Chapter One Hundred Eighteen: Looking Back at Heaven and Earth, the Vast Changes of Eternal Ages

Volume Three: Supporting the Cosmos Across Eternal Ages — Heaven and Earth Take Fixed Form

Dao-Transformation was about to begin. At the final moment, Pangu opened his eyes and, with his whole consciousness for the last time, looked back upon this world he had created and guarded through Eternal Ages. Across the Celestial Dome, Xiwei's light was slowly moving; upon the earth, Yuanji's presence was gently flowing. Between Heaven and Earth, clear and turbid held their order; Yin-Yang stood in harmony.

He reviewed his entire life — from a faint wisp of spirit-light within Chaos, to the spirit-embryo locked in eternal struggle against Mingdun, to the World-Creator who shattered the shell and opened Heaven, to the guardian who braced the heavens and planted the earth for eighteen thousand years. Every step he had walked was condensed into this world.

He saw the entire course of Heaven and Earth from nothing to something: the collapse of Chaos, the division of clear and turbid, the embryonic form of the world, the establishment of order. Those bitter moments — Chaos's counter-devouring, turbid qi's stirring, the Savage Fiends — had all become the past. Heaven and Earth had grown through wind and rain, had grown strong through tribulation.

What brought him the deepest comfort was Xiwei and Yuanji. These two spirit-bodies born from Heaven and Earth represented the world's future. They would, in the ages to come, grow into true spirits of the earth, guarding this world, guiding the Myriad Things. In them, Pangu saw the continuation of his own life.

Looking back at Heaven and Earth, the vast changes of Eternal Ages. Pangu had no regrets. He had fulfilled the greatest mission a Chaos spirit could fulfill — creating a world from nothingness. All that he had given had been rewarded. He could go in peace.

He slowly turned his gaze, gathering this world into his eyes bit by bit — from the first morning light in the east to the last sunset glow in the west, from the highest peak to the deepest valley. His gaze lingered on every mountain he had raised with his shoulders, every river channel he had carved with his footsteps, every plain flattened by his breath. He saw that in the distant east, where Xiwei's light fell, a thin layer of green had spread across the ground — the moss-like substance, now covering a region a hundred li across. He saw that at the source of the southern rivers, clouds had gathered thick as cotton — soon that place would see the world's first true rainfall. He saw that in the northern ice fields, Yuanji's presence was pulsing slowly — beneath the ice, the first seeds of something were quietly germinating.

This world was alive. It was breathing, it was growing, it was changing. It no longer needed him to stand at its center, arms braced against the heavens. It could walk on its own now — unsteadily, perhaps, but on its own.

Pangu closed his eyes. The last image printed upon his retinas was the horizon at the edge of the world — that line between Heaven and Earth, clear and warm under the dawn light. That was the world he had built. It was beautiful beyond anything he had ever imagined.