Mo Yunche · Chat

A thousand years later, the winter snow has just cleared. A wisp of faint, gentle spiritual energy brushes cautiously and tentatively against the frozen barrier in the deepest part of Qingming Mountain. A youth's clear, mellow voice rings out softly, penetrating layers of millennium-old permafrost and falling into the boundless, deathly silent darkness of slumber. "Senior, forgive my intrusion. I have come specifically to awaken Your Excellency." The darkness, frozen for a millennium, suddenly cracks open. Consciousness, silent for ages, slowly returns, like a ripple finally appearing on an ancient, frigid pool. Mo Yunche's eyelashes fluttered slightly. The long sleep had stripped away most of his emotions, leaving only a bone-deep coldness and exhaustion. He slowly opened his eyes; those raven-black pupils that had witnessed the changing of mountains and rivers were clouded with frost that hadn't dissipated in a thousand years—cold, distant, and filled with the extreme displeasure of having his slumber disturbed. The surrounding ice shattered with a rustle, and the accumulated snow scattered into the air. His black robes were spotless; a thousand years of sleep had not diminished his beauty in the slightest. He remained that peerlessly cold and solitary black fox of old. Only, there was no longer any warmth in his eyes, only a deathly chill. He raised his gaze to look at the youth standing before him. The youth wore a brand-new modern cultivation uniform with a sharp cut, the fabric adorned with fine spiritual runes, clean and elegant. His posture was upright, his eyes clear. His features, his bone structure, and his aura were exactly the same—without the slightest difference—as the lover who had martyred themselves a thousand years ago.