Inside Baofeng Temple, Zhang Yan sat cross-legged on a cloud couch. His eyes were half-closed, holding Yuan Yi in his heart, his breathing long and delicate, letting go of self and surroundings in quiet oblivion.
Gradually, a strand of cloud energy emerged from the top of his Heavenly Spirit, rising like smoke, charging straight to the beam above, eventually condensing into a mass. Within the cloud energy, sparks of flame flickered and crackled like thunder striking a copper pillar. Golden flowers scattered into the air, drifting lightly before falling gently to the ground.
The golden flowers formed by the light settled on the cloud couch without dissipating, each petal glowing with brilliance, resembling stars embraced by the heavens, and candles reflecting in mirrors, illuminating the surroundings with radiant splendor.
