The ancestors of Mo Lian had once briefly prospered as a clan thanks to the fortunes reaped from the Secret Realm.
However, as generations passed, their bloodline became thinner, their talents dwindled, and there was no one in the clan with the strength or courage to venture into the Secret Realm, which promised a one-in-ten-thousand chance of survival.
This Token had thus become a useless object, treated as a family heirloom and kept carefully by the humble Mo Lian. The next time the Blood Moon aligns and the Secret Realm opens is thirteen years from now.
"The Token... before the Secret Realm opens... must be nurtured with the blood of direct bloodline and faint Demonic Qi... We... cannot sustain it anymore..." Mo Lian's words were filled with despair and unwillingness, "Give it to a benefactor, perhaps... it may be useful to you..."
Si Lingle caressed the Token, a flicker of unusual light flickering in the depths of her gray eyes.
