looked at him: "How long have you been gone?"

The man was silent for a moment: "A long time."

"It's been so long I can't remember."

"I only remember that at the beginning, there was water in this wasteland."

"Later, the water dried up, the grass withered, and the road was cut off."

"I buried stones as I walked."

"I was thinking that maybe someone would walk along those stones someday."

Kong Xuan did not respond.

The man looked up at him: "You took that piece from under the riverbed?"

"Take it."

"What about the area halfway up the mountain?"

"I took it too."

"What's underneath the stone slab?"

Kong Xuan paused for a moment: "I didn't take the one under the stone slab."

"I only looked at the pattern on it."

After a moment of silence, the man said, "You are more patient than I am."

"When I first saw that stone slab, I dug it out immediately."

"As a result, the soil under the stone slab collapsed, and it took a long time to fill it back in."

After he finished speaking, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

It looked like an expression about to burst out laughing, but it didn't work.

A spark exploded in the fire, splashed onto the ash, and quickly went out.

Kong Xuan asked, "Why did you bury those things?"

The man poked at the fire: "Because I'm looking for something."

"I've been searching for many years, but I haven't found it."

"But on my way to find it, I've been to many places."

"I think someone should know about those places."

"They buried a stone and marked it."

"In case someone else wants to take this path, at least they won't have to start from scratch."

Kong Xuan was silent for a moment: "What are you looking for?"

The man did not answer immediately.

He threw the twig in his hand back into the fire, watching the sparks rise and drift away.

"I'm looking for a tree."

Kong Xuan's gaze shifted slightly: "What kind of tree?"

"have no idea."

The man said, "I've only seen the fruit it bears."

"It was a seed, very small, like a burnt pebble."

"When I found it, it already had no buds."

"But it's warm when I hold it in my hand."

"It seems like the thing inside isn't dead yet."

"I thought that a tree that can bear these seeds must still be alive somewhere."

"I want to find it."

Kong Xuan reached into his sleeve, his fingertips touching the seed hidden deep inside.

It was warm, exactly as this person described.

He didn't take it out.

"Did you find it?" he asked.

The man shook his head: "No."

"I walked to the very end of this wasteland, and there was nothing there."

"Then I stopped."

"They lit a fire and sat down."

"I was thinking that maybe one day, someone else would find those seeds and come here."

"I can tell him that there is no road ahead."

"There's no need to go any further."

Kong Xuan sat opposite the fire, the flames flickering between the two of them.

He said, "That seed is with me."

The man's hand paused.

He raised his head, looked at Kong Xuan, and his eyes flashed in the firelight.

"Here with you?"

Kong Xuan took the seed out of his sleeve and opened his palm.

The seed lay in my palm, dark and dull, with a thin layer of scorch marks on its surface.

In the firelight, it gleamed with a warm, gentle sheen.

The man stared at it for a long time.

Then he reached out and hovered his hand above the seed without touching it.

Is it still alive?

Kong Xuandao: "Living."

"I planted it, and it sprouted."

The man remained silent for a long time.

The fire crackled and popped.

"That's good," he said.

The sound was softer than before, like a taut string that had been stretched for a long time suddenly loosening.

He withdrew his hand, picked up a thin twig again, and poked at the fire.

"That tree isn't up ahead," he said, "it's in your hands."

"You planted it, and it lived."

"That's the tree."

Kong Xuan did not refute.

The man threw the twig into the fire and stood up.

"I have to go now."

Kong Xuan also stood up: "Where to?"

The man gazed into the distance, where the night unfolded beyond the firelight.

"have no idea."

"But people have already walked on this road, so I don't need to sit and wait anymore."

He turned and walked into the darkness where the firelight could not reach.

He took a few steps and then stopped.

"Take good care of that tree."

"It will grow."

He continued walking forward, his greyish-white linen clothes blending into the night and soon disappearing from sight.

The fire was still burning.

Kong Xuan stood by the fire, the wind surging in from all directions, the flames flickering.

He put the seed back into his sleeve and stood there for a long time.

Then he squatted down, scooped up a handful of ash, and sprinkled it on the fire.

The fire gradually died down, the embers glowing with a dark red light.

He waited until the fire was completely extinguished before turning around, stepping into the air, and returning along the same route.

The night wind swept past me, carrying the scent of ashes.

When I returned to the crack, a line of gray and white had already appeared on the horizon.

The Golden-Winged Roc sat under the tree, having finished weaving the bamboo cage in his hand.

Seeing Kong Xuan land, he looked him up and down, then his gaze settled on Kong Xuan's empty hands: "Didn't bring anything back?"

"No," Kong Xuan said. "I saw someone."

"one person?"

"The person who buried the stone."

The Golden-Winged Roc put down the bamboo cage and sat up straight: "Where did you see it?"

"At the end of the wasteland, he lit a fire and sat there."

"He told me he was looking for a tree."

"I've searched for a long time, but I haven't found it."

"I showed him the seeds, and he said that was what he was looking for."

"Then he left."

The Golden-Winged Roc was silent for a moment: "What does he look like?"

"A greyish-white linen coat, sleeves rolled up, not very tall."

He speaks very slowly, as if he thinks through every word before he speaks.

After listening, the Golden-Winged Roc did not ask any further questions.

He looked down at the bamboo cage he had woven in his hand, turned it around, and then hung it on a branch of a small tree.

Bamboo cages are sturdier than straw cages and hardly move in the wind.

"When more birds come," he said, "they can stay longer."

As the morning light gradually spread, it illuminated the row of tender buds, the pale purple flower, and the empty base of the bamboo cage.

A breeze surged from the white light and brushed against Kong Xuan's face.

He sat down under the tree, leaning against the trunk.

The seed lay quietly in my sleeve, still warm.

The man said there was no road ahead.

But the seed is still growing.

Then there's still a way.

As dawn broke, the row of tender buds had already sprouted their second leaves in unison.

The leaf was a size larger than the first one, and the purple veins along the edges were clearer, as if someone had redrawn them with a fine brush.

The Golden-Winged Roc squatted by the nursery, using bamboo strips to build a small fence around the tallest seedling.

He worked slowly, carefully shaving each bamboo strip flat and binding the ends tightly.

"Once they grow a bit bigger, we'll have to plant them separately. If they're crowded together, their roots will fight."

He spoke without looking up.

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

The morning light fell on his shoulders, on his sleeves, and on the tips of the tender buds.

He stood there for a while, then turned and walked to the tree, sitting down next to the Golden-Winged Roc.

"That person said there was no road ahead."

The Golden-Winged Roc continued its work: "You believe me?"

Kong Xuan thought for a moment: "He walked a long way before stopping. When he said there was no road, there really wasn't one."

"But he also said that the seeds are in my hands."

The Golden-Winged Roc finished securing the last bamboo strip, straightened up, looked around, and nodded in satisfaction: "The seed is in your hand, the path is in your hand."

That person's road has come to an end, but yours has not.

Kong Xuan remained silent.

He took the seed out of his sleeve and spread it in his palm; the seed was a size larger than before.

Most of the scorch marks on the surface have faded, revealing a warm brown color underneath, like a carefully polished fruit pit.

Sunlight fell on the seed, making it shimmer slightly.

The Golden-Winged Roc tilted its head and glanced at it: "It's changed."

"Um."

"Like being awake."

Kong Xuan put the seeds back into his sleeve and stood up.

The pale purple flower swayed gently in the morning breeze, the silver lines along the edges of its petals shining brightly like silk in the sunlight.

The light spot in the center of the flower was a little brighter than yesterday, as if something was slowly taking shape inside.

Kong Xuan looked at the flower and suddenly said, "I need to go to the North again."

The Golden-Winged Roc raised its head: "The North?"

"That man came from the north. He said the water had dried up, the grass had withered, and the road was blocked."

"I want to go and see where it broke."

The Golden-Winged Roc remained silent for a moment, then stood up: "I'll go with you."

Kong Xuan shook his head: "You stay and watch the tree. The crack won't disappear, but the wind can change."

"If that shadowy figure manages to send something over here again while I'm gone, you'll have to keep an eye on it."

The Golden-Winged Roc did not fight any further.

He carefully collected the bamboo strips and placed them under the tree, then straightened up: "How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know. I'll come back as soon as I finish walking."

Kong Xuan took to the air and flew north.

The wind surged in from the south, pushing against his back.

He flew slowly, and each step was steady.

The wasteland beneath my feet unfolds in the morning light, gray and white, like an old mirror that has been worn smooth.

As he flew over the neat grove of trees, he glanced down.

The trees cast long, thin shadows in the sunlight, arranged neatly like a marching army.

When we flew over that gentle slope, the short, grayish-green grass on the slope was gone, leaving only a layer of dry, cracked soil.

Like the traces left after the water recedes.

He continued flying north.

The wasteland began to change.

The ground was covered with small, uneven craters, as if something had pecked at it, or as if raindrops had made them.

Kong Xuan slowed down and flew low.

He could see the shapes of the potholes clearly; each one was small, about the size of a fist, with neat edges.

It doesn't look like it was formed naturally; it looks more like someone used a blunt object to tap it out of the ground.

He landed and squatted down next to a pothole.

There was a thin layer of grayish-white powder at the bottom of the pit. Touching it, my fingertips felt slightly rough, like crushed seashells.

He picked up a bit of powder, held it to his nose and sniffed it. It had no smell, but the dry scent was exactly the same as the scent of the stone shards in his sleeve.

Kong Xuan stood up and continued walking north along the path of the potholes.

The potholes are intermittent, sometimes far apart, sometimes connected, as if someone is walking and tapping the ground with their cane.

A broken road sign was left behind.

After walking for about two hours, the potholes gradually decreased.

Instead, there was a dark brown ground, the soil was more compacted, as if it had been repeatedly trampled.

Kong Xuan stopped at the edge of that dark brown ground.

He squatted down, placed his palm on the ground, and felt a faint warmth emanating from his fingertips.

There was something deep underground, warm, like a heart buried underground, beating slowly.

He closed his eyes to sense for a moment, then opened them.

There were no fragments, no stone boxes, no stone slabs, nothing at all underground.

But that warmth was real, like a sleeping river flowing slowly deep underground.

Kong Xuan stood up and continued walking forward along the dark brown ground.

After walking for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, a low mound appeared ahead, like a forgotten field ridge.

He stepped over the ridge, and the ground beneath his feet suddenly softened.

It felt like stepping on a thick layer of fallen leaves, with the soles of the boots sinking slightly.

He looked down and saw that the soil beneath his feet was dark brown, loose, and damp.

It was completely different from the dry, gray wasteland around it.

It's like a small, forgotten wetland.

He squatted down and used his hands to brush away the top layer of soil.

The soil layer was very thin and could be easily broken apart, revealing a darker type of soil underneath, which was slightly damp.

He rubbed a little soil between his fingertips, and the particles scattered between his fingertips.

The soil was mixed with fine black particles, like charcoal dust or burnt grass ash.

He held the particles to his nose and sniffed them.

It's wood ash.

Someone burned something here a long time ago.

Kong Xuan stood up and looked around.

This patch of moist soil is not large, only a few feet in circumference.

Like a forgotten patch, embedded in the gray wasteland.

At the edge of the soil, there is a shallow, semi-circular ditch, as if it had been carved out by water.

But the ditch had dried up, and a hard crust had formed at the bottom.

He looked at the ditch, then at the black soil beneath his feet, and a vague outline formed in his mind.

There used to be water here, very shallow water, meandering, flowing from afar, making a bend here, and then flowing into the distance again.

Someone stopped by the water, started a fire, burned something, and left the ashes in the ground.

Then the person continued walking.

Kong Xuan walked along the dry ditch for a while; the ditch was running westward.

He turned and followed the direction of the ditch.

After walking for about half an hour, the ditch gradually became shallower and eventually disappeared completely.

But the soil beneath his feet was still a darker shade than the surrounding area, like a road that had been covered up.

He continued westward.

After walking for another hour, a tree appeared ahead.

The tree is not tall, only a little over ten feet.

The branches are crooked and the bark is rough, as if it has been blown by the wind for many years and has grown its own shape.

The tree crown is not large, but the leaves are green.

It is the only living tree in this wasteland.

Kong Xuan walked to the tree and looked up.

The tree canopy is sparse, and the sky can be seen through the branches and leaves.

There was a shallow scratch on the tree trunk, as if something had gently grazed it, leaving a mark.

The shape of the engraving is a downward arc, like an inverted bowl.

Kong Xuan reached out and touched the engraving.

It feels smooth to the touch, as if it has been repeatedly stroked.

He withdrew his hand and walked around the tree.

On the back of the tree, near the roots, there was a small mound of soil that was slightly raised, as if something had pushed it from below.

He crouched down and used his hands to brush away the layer of loose soil.

Something was sticking out from underneath.

It is grayish-white with rounded edges, as if it has been polished.

He continued digging, and gradually the thing was revealed in its entirety.

It is a ceramic jar.