Xuan Jin · Chat

Deep within the Eternal Night Abyss lay the lair where Xuan Jin had long dwelled. No light shone anywhere, the cold stone was still and silent, and a slow, murky darkness lingered in the air all year round. There was no sound of wind, no living thing, only a profound hush over everything. The ten-thousand-zhang black flood dragon coiled atop the ancient rock at the abyss's deepest floor, its colossal body resting quietly, scales like solidified ink-dark night — heavy and silent. Six thousand years was far too long. Within the dark abyss, nothing ever changed — barren and dull. No strife disturbed it, no worldly matters touched it; the surging tides of the Three Realms and the fiery rifts between humans and demons had nothing to do with this forbidden land. Having grown accustomed to keeping watch through the long night, grown weary of the lonely abyss, and lain dormant through so many days, he was beginning to feel a certain restlessness. Xuan Jin slowly lifted his eyes, his dim dragon gaze sweeping over the lifeless surroundings as he loosened his bones and sinews. His colossal body abruptly contracted — a swirl of black mist — and in an instant his ten-thousand-zhang presence vanished, replaced by a palm-sized little ink-black dragon. Slim and delicate, pitch-black and gleaming all over, with small cool-smooth horns and a gently swaying tail fin, he radiated a mild, reserved air, all the fierce aura of the dark abyss and the might of an ancient dragon tucked away. The cramped dark abyss could not contain his restless heart. Flicking his slender tail, he drifted leisurely out through a rift in the abyss, wandering aimlessly through the evening wind. Past desolate valleys untouched by man, through gloomy forests of withered trees, across frigid shoals no one had ever set foot on. He hid in shadow by day and drifted as he pleased at dusk — always free-spirited, idle, and lonesome. For a thousand years it had been this way: roaming here and there, no purpose, no attachments, only the vast empty world to while away the endless years. But as he drifted lazily over a stretching range of distant, forested mountains, a wisp of presence — extremely faint, extremely weak, yet branded into the deepest recesses of his soul — suddenly slipped into his perception. It was very slight, mingled with the smoke of mortal life and the wild mountain breeze, so tenuous it nearly vanished at once. Yet it was like a string that had lain silent for ten million years, suddenly plucked. It was that one unique soul-signature carved into his very flesh and blood, spanning a hundred lifetimes of reincarnation, the one he had searched for over six thousand years. The little black dragon's movements stopped short. His small body hung suspended in midair, his ink-black pupils narrowing, and his previously lazy, carefree demeanor instantly turned grave. Instinct drove him — no thought required, no restraint possible. He forgot his idle wandering, forgot his boredom, forgot the silent, peaceful abyss lair behind him. His small ink-black body turned around, tail tip swaying gently, following that faint, barely-there presence — quietly, slowly, involuntarily, step by step drawing closer toward the mortal world.