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

Kong Xuan continued south.

The ground color gradually changed from grayish-brown to a darker brown.

Those shallow channels are still there, crisscrossing like a spread-out net.

He walked along one of the ditches for a while, and at the end of the ditch was a low-lying area.

Like a forgotten shallow pond, with a thin layer of fine sand at the bottom.

The sand is grayish-white, dry and fine.

Kong Xuan squatted down and reached into the sand.

When my fingertip touched the bottom, it hit a hard object.

He brushed aside the fine sand, revealing a stone slab.

Smaller than the previous ones, only the size of a palm, with rounded edges.

A line is engraved on the surface, curved with a gentle arc, like a lowered horizon.

Kong Xuan looked at it for a moment, but did not take it away. He covered it with fine sand again.

He stood up.

Ahead, the dark silhouette drew closer.

No longer a blurry shadow on the horizon, its color is deeper and more solid.

Like a wall standing on the earth, darkened by wind and rain.

Kong Xuan walked toward that outline.

The soles of my boots sank into the gray-brown ground, each step steady.

As he got closer, he saw it.

That was the outline of a tree.

A dead tree.

The tree wasn't tall, not much taller than the living tree in the wasteland.

The branches and trunk are bare, and the bark is dark brown, cracked into countless fine lines, as if it had been roasted by fire for a long time.

Kong Xuan stopped in front of the withered tree.

The tree trunk is broken, but it hasn't fallen; its roots are firmly planted in the soil, like a wedge driven into the earth.

There was a deep cut on the tree trunk, deeper than any I had seen before.

The edges are smooth as if they have been repeatedly traced deep into the wood.

The mark is a diagonal line that runs from the lower right to the upper left, across the center of the tree trunk.

Kong Xuan reached out, his fingertips lightly tracing the diagonal line. The wood was dry and hard.

He walked around the dead tree.

On the back of the tree, near its roots, there is a slightly raised patch of soil.

Its shape and size are exactly the same as the one under the living tree before.

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

The soil layer was very shallow, and underneath was a clay pot.

Just like the one buried under that living tree, it was the size of a fist, with its mouth open and empty inside.

But this one isn't empty.

Something was lying at the bottom of the jar.

It's very small, a little bigger than a fingernail, and grayish-white.

Kong Xuan took out the object and held it in his palm. It was a bone fragment.

Lighter than a stone slab, with smooth edges, as if it had been held in one's hand for a long time.

There was a line on the bone fragment, curved, exactly the same as the arc on the previous stone slab.

But at the end of the arc, there is an extra small dot.

It's like someone drawing a line, making a dot at the place where the pen should land, as if saying: I've arrived here.

Kong Xuan held the bone fragment in his palm; it was warm.

He stared at the withered tree for a long time, then squatted down and reburied the pottery jar.

The bone fragments were tucked into the sleeve.

I got up and continued south.

After the dead trees, the wasteland returned to its grayish-white state, flat and empty.

There were no gullies, no moss, and no cracks.

There was nothing there.

It was as if someone walked here, stopped by the withered tree, and then didn't go any further.

Kong Xuan walked for about half an hour.

The wasteland remained flat, the horizon still gray and white, and there was nothing there.

He stopped in his tracks.

The wind blew from the south, dry and hollow, like a drumhead that had been brushed.

He stood there for a while, then turned around and went back the way he came.

When we returned to the crack, it was getting dark.

The Golden-Winged Roc sat under the tree; the trellis for the row of seedlings had already been erected.

Neatly arranged. The grayish-brown bird perched in the bamboo cage, tilting its head to look at him.

The Golden-Winged Roc stood up: "What's to the south?"

Kong Xuan sat down beside him, took the bone fragment from his sleeve, and opened his palm. "A withered tree. Underneath the tree is a pottery jar, just like the previous one."

There was a bone fragment on the bottom of the jar, with an arc engraved on it, ending in a dot.

It's as if it's saying: I've come this far, and I've stopped.

The Golden-Winged Roc looked down at the bone fragment for a long time.

"And then what happened after he stopped there?"

Kong Xuan carefully put away the bone fragments: "I don't know. There are no further traces."

It was as if he walked to that withered tree, knelt down, buried the jar, then stood up and left.

"I don't know where they went."

The wind blew between the two people, stirring the leaves of the row of seedlings, which stood firmly on the bamboo supports.

Kong Xuan leaned against the tree trunk, looking south.

He wondered to himself, why did that person stop by the withered tree?

Is it because you can't walk anymore?

Or is it because they found what they were looking for?

There's still no reason, I just feel like I've come this far enough and don't want to go any further?

He didn't know. But he did know one thing.

The roots of that withered tree are still embedded in the soil, the pottery jar is still buried under the tree, and the arc on the bone fragment is still shining.

The person left, but the things remained.

As long as the things are still there, the road is still there.

The next morning, Kong Xuan went south again.

This time he didn't fly; he walked.

They walk slowly, but each step is steady.

The gray-white wasteland stretched out beneath my feet, vast and flat.

A dry, warm wind blew in my face.

After walking for a long time, he finally saw the withered tree in the distance.

Its dark brown silhouette stands on the wasteland like a wedge driven into the earth.

He walked to the tree, went around to the back of the tree, squatted down, and used his hands to brush away the loose soil, revealing the lid of the earthenware jar.

He didn't open it.

Just look at it, look at that patch of soil that has been covered up again and then dug up again.

Then he stood up, took two steps back, and sat down in front of the dead tree.

Leaning against the tree trunk, gazing south.

The wind blew from the south and brushed against his face.

The wasteland stretched out on the horizon, empty.

He sat there for the entire morning.

The sunlight moves from the east to overhead, and then from overhead to the west.

He didn't move.

It looked like they were waiting for something, or perhaps they were just sitting there.

In the afternoon, the wind suddenly changed direction.

The wind shifted from south to northwest, and in the dry, warm air, a tiny particle landed on his shoulder. He raised his hand to catch it, opening his palm.

It is a seed, very small, grayish-brown.

It was exactly the same as the seed that fell from that living tree.

But this one had no scorch marks, its surface was smooth, and it was warm to the touch, as if it had just been blown off a branch by the wind.

Kong Xuan gripped the seed tightly and stood up.

He walked to the front of the dead tree, squatted down, dug a small hole next to the roots, put the seed in, covered it with soil, and gently pressed it down.

Then he stood up, looked down at the newly covered patch of soil, stared for a while, and then turned and left.

Dusk was falling when we returned to the crack.

The Golden-Winged Roc squatted by the nursery, removing the bamboo strips from the tallest seedling.

It's standing very steadily now.

"I went south today and sat by a withered tree."

A seed fell on my shoulder.

"I planted it next to the tree roots."

The Golden-Winged Roc stopped what it was doing: "Beside that withered tree?"

"Um."

"Then it might survive."

Kong Xuan sat down beside him, leaning against the tree trunk, gazing at the white light: "I know."

That night, he went south again.

Night has fallen, and the wind has died down.

He stood in front of the withered tree, looking at the spot where the seed had been planted.

The soil was still loose, as if it had just been turned over.

He crouched down, placed his palm against the soil, and felt a faint warmth emanating from deep within the earth, like a heart that had just begun to beat.

The withered tree stood beside him, its bare branches forming a dark brown silhouette in the night, no longer lonely.

He stood up, turned around, and went back.

When I returned to the tree, the Golden-Winged Roc was already asleep. The bird in the bamboo cage was also curled up in a ball.

He sat by the tree roots, leaning against the trunk, and closed his eyes.

The three stone pieces and the bone fragment lay quietly side by side in the sleeve. The night wind picked up a bit, stirring the row of seedlings. Their leaves swayed gently between the bamboo strips, without falling over.

It was still dark.

The wind is still blowing.

But the seeds have already fallen into the soil and are waiting.

As dawn broke, the seed sprouted.

The bud tips are snow-white, like a thin needle that has been soaked in water.

Kong Xuan squatted beside the withered tree, looking at the sprout.

The bud tip trembled in the morning light, then slowly straightened up, heading towards the sunlight.

He reached out and touched the tip of the bud.

It felt slightly cool to the touch, like touching dew.

There were no scorch marks or old damage.

Clean, new, as if it had never been baked by fire, frozen, or forgotten.

He withdrew his hand, took a half step back, and sat down against the withered tree.

The wind is blowing from the south.

He sat here all morning.

Sunlight filtered through the bare branches of the tree, falling on the tips of the new buds.

The bud grew a little taller, and the leaves unfolded, thin and with a layer of very fine hairs along the edges.

Like a young animal that has just learned to breathe.

In the afternoon, the Golden-Winged Roc arrived.

He flew over, folded his wings, and landed beside the withered tree. He looked down at the bud and then at Kong Xuan.

"It's growing."

Kong Xuandao: "Hmm."

"It's faster than the one over there."

"The soil here is older. It recognizes this kind of soil."

The Golden-Winged Roc didn't press the matter. He sat down next to Kong Xuan, leaning against the withered tree.

The two stood side by side, gazing at the desolate wilderness to the south.

The wind blew from the south; it was dry and hollow.

But a very faint scent lingered in the air, new and different from yesterday's.

"There's something over there," said the Golden-Winged Roc.

"Yes. I can feel it."

"What is that?"

"I don't know. It feels like something is getting closer."

He stood up.

The new shoot swayed gently at his feet, its leaves brushing against his boots as if tugging at him.

Kong Xuan glanced down at it but didn't say anything.

"I'll go check. You stay here."

The Golden-Winged Roc nodded without saying anything more.

Kong Xuan rose into the air and flew south.

The scent grew closer and clearer.

Like a taut line, it was slowly extending towards him from the south.

He flew for about half an hour, and his breath became stronger.

No longer a faint trace, but like an undercurrent seeping from the ground, it was steadily rising. He slowed down and skimmed low.

Changes have occurred on the ground.

No longer a gray wasteland, but a low green expanse, like a layer of newly sprouted grass, sparsely spread on the ground.

The grass sprouts were very thin, almost identical to the sprouts that grew from the seed next to the withered tree.

He squatted down next to the grass sprouts and placed his palms on the ground.

The soil is slightly warm.

The grass sprouts have very shallow roots, which have just begun to penetrate the soil.

But they all face the same direction, all facing south.

Kong Xuan stood up and walked south along the direction of the grass sprouts.

After walking for about two miles, the grass sprouts became denser and greener.

The air began to feel damp.

It was no longer dry; it was as if moisture was gathering in the air from afar.

He stopped in his tracks.

Ahead, at the edge of the wasteland, lies a low-lying area.

In the center of the depression, there is a small patch of water.

It wasn't large, only a few feet in circumference.

The water was grayish-white, like an old, worn-out mirror.

Kong Xuan walked to the water's edge, squatted down, and reached his hand into the water; the water was warm.

When my fingertips touched the bottom of the water, I encountered a hard object.

Smooth and rounded, like a stone that has been washed by water for a long time.

He scooped it up and held it in his palm.

It was a pebble, bluish-gray, slightly smaller than a fist, with a fine, curved line on its surface and a dot at one end.

It has the same pattern as the bone fragment.

The surface of the water rippled with very fine waves, spreading out in concentric circles, as if something had turned over deep underwater.

He looked at it for a moment, then put the pebble into his sleeve.

Without lingering, they returned along the same route.

The Golden-Winged Roc was still leaning against the withered tree. Seeing him return, it glanced at the pebble in his hand: "Found it again?"

"In the water."

"It's like placing things along a path, allowing people to follow and find what they're looking for."

Kong Xuan did not respond. He sat down beside the withered tree, took out the bone fragment and the pebble from his sleeve, and placed them side by side.

The arcs are the same, and the endpoints are also the same.

"This is a pair. One is buried in the ground, and the other is submerged in the water."

"One on the left and one on the right, like the frame of a door."

The Golden-Winged Roc was silent for a moment, then asked, "And what happened after he released all that?"

"The door frame is up; the door panel should be nearby."

Kong Xuan put the bone fragments and pebbles back into his sleeve, stood up, and walked to the front of the withered tree.

He stood still and closed his eyes.

The wind blew from the south and brushed against his face.

He sensed the land beneath his feet, the newly planted seeds, and the grass sprouts spreading southward.

Then he sensed it.

About ten paces directly in front of the dead tree, something was waiting for him beneath the ground.

He walked over, squatted down, and placed his palms on the ground.

The soil layer was denser than the surrounding soil, as if it had been repeatedly trampled.

He brushed away the loose soil, revealing a stone slab.

It's bigger than the previous ones.

The edges are neat and polished smooth.

A picture is carved on the stone slab.

The lines are simple, like an outline.

There are two curved lines on the left and right, with a horizontal line in the middle and a small circle in the center of the horizontal line.

It resembles the shape of a door.

There are two door frames, a lintel, and a keyhole in the center of the door.

Kong Xuan stared at the picture for a long time.

Then he reached out and pressed his fingertips on the small circle.

The stone slab trembled slightly, as if something had been touched.

Then the ground beneath his feet sank half an inch.

He stood up and took two steps back, and the ground sank another half inch.

Then a crack split open from the edge of the stone slab, extending southward along a straight line, as if an invisible knife was cutting through the earth.

The crack did not continue to expand; it stopped at about three feet wide.

The inner wall of the fissure is smooth, extending downwards to an unfathomable depth.

The wind rushed up from the crack, dry and warm.

It smelled the same as the stone fragments on his body.

Kong Xuan stood at the edge of the crevice, looking down.

There was a faint ray of light deep inside, like a lamp burning in the distance.

He didn't rush down.

First, squatted at the edge of the crevice and waited for the gust of wind to stop, then placed the pebble against the inner wall.

The pebbles rolled down the inner wall, making a soft, continuous sound.

The sound lasted for about a dozen breaths, then stopped.

It's like it landed at the bottom.

Kong Xuan listened intently for a moment, then stood up and said to the Golden-Winged Roc, "I'll go down and take a look."

He then stepped sideways into the crevice, using the protruding rock ridges on the inner wall as he descended, one step at a time.

The cave walls were getting colder and colder.

The crack widened, from three feet to ten feet, and then to twenty feet.

When he descended to a depth of about twenty feet, he saw the light.

Pale yellow, with a warm, smooth texture.

He landed at the bottom.

Beneath my feet were hard, grayish-white rocks, dry and free of dust.

Ahead is a low passageway that requires you to bend over to pass through.

At the end of the passage, the light was on.

It is a ceramic lamp.

It wasn't large; it sat on a stone platform, the wick burning with a small, steady flame.

It looked like it had just been lit, yet it also looked like it had been burning for a very, very long time.