Under the night's shadow, Zhuo Kun knelt on both knees, his forehead touching the ground, his snow-white hair cascading down, covering most of his face, yet his pallor was still visible, without a hint of blood.
Not long ago, he wore a crown and a golden robe embroidered with Heavenly Dragons, accompanied by auspicious visions, and the sounds of dragon roars and phoenix calls resonated through the night sky. He seemed like a Heavenly God descending to patrol the mortal world.
But now, he had fallen from the brilliant rain of light in the sky onto the muddy ground, continuously bowing, a stark contrast to before.
Zhuo Kun was truly afraid, trembling from spirit to body.
And behind him, the four Earth Immortals also turned pale, falling to the dust along with him, not daring to lift their heads, kneeling beneath the night sky, as if asking for forgiveness.
