The sky inside Fang Yuan's immortal aperture turned black.
Not night—something older. A pre-dawn ink, spreading from the edges of memory itself.
Fang Yuan's clone—code-named Hidden Hand—activated a perimeter of starlight Gu. The constellations flickered erratically, showing no futures, only void.
"This is not dream-path," Hidden Hand muttered. "Not fate-path either."
Within the darkness, a single footprint appeared.
It pointed backward.
Far below, inside a memory-glade orchard, an old figure pruned trees that remembered.
Bo Qing.
He looked up. For a moment, his sword Gu trembled.
"The pathless cultivator has moved."
He bowed toward the sky.
"May no one walk that step twice."
In another region, a girl with no face carved sigils into her flesh.
She bore no Gu. Only scars.
The name on her chest read: Zhao Lian Yun.
Her hands bled.
But she smiled.
"The one who forgets has remembered me."
"Now I will return."
Back within the ink-sky, the footprint pulsed once, then split.
Two paths emerged:
One toward the depths of myth.
One toward a place Fang Yuan never visited.
Hidden Hand hesitated. He was a clone—but also a thread-bound eye of the Sovereign.
He touched the edge of the second path.
And saw a world without Gu.
"Impossible," he whispered.
The path blinked shut.
And the footprint was gone.
Somewhere, in a place even Yellow Heaven could not reach, the nameless clone stood at a crossroads made of silence.
He took a step.
And the world bent to make it true.