Silence.
On Hanyun Peak, the stillness was only broken by the delicate friction of falling snowflakes and the pitter-patter of raindrops, interweaving together as a pale blue light flowed past, filling every pupil.
Yu Mugao's complexion was as pale as a sheet of paper, silent and speechless.
The scene unfolding before him was shockingly profound—the Yu Family's inherited treasure, the Foundation Establishment Magical Instrument known as the Jade Smoke Mountain, floated listlessly in mid-air, reverting to its original form and spinning quietly. Yu Xiaogui had ceased his mournful wailing, eyes tightly shut, face ashen as gold leaf.
Between Yu Mugao's palms shone the brilliance of mana, tirelessly working over the dreadful wound at his father's waist; the smooth and even injury left by sword qi barely kept his father's life force intact, his lips trembling, not daring to lift his head.
