Fang Yuan remained still. The clone beside him breathed shallowly, eyes fixed on the spiraling Gu.
"You're going to leave it," the clone repeated—not as a question, but in disbelief.
"If you try to force a step forward before the ground exists," Fang Yuan said, "you fall into the abyss."
The Gu pulsed again. Not rejection—acknowledgment.
The Abyssal Root trembled faintly.
The clone took a half-step closer. "Then what is it waiting for?"
Fang Yuan turned. "It's waiting for the threadless moment. The one even myths cannot prepare for."
Silence passed between them like the breath before a storm. Then, without further word, Fang Yuan turned and ascended.
The Gu's glow dimmed. Not extinguished—hidden. It curled inward like a seed awaiting the correct season.
The vault above hushed its cracking. Not from peace. From patience.
High above, within the twisted ceiling of the sky, a ripple spread—silent, cold, invisible to all but the balance that watches unseen.
Something had taken root where Heaven once ruled.
And Heaven, though shattered, was beginning to notice.