Not sure how much time had passed before the underground finally quieted down. The thick, disorienting black mist miraculously began to slowly dissipate. The survivors, disheveled, poked their heads out from various corners, cautiously probing their surroundings.

Holly Harlow whispered, “Fourth Uncle, what’s going on?”

Uncle Seth shushed her, releasing his spiritual sense to carefully scan the area.

Just then, Holly Harlow suddenly let out a small gasp. Uncle Seth turned his head and saw that the branch of Primewood, which had inexplicably sprouted a third tender bud, was slowly floating out of her hand. Holly Harlow immediately tried to chase after it, but Uncle Seth grabbed her: “Wait, what are you doing?”

Holly Harlow was a bit anxious: “William Sherman saved my life, and I promised him I’d find a good place to plant it. How can I lose the branch of Primewood?”

With that, she forcefully broke free from Uncle Seth’s grip and, like a fearless newborn calf, dashed out. Holly Harlow had only been born for a few hundred years and had no idea of the dangers of the world. She had never even heard of the “Great Sealing of Houtu,” let alone felt any fear, so she charged out recklessly and without hesitation.

Uncle Seth hesitated for a moment, but ultimately, still worried, managed to transform legs and followed after her.

The branch of Sacredwood flew straight toward the Wangchuan River. The black mist on the water’s surface had completely cleared, revealing the deep, icy waters below. Primewood hovered in the air for a moment, then plunged straight down.

Holly Harlow instinctively felt a bit afraid of the Wangchuan waters, but then remembered her promise. She paused, steeled herself, revealed her giant python form, and with a splash, dove in as well. Uncle Seth followed closely behind.

To others, these two snakes seemed utterly reckless. Even though things had inexplicably quieted down for a moment, who knew what was really happening with the Great Seal? Maybe it was just brewing for another eruption. Jumping in now was practically courting death.

Holly Harlow and Uncle Seth followed Primewood as it sank. Uncle Seth’s eyes flickered—he was experienced, and by now he had a good idea: the direction Primewood was sinking was exactly where the legendary Virtue Tree was said to be.

Sure enough, before long, they saw the withered, towering Virtue Tree. After millions of years of stillness, Virtue Tree suddenly extended its dry branches, slowly undulating in the Wangchuan waters, gently trembling, sending out soft ripples as if welcoming something.

The branch of Primewood landed beside Virtue Tree, burrowing into the deepest soil.

Then, at a speed visible to the naked eye, it quickly took root and sprouted, growing leaves and branches. In just a moment, it stood tall and lush, forming a canopy that shone alongside the ancient Virtue Tree.

Next, it extended soft, slender tendrils, gently wrapping around the Virtue Tree that had been dead for millions of years. Holly Harlow suddenly covered her mouth in astonishment—a tiny new bud had sprouted from the withered tree!

The two giant trees continued to thicken and grow taller, reaching a thousand zhang in length, rising from the devastated Wangchuan waters. Their green shade spread over the ruined remains of the Hall of the Underrealm King, flourishing ever more. From afar, the crowns’ emerald ribbons surged and billowed, stretching as far as the eye could see.

The wounds on Uncle Seth’s body miraculously healed under the trees. His gaze finally fell behind the Virtue Tree—the former Great Sealing Stone of Houtu had vanished.

The Great Sealing of Houtu had collapsed. Yet on the earth, once shrouded in black mist and ghostly wails, blazing flames suddenly erupted. The four pillars returned to their places. Perhaps soon, a new Great Seal would be forged. Perhaps…

On the surface, Zach Warren suddenly murmured, “What’s that… sound?”

“It’s the mountains,” Embergrower’s Cauldron listened for a moment. “The sound of all the mountains weeping together.”

Zach Warren’s eyes widened. “Mountains can cry?”

Embergrower’s Cauldron was silent for a moment. “Yes. Legend says that only when Prime Shaper fell did all the mountains weep together. Even when Warden of Highspire became the Soulbound Lamp, there was never such a sound. Perhaps, at that time, he wasn’t truly annihilated in both body and soul.”

Zach Warren stood in a daze for a long while before she realized what he meant. Whether it was William Sherman or Soulwarden, she hadn’t had much connection with them, yet when she noticed, tears were already streaming down her face—ghosts aren’t supposed to cry easily, she knew that, but she simply couldn’t stop.

Zane Shaw sighed, reaching out to pull her into his arms.

At that moment, a familiar voice gently said, “Silly girl, why are you crying?”

Zach Warren started and looked down. At some point, Logan Sullivan had opened his eyes and was slowly standing up.

Meeting his gaze, Zach Warren suddenly felt an indescribable strangeness. He was indeed the Director Sullivan she’d spent so much time with, yet… there was something subtly different about him.

Her heart clenched—had William Sherman really taken away all his memories?

But after scrutinizing Logan Sullivan for a moment, Embergrower’s Cauldron suddenly took three steps back, slowly knelt down, and paid the utmost respect: “Greetings, Mountain Sage.”

Logan Sullivan… Warden of Highspire clasped his hands behind his back and waved casually at him.

Zach Warren felt her vision blur. The man in the wrinkled trench coat was suddenly clad in a long-sleeved, broad-belted green robe, just like the figure who had appeared fleetingly in the ancient past, countless millennia ago.

Embergrower’s Cauldron said softly, “When the Patriarch forcibly suppressed the Mountain Sage’s primordial spirit and sent you into reincarnation, he made a pact with the immortal Soulwarden, binding him to live and die with the Great Seal through all his lifetimes. Now, with the great calamity upon the mortal world and the Great Sealing of Houtu broken, Soulwarden has perished with the Seal, and all causes and effects have come to an end.”

The burning flames turned into a warm orange glow, reflected in Warden of Highspire’s eyes. He was silent for a long time before softly saying, “I know.”

Embergrower’s Cauldron continued, “Soulwarden became a saint as the Wraith King, seeking benevolence and finding it, and in the end, erased your…”

“That’s enough, don’t say any more.” Warden of Highspire didn’t turn his head, his handsome face clouded with indescribable sorrow. “I know it all.”

Embergrower’s Cauldron respectfully lowered his head. After a long while, he continued, “When the Patriarch passed, he ordered me to oversee the contract between him and Soulwarden. Now, this humble god can finally retire.”

Warden of Highspire paid him no mind, only spreading his hands. In his palms was the scale left by Lifesmith, which had once carried an eleven-year cycle of reincarnation. Warden of Highspire murmured to himself, “Embergrower, what is it you wanted to tell me?”

At that moment, a faint sound came from underground. Everyone tensed up like startled birds, but saw only the earth beneath their feet loosening. Then, the crown of a great tree suddenly broke through the soil, its branches lush and green, leaves glistening as if with water from another world. Droplets fell to the ground, and the cracks left by the broken Seal slowly closed together.

What is everlasting?

Why must there be good and evil, right and wrong?

What is life? And what is death?

The furrow between Warden of Highspire’s brows finally relaxed a little. He reached out and caught a leaf falling from a branch.

Suddenly, he asked, “Was it you who transferred Charles Gray into the Special Investigation Bureau?”

Embergrower’s Cauldron replied respectfully, “Yes. When the Patriarch was alive, he ordered me to find someone without yin-yang eyes, but who could see the truth, someone unremarkable yet blessed with great merit from the heavens.”

“I see.” Warden of Highspire sighed softly. “I understand now. Thank you.”

In an instant, Lifesmith’s serpent scale turned to fine powder in his palm.

Darrin Grant finally couldn’t help but ask, “What on earth is going on?”

Warden of Highspire sat cross-legged beneath the Soulbound Lamp, gently stroking the black cat’s head. “Don’t worry, the Soulbound Lamp is still burning.”

With that, he closed his eyes as if entering meditation, like a silent deity who had endured since ancient times, the tiny flame atop the great lamp behind him.

The small electric baton on Charles Gray’s body showed no reaction at all—he no longer cared about fear or terror. His mind was blank, his eyes fixed only on the falling Carter Shaw.

He desperately reached out, grabbing Carter Shaw’s arm with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut, listening to the howling mountain wind roaring past his ears.

At that moment, Charles Gray suddenly realized his body had stopped falling.

Charles Gray opened his eyes in astonishment and saw that, as he fell, he had accidentally knocked open the satchel Carter Shaw had given him. The soul bottles had all rolled out, their lids shattering against the safety rails on either side, and all the souls he had collected inside rushed out in a torrent.

They were not human-shaped, but just as in the bottles, clusters of radiant, shimmering light. Along with the girl on the bridge, the souls of seven or eight people were linked together, forming a great net that spread out from the suspension bridge, barely catching the two of them in the middle.