Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Eight: The Creation Era Ends — The Era of Living Beings Begins

Volume Six: Spirit-Life in Dahuang — Dao Grace Everlasting

Xiwei sat in the old tree, looking out over the land.

The land was now covered with life. Forests blanketed most of the earth; fish in their shoals filled the rivers; birds of every kind crossed the sky. The ground was home to animals great and small, from the most minuscule insects to the apes that could now walk upright. Every kind was living in its own way. Everything turned without her involvement or Yuanji's.

She lifted her head to the sky. The sun was rising in the east.

"The era has changed," she said softly.

From Pangu's opening of Heaven and Earth to the first forming of the Myriad Things — that had been the era of the creator. Pangu alone had completed the entire work of bringing something from nothing. From this day forward, the protagonists of the story would no longer be deities. From this day forward, it was the era of life. The mountains would grow on their own; the rivers would shift their courses on their own; the countless kinds of life would transform on their own. Only one thing remained for her to do — watch.

She furled her wings, leaped down from the tree, and walked forward. Behind her, the newborn sun was rising through the branches, gilding her outline in warm gold.

But she did not walk far at once. After a few steps, she stopped and looked back at the old tree where she had sat. It was the tree where she had rested on the very first day she had come into this world — not long after Pangu's Dao-Transformation, the first place on this land where she had found somewhere to settle.

She walked back and pressed her palm to the rough bark. The bark was coarse and warm beneath her touch. Countless days and nights had passed. The tree had grown much taller; its branches were thicker; its canopy was denser. Its roots were driven deep into Pangu's flesh and blood; its leaves drank light and brewed life beneath Xiwei's own radiance.

We are all growing, she thought.

She released her hand and spread her wings. This time, she flew very high. Not her usual low-altitude gliding — she flew up and up, through the cloud layers, to a height she had never reached before.

From there, the whole face of the earth lay open beneath her.

The Sky-Pillaring Peak still stood at the center of the world, its snowy crown shining above the clouds. The mountain ranges radiated outward from it in every direction, like the bones of a giant. The rivers wound through the ranges and emptied into the sea. Forests covered the great tracts of the east and south; the north was broad grassland; the west was rolling hill country.

The earth was alive. It had a pulse, breath, warmth. Green vegetation covered the rock that had once been bare; rushing river water filled the channels that had once been dry. Seen from this height, the land was like a colossal beast slowly stretching its body awake — deliberate, certain.

Xiwei hovered at that height and looked down for a long time.

She saw everything she had guarded. The mountains breathing in stillness, the rivers flowing without pause, the forests spreading in silence. She also saw the Living Beings dwelling upon the land — the apes that split fruit with stone flakes, the apes that kept the seed of fire alive in their caves, the apes that knelt in worship on the mountaintop. They were very small, barely visible from this height, but their activities left fine traces across the land: firelight flickering in the darkness, migration routes spreading like spider-silk among the valleys.

They were living in their own way.

They no longer needed her.

The thought settled in her heart like a feather. Not heavy, not painful — light, and very natural.

This world no longer needed her intervention. The order had been established; Dao Grace pervaded all; life had found its own road. She had been a guardian, a guide, the bridge connecting the new world with the old — but that bridge had been crossed.

She drew a deep breath. The air at this height was thin and pure, carrying the moisture of the clouds and the chill of the distant snow peaks.

Pangu, she said silently. Do you see?

She closed her eyes and let her awareness spread outward in every direction. She felt the deep pulse of the earth — Yuanji was there, silent and steady. She felt the breath of every forest, the flow of every river, the stillness of every mountain. She felt the beating of those small lives — every heart, every pulse, every consciousness just waking from sleep.

They had all begun.

She opened her eyes. The sunlight fell from behind her and cast a long shadow across the sea of cloud before her. She looked at that shadow — it was the mark of her existence upon this world.

I should go down, she thought.

But she did not move at once. She lingered a moment longer — not for any purpose, only to remember this vantage. From this height, the land was whole and beautiful. Every wound had been covered by vegetation; every emptiness had been filled by life. This was the world Pangu had left behind. Whole. Abundant. Brimming with possibility.

At last, she furled her wings and began a slow descent.

The wind roared in her ears. The clouds swept past her. The land drew nearer and nearer. The old tree reappeared in her vision, then the familiar forest, the stream, the valley.

She landed on a stretch of grass in the valley. Her feet pressing into the soil felt real and soft. She bent and pressed her palm to the earth. Damp, loose, warm — nothing like the soil she had stepped upon the first day she came into this world. Then, the land had still carried the last lingering warmth of Pangu's body, but beyond that, there had been nothing. Now this soil was filled with roots, minute life-forms, moisture, and the breath of life.

She straightened and looked around.

From today, the Creation Era was over.

It had not ended with a crash, not with a flash of light — no one had even announced its close. It had ended the way a river flows into the sea, passing imperceptibly from one mode of being to another.

From this day forward, no new mountains would rise from the earth. No new rivers would be carved into being. Everything was in place. The world was complete. What came next — the greater things — would be accomplished by the Living Beings of this land themselves.

Xiwei looked down at her own hands. They were the form Pangu had condensed with the last of his power. Her hands no longer glowed — not because the power was gone, but because it had drawn inward. She had become more like an ordinary living being.

She let her hands fall and looked up at the sky. The sun was directly overhead. As she had always done, she flew up into the sky and began the day's work.

But she knew: from this day on, she was no longer a witness to the Creation Era. She had become a part of the Era of Living Beings — like the apes, like the trees, like the rivers, simply another existence living upon this land.

The sun traced its slow path westward. On the ground, the Living Beings lifted their heads and watched that bright light in the sky. They did not know what it was — they had not yet learned to look up at the sky — but their eyes followed that patch of light, and some dim feeling rose in their hearts.

This world, from this day forward, was theirs.

That night, Xiwei sat in the old tree, watching the stars as she always did. But she was different now — she no longer wondered whether this world still needed her, no longer questioned whether she had fulfilled her duty. Those thoughts had passed.

She leaned against the trunk and closed her eyes. From the distance came the calls of the ape troop, the rustle of wind through leaves, the low drone of insects in the grass. Those sounds were soft, fragmented — but they were the breath of the world.

The Creation Era was over. The Era of Living Beings had begun.

Heaven and Earth held their silence. The Myriad Things grew on.