The silence hung in the air like a dense, heavy fog that was oppressive as soon as Shen Wuji's name came out of his lips.
"The world seemed to shrink to that single word, heavy enough to lock even living bones in place."
Although the sky remained the same colour, the blood mist swirled above the ground as if oceans of blood had collapsed over the world; in the next moment, the crushing weight dissipated.
The oppressive heaviness, like a mountain of weight pressing against them into the ground, vanished in an instant as if snuffed out by the unfathomable hand of some god that need not care for the two mortals they held in a tight grip.
"Awareness crashed back into the old man with a gasp, his lungs burning as if he had been dragged up from deep water."
He had forgotten what breathing felt like.
He almost blacked out again, the sweat dripping off his forehead while the blood continued to flow from his seven orifices.
"He did not know if he had the strength to lift himself upright."
The thought of it seemed more frightening than the impossibility itself. He felt as if a predator had released its prey, wishing only to watch how it writhes in the light.
Xiao Yang lay sprawled out beside him, already set. His body heaved from searing, unimaginable spasms of excruciating pain, staining his robe red.
The old man increased his efforts to pull himself up and kneel in vain. His voice quivered at the back of his throat, but he resolved himself to speak. He wanted to know the answer despite the gnawing dread alighting in his heart.
"Senior… Shen Wuji… may this old one… may I be so bold as to ask… what happened to the Shen Clan?"
There was a long pause. No answer.
Shen Wuji didn't change, still kneeling in front of the jade tomb. The charred spear that transfixed his chest emitted a cold, metal whine.
His hair, dark as the abyss, cascaded down his back like an unscathed river in the midst of the screaming gale.
The quiet thickened.
And then, at last, he looked up, his head cocked not at the old man but at the broken sky beyond, his face impassive. When he did speak, his words were not an answer but a puzzle that dug into the bones of the old man.
""Ask me, mortal: if the gods feared their own shadows, what would they destroy first : the shadows, or the one who cast them?"
The old man stopped. His lips quivered. He was unable to answer, not because he lacked knowledge, but because his mind reeled and shattered. His brain collapsed under the impact of the riddle.
Shen Wuji's lips curved slightly, neither in humor nor joy, but in mockery.
"They did not tremble because of sin, disorder, or blood. They trembled because of envy. Do you understand, mortal? When the sun shines too brightly, even heaven cannot take its heat. It shatters the sun, piece by piece."
The old man's heart thundered violently. His question had been answered, but also left unanswered.
"The horror settled fully. Not weakness. Not corruption. The Shen Clan had fallen for standing too high."
Shen Wuji's cold gaze shifted back to the jade grave. His voice dropped further, curling through the ruins like a whisper of death.
"They called us gods. Then they called us heretics. Tell me, old one, what is worse? To be a blessing worshipped… or a curse feared?"
The old man trembled with fright, a cold sweat running down his spine. His mouth gaped, but he was unable to utter any words; it felt as if everything was consumed.
His gut feeling was that any reaction might bring him to his end, which was why the silence was the answer he chose.
At last, he bowed deeper still, pressing his forehead against the bloody stone.
"This old one… dares not answer."
For the first time, Shen Wuji chuckled. But it was a laugh without warmth, bitter, ancient, older than stars.
"Wise… or cowardly. Perhaps both. Such has always been your kind."
The old man's complexion turned ashen, but he did not rise. His back remained slouched in reverence.
Then silence again. A silence vast, eternal. Shen Wuji's abyssal gaze flickered faintly as he spoke, his tongue weaving riddles of the void.
"The Shen Clan was never destroyed. Can an Eternal Clan be destroyed? Tell me… if the sea were to dry, does the ocean vanish? Or does it wait… for the rivers to return?"
The old man's breath caught. He realized Shen Wuji was not only addressing him, he was addressing the heavens, the jade grave, something deeper than time itself.
Shen Wuji's hands rested upon the grave. His voice was low; however, each word striking like a hammer.
"This is the riddle of eternity and for eternity. A clan that ruled like gods vanished. A bloodline no Dao could erase. These graves are not endings, but doors. And doors… always open when the rightful key arrives."
The grave quivered under his touch. Cracks widened, spilling ancient golden light, veins of shadow slithering with crimson mist.
The old man's eyes went wide with horror.
He felt the Dao itself scream, as if something long-buried was clawing its way back to life.
"Senior Shen…" he whispered, his voice trembling, "…is… is that… your son?"
Shen Wuji's gaze never moved from the grave, but his voice penetrated the old man's bones like ice.
"Son. Heir. Curse. Call it what you will. But know this, mortal, once it awakens, the heavens will bleed. The world will remember. And your bones will wish they had never heard the name Shen."
The old man could barely breathe under the invisible pressure, yet his greed and terror forced one last question.
"Senior… forgive my insolence… but if the Shen endure… why do you kneel here? Why not rise and reclaim what was lost?"
For the first time, Shen Wuji's abyssal eyes turned fully on him.
The spear inserted in his chest clanged, bleeding black light.
His voice was colder than the void between stars, ever could.
"Can't you see? I am already dead."
The old man's heart stopped.
It struck him like lightning: the figure before him, this god, was not alive. This was a corpse of will, of hatred, of oath. A being too powerful for even death to erase.
Shen Wuji smiled, half sorrow, half madness.
"This body is dust. This spear binds me here. I kneel only to wait for the one within. The son who must bear the burden, I cannot. The son who will finish what the Shen Clan began."
The gravestone roared. Blinding, divine light poured through its fissures.
The old man's body began to convulse uncontrollably, and he now fell completely, covering his head. Xiao Yang was still stirring slightly next to him, and his unconscious body responded to the Dao force surge around him in an instinctive way.
Shen Wuji's voice cut through the confusion like a blade, and his eyes blazed like stars.
"My son, get up. The age of silence ends tonight. The Shen is back.
The tombstone broke.
A pale hand emerged from the ruin, radiant, dripping with divine blood.
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