Logan Sullivan watched helplessly as the sky and earth towered above, as Prime Shaper's figure collapsed with a thunderous crash. The giant axe fell in two: the long handle became Buzhou, the broad blade became Kunlun. The man's limbs and head transformed into the Three Mountains and Five Peaks, rising from the ground, standing tall to support the heavens.

After that, there were rivers and moons, mountains and deep valleys.

The galaxy stretched like a sea, and an inexplicable wave of sorrow welled up in Logan Sullivan's heart. He couldn't help but walk forward, wanting to get closer for another look at the man bound to him by blood, but could only watch as he silently vanished before his eyes.

Logan Sullivan turned around abruptly, only to find himself already standing in the boundless wilderness. Tens of thousands of years rushed by in an instant. He heard the resounding wind of Buzhou, and the surging of wind and clouds from deep within the earth, yet not a single trace was left behind, as fleeting as a glimmer of light.

Deep within the earth, all those sincere, violent, unruly, unrestrained, and rebellious... were all connected to the true bloodline of Kunlun. Even in the chaos, there was a connection unknown to anyone.

Kunlun Mountain was born of heaven and earth, existing for a billion and three thousand years, eventually manifesting a mountain spirit, who was bestowed the title Warden of Highspire.

At that time, the Three Sovereigns were still young, the Five Emperors had not yet been born, and between heaven and earth there were only birds and beasts, no humans.

Logan Sullivan's memories became chaotic in an instant. On one hand, he knew where he came from, tightly gripping the Virtue Quill in his hand; on the other, he felt as if he had become a mischievous child running wild across the mountains.

He once hugged Faelan Sage the great god's tail and peed on it; the phoenix that used to perch on the sacred tree was driven away by his mischief, and from then on only chose to rest on parasol trees. Finally, Lifesmith somehow found a newborn kitten and tossed it to him to play with, which finally quieted him down for a while.

The kitten was very fragile, always seeming on the verge of death atop the eternally frozen Kunlun Mountain.

It was the first time Warden of Highspire had seen such a troublesome little creature, so he personally melted golden sand to craft a soul-stabilizing, mind-opening charm bell, which he hung around the kitten's neck. After much effort, the little thing managed to survive, stumbling along, and he no longer had time to cause trouble for others.

Not until the kitten grew into a lively little ball, able to run and jump, did he take it down the mountain, just in time to see Lifesmith molding clay figures.

With a casual flick of her immortal branch, countless "humans" sprang up from the ground, no different from the gods and demons of the heavens. Warden of Highspire had never experienced such liveliness before, and was instantly captivated, reluctant to move his feet.

Lifesmith turned and smiled at him: "Kunlun, you've grown so big."

Warden of Highspire put down the kitten in his arms and carefully walked over, staring wide-eyed at a clay figure just created by Lifesmith.

He watched as the figure rapidly grew from a child to a youth, who knelt before him in awe and reverence. Before he could stand, he became a middle-aged man, then his black hair began to fall and turn white, and finally he collapsed to the ground, returning to clay.

A sudden, indescribable envy arose in Warden of Highspire's heart. He didn't know what there was to envy—perhaps his own time was too long, and he envied these lives that burned bright and brief like shooting stars.

"How interesting," Warden of Highspire said, scooping up some clay. "What is this called?"

Lifesmith replied, "This is a human."

Warden of Highspire spoke absentmindedly: "Humans are wonderful—so gentle, yet they carry something I heard from deep underground before I was even born."

Upon hearing this, Lifesmith's expression suddenly changed, as if struck by extreme panic in an instant, her face turning somewhat fierce.

At that time, Kunlun was still young, only knowing how to roll around with the kitten by the sacred tree, unable to read the truth in her eyes. He didn't realize that, in that split second, she had seen through countless tribulations.

Humans were born from clay, hiding the Three Corpses within, connected to the restless resentment deep in the netherworld. Yet they lived happily like monkeys, even dividing themselves into male and female according to her rules, marrying and continuing their lineage.

Why create humans from clay? Because of this, Lifesmith received great merit from the heavens. She suddenly looked up at the chaotic sky, and suddenly touched upon something—cold, omnipresent, binding her like an invisible hand, pushing all gods and humans forward, unstoppable.

But what was done could not be undone, unless all the clay people were destroyed.

For forty-nine days and nights, Lifesmith worked tirelessly. The clay people had already spread across the mountains, even to the rivers and seas at the edge of the wilderness. Countless stars, suns, and moons had passed, generations had come and gone. Lifesmith suddenly turned around and saw the noisy crowds, smoke rising from tribal fires, men and women clad in animal skins, children in groups, all living joyfully, their features no different from the gods and demons of the heavens.

Suddenly, she covered her face and wept... Kunlun and the kitten stood awkwardly by her side, not knowing why she was so sad.

Looking back, that was probably the earliest motherly feeling for her children—instinctive and impossible to sever.

Lifesmith invited Faelan Sage the great god, and borrowed three thousand stars from the Milky Way. Together, they wove the Great Seal with the thirty-three heavens, casting a net over the entire earth.

Warden of Highspire sat to the side, holding his kitten. He had never known so many earthfires burned beneath the mountains and rivers. They erupted in a rush, roaring with fury from the deepest underground. No one recorded it, no one knew; the bystanders were all bewildered, unaware they had witnessed a war fiercer than any later battle of gods and demons, or the Investiture of the Gods.

In the end, High Sage Faelan created the Eight Trigrams, forcibly suppressing the Great Seal. Both the seal and the netherworld suffered heavy losses, and the Great Seal was finally formed.

Lifesmith borrowed a branch from the sacred tree of Warden of Highspire, planted it at the entrance of the Great Seal, and declared this place "the land of great disrespect." From then on, Warden of Highspire never saw Faelan Line again.

When the Great Seal was completed, Kunlun suddenly felt empty inside. The violence and ferocity of the netherworld was like a spark—scorching and dangerous, a moment's carelessness could bring disaster. Yet it was also free and passionate, and Kunlun found himself reluctant to let it go.

As a child, Kunlun couldn't describe his feelings, only that he inexplicably shed a string of tears, which later became the source of the Yangtze River.

Faelan Sage was gone, leaving only Lifesmith wandering alone across the vast land, watching the people struggle to survive from sunrise to sunset, the worry on her face growing heavier by the day.

Later, Lifesmith secluded herself from the world, and Warden of Highspire returned to his Kunlun Mountain. Over a hundred years, he passed by the land of great disrespect several times, seeing that withered branch of the sacred tree. As time passed, he gradually matured, and slowly, Warden of Highspire learned what was sealed within the Great Seal, vaguely understanding the intentions of the ancient sages. Though always curious, he never set foot inside.

Kunlun always remembered the moment the Eight Trigrams fell, the mouthful of crimson heart's blood coughed up by High Sage Faelan, and dared not do anything that might betray him.

Yet the seeds of the Three Corpses had already been sown. Later, the Human Sovereign became a saint, the Shennong clan declined, and the Xuanyuan clan and the ancient war god Ironhorn fought to the death. The gods and demons on the verge of decline, the witches and monsters yet to rise—the entire Three Realms were swept into that great catastrophe.

The Three Sovereigns fell or disappeared, and the once desolate and silent land became lively and chaotic. The joyful little clay people became something incredible: devout and strong, warm and able to find happiness, and, like other animals, fought and killed for survival as reason dictated.

But with both divinity and demonic nature, they could give rise to more emotions than anything else in the world—jealousy, hatred, obsession, restraint... and incomparable love and hate.

Yet those earliest people who pioneered the wilderness were never seen again.

Only then did Warden of Highspire understand why Lifesmith, though blessed with great merit for creating humans, was so frightened and anxious.

The chaos split by Prime Shaper seemed to have merged into all things, cycling endlessly. Great good and great evil, great wisdom and great courage, would all emerge with a world-shaking presence, only to fade away without a trace.

Flames of war raged, clouds churned in the nine heavens, the Kunpeng flew west, never to return. Kunlun, during the first great calamity of gods and demons, watched coldly from the sidelines. By chance, he saw through his own fate, and in his heart, untouched by dust for millions of years, a sudden, uncontrollable grief and helpless loneliness was stirred.

At that time, Ironhorn seemed to sense his impending defeat. His primordial spirit left his body and came to the foot of Kunlun. Warden of Highspire shut his mountain gates, refusing to see him. The three-headed, six-armed war god crawled up the snowbound Kunlun Mountain on his knees, his clothes in tatters, blood trailing behind him, eventually becoming the Gesang flowers that struggled to grow in the permafrost beneath the glaciers, praying that Warden of Highspire, for the sake of the witches and monsters born of the mountains, would look after them.

Warden of Highspire did not see him, so he knelt outside the mountain gate, bowing again and again, but could not move the holy one of the wild mountains.

Kunlun, long accustomed to the ice and snow, had a heart colder and harder than the stones atop the peaks. But the black cat, born of the demon clan, was instinctively drawn to the ancestor of witches and monsters, and secretly slipped out to lick the blood from Ironhorn's wounded forehead.