Ten thousand miles from the shattered Frostfall Pagoda, the world itself seemed to rot in silence.
Starry Death Valley.
A cursed scar carved into the border of the Yin Lord's territory, encircling the Weeping Void Empire like a noose. This was not an ordinary ravine. Twelve thousand meters deep and seven thousand meters wide, its depths were half-filled with black, stagnant water, the endless tears of the Night Empress, heavy with sorrow that never dried.
The empire within was a continent-sized grave of eternal night and merciless rain. Once called the Morning Mist Realm, a land of prosperity and gentle light, it had been swallowed by despair. Now, only broken ruins, sunken roads, and rotting wooden huts remained. Most of its people had long fled or died, unable to endure the suffocating grief that poisoned the very air.
