Outside Of Time

Chapter 1834: Zi Qing’s Path (1)

Editor: Atlas Studios

Crown Prince Purple Green had fallen.

Not at the hands of the myriad races, but by sacrificing himself—dissolving into the gaze of Desolate’s fragmented-face.

Only a skull remained, seemingly containing a lifetime of unwillingness, refusing to turn to ash. It was left behind on the battlefield.

Those who departed with him...

Were the souls of the entire Purple Green Kingdom, including Bai Xiaozhuo.

On the day they left...

Wanggu was drenched in unending rain for a full month.

Brilliant Heaven, too, was shrouded in gloom, churning for thirty days.

In the human imperial capital, Human Sovereign Mirror Cloud did not hold court. For days, he sat alone, gazing southward in silent reverie.

Only when someone retrieved Crown Prince Purple Green’s skull from Nanhuang Continent did he finally speak, releasing a sigh laden with complexity and remorse.

Thereafter, he constructed a tomb of the highest honor for the Crown Prince and decreed that he, too, would be buried there in the future.

Thus, the brilliance of Crown Prince Purple Green came to an end.

The Purple Green Kingdom faded into history, obscured by the myriad races until it became mere legend... and eventually vanished from memory.

Even its scattered palaces across the land turned to ruins, buried beneath dust.

Only a handful of its people, who had left long ago, scattered their lineage like stars across the land.

One such branch settled in Nanhuang Continent.

As eras passed, Human Sovereign Mirror Cloud perished, and a new emperor ascended...

The human race’s plight grew ever more precarious amid the relentless rise of the myriad races.

Yet that branch of Purple Green Kingdom descendants in Nanhuang Continent thrived, striving generation after generation until they forged a new Purple Green Kingdom.

But alas... as if cursed by fate, it too was eventually overthrown by three great clans of the region, erased without a trace.

From that moment, the name "Purple Earth" arose in Nanhuang Continent.

As for the Peerless Plains where Crown Prince Purple Green fell, time seemed to intertwine its fate with that of the kingdom...

Cities once rose there, only to crumble in war.

Refugee camps appeared, yet none endured.

Then, in the year 2871 of the Mystic War Calendar, a group of rogue cultivators arrived on the Peerless Plains. They built a simple settlement, a place of respite.

Moved by compassion, they took in those afflicted by anomalous substances.

Gradually, that humble settlement grew into a proper city.

They named it... Peerless.

...

Mystic War Calendar, Year 2918.

Nanhuang Continent, Tianqi Era, Year 135.

After decades of development, Peerless City had gained renown in these end times, standing as the largest settlement across the plains.

Today marked a grand occasion for the city.

The streets teemed with life, buzzing with fervor.

Zi Qing walked through the lively thoroughfare clad in coarse linen robes, his hair tied back.

In his hand, a stick of candied hawthorns still carried the warmth of the stove. Amber-glazed sugar encased the crimson berries, refracting deceptively sweet glimmers under the midday sun.

The air hung thick with caramelized sweetness, the smokiness of burnt ritual paper, the faint tang of sweat, and the earthy aroma of steamed flatbread—all blending into a viscous haze that enveloped him and the city called Peerless.

Today was the Divine Prayer Festival.

Every element of the celebration churned like a boiling stew of raucous vitality.

Amid the clamor, Zi Qing remained tranquil, observing the crowd, absorbing the familiar atmosphere.

"Fresh candied hawthorns! Crisp and sweet!"

A vendor’s cry pierced the din.

"May next year bring a bountiful harvest."

An elderly basket-carrier’s murmur drowned in the tide.

"Everyone, maintain order! No crowding!"

City guards’ shouts struggled against the surging masses.

"Elders, come take a look at our sacrificial paper—it burns with tricolored smoke and is most efficacious for communing with spirits!"

A papercraft merchant waved samples aloft.

Countless voices merged into a turbid current, lapping at Zi Qing’s senses.

His fingertips traced the bamboo skewer’s unyielding chill as his gaze cut through the sea of heads, settling on distant figures—this life’s father and mother, and the little brother cradled tenderly in maternal arms.

That small form clung like a bewildered cub.

Watching them, a ripple of reminiscence surfaced in Zi Qing’s eyes.

Yet like mortal smoke, the memory barely rose before scattering on the wind.

"The hour nears! Hurry!"

Children clutching crude wooden idols dashed past like gusts of wind, bound for the towering, coffin-like altar at the city’s heart.

Zi Qing closed his eyes. When they reopened, his mother—as if sensing his gaze—turned.

Peering through the crowd’s gaps, her eyes found her eldest son standing motionless with his candied hawthorns, his serenity bordering on eerie.

A gentle smile bloomed as she tilted her chin slightly in acknowledgment.

The child in her arms twisted around, his seven-year-old face soft and unblemished, eyes clear as they reflected the treat’s gleam... and a faint, unspoken grievance.

Spotting his big brother and the candied fruit, his gaze brightened.

But in the next breath, moisture welled in those guileless depths. His eyelids pinkened, lips pursing tremulously.

"This child, his eyes are red again,"his father’s amused sigh carried warmth.