After the Great Dao Died

Time flew by. Two months passed in the blink of an eye.

As November approached, night spilled like ink across Cuojin Mountain. Moonbeams painted the snow at the summit a faint, silvery white.

Wind howled down from the heights, carrying pine needles and ice shards. It whimpered through rocky crevices and dead wood, making the mountain's heavy silence tremble.

Chen Lingxi sat cross-legged on a jutting rock.

Suspended halfway up the mountain, the outcropping resembled an eagle's beak. It extended over a zhang from the cliff face, hanging above a hundred-zhang abyss.

The wind had weathered the rock face as coarse as sand, and a thin layer of frost coated it. The chill seeped through his robes into his bones, yet he remained completely oblivious.

That was because he was looking down at the small wooden box before him.

A single pristine white pill rested inside.

Perfectly round like a pearl and glowing white, faint patterns swirled across the pill's surface. It looked as though wisps of cloud had been trapped within that tiny space, exhaling an ethereal radiance.