As time passed, Tao began to sense the truth that had been hidden from him. During his meditations, he could faintly feel the shifting energy within the Luo Peak residence. His uncle's aura had grown faint, and his aunt's presence—once warm and vibrant—was now weak, almost fragile. Their life essence flickered like dying embers, and Tao, even without opening his eyes, understood why.
They had been sustaining him all this time. The green and blue essences that remained steady within his body were not drawing their power from the world, but from the very blood and life force of his uncle and aunt. It was their strength that kept his inner balance from collapsing, their sacrifice that prevented the black essence from consuming him entirely.
A deep ache settled in Tao's heart. He had thought his struggle was his alone—a fight between him and the heavens—but now he realized it was shared. The pain, the exhaustion, the weakening of those he loved was the price of his survival. Yet, despite knowing this, the process could not stop. The heavens would not allow it.
By the time the twentieth Heavenly Thunder descended, the punishment had reached a level of terrifying violence. The sky itself seemed to rage, its lightning more ferocious than ever before, as if Heaven truly wished to erase Tao's existence. The strikes came down with world-shaking power, each one a roar of divine fury that split the mountains and scorched the land around Luo Peak.
As time passed, Tao's connection with his inner energies deepened, but so too did the faint ache in his heart. Even in the depths of meditation, he could feel something—an invisible warmth fading little by little. He did not need to open his eyes to know where it came from. Deep down, he understood. The ones silently sustaining him—the gentle warmth that kept his soul anchored in the storm—were none other than those who had given him life.
His true parents.
They had never appeared before him in person since his childhood, yet their presence had always lingered—like a soft light in the darkness, guarding him against the corruption of the black essence. Each time the Heavenly Thunder descended, each time he teetered on the edge of death, that light would rise to shield him, mending his body and calming his soul.
But now… that light was fading.
When the twentieth Heavenly Thunder came, it was unlike any before. The heavens roared as if enraged, their fury focused entirely on Tao. Bolts of divine lightning split the sky apart, shaking the entire Luo Peak. Even the earth trembled beneath the pressure, as though Heaven itself wished to erase him from existence.
Yet in the midst of that divine storm, something miraculous—and tragic—occurred. From deep within Tao's heart, two faint lights began to rise. One shone in a soft crimson hue, warm and steady like blood—the mark of life itself. The other glowed pure white, gentle and soothing like a mother's touch.
The lights pulsed weakly, as if struggling to resist the overwhelming darkness that surrounded him. Then, slowly, they drifted out of his body.
The moment they began to leave, Tao's entire being shook violently. A hollow ache spread through his chest, deeper and sharper than any pain the thunders had inflicted. His breathing faltered. His soul quivered. He felt as though his very heart were being torn apart.
It wasn't merely energy escaping him—it was something far more precious. A connection older than memory.
Even in his trance, Tao could feel them. The warmth of a mother's love. The silent strength of a father's protection. They had been with him all along, hidden within the depths of his blood, guarding him from the black essence that sought to consume him. And now, as Heaven's punishment reached its peak, they were burning away the last of their strength to shield him once more.
Tao wanted to cry out—to stop them—to hold onto that fading warmth—but he couldn't move. He could only feel it slipping further and further away. The red and white lights rose slowly into the stormy heavens, flickering like twin stars swallowed by the clouds.
And in that instant, Tao felt as though he had been separated from his own soul. A vast emptiness opened inside him, unbearable and endless, like he was being torn from the very source of his life.
The two lights lingered for a brief moment above Tao, as if watching him one last time. Then, just as the final Heavenly Thunder gathered in the sky, the red and white lights pulsed together and began to descend once more, rising from the depths of Tao's heart.
Before the thunder could strike, the twin lights moved gently around him, circling his body in slow, graceful arcs. It was as though they were memorizing every part of him—touching him one last time before parting forever. Their glow was soft yet divine, carrying both sorrow and love.
As they revolved around Tao, the entire atmosphere shifted. The villagers who had gathered at a distance felt it immediately. The air turned sacred, heavy with awe. To them, it was as if two divine beings had descended into the mortal realm. The red and white lights did not carry destruction or wrath—they radiated warmth, purity, and the boundless compassion of gods gazing upon their creation one final time.
Even the raging storm seemed to pause in reverence. Thunder quieted, winds stilled, and for a fleeting moment, Heaven itself held its breath.
Then, slowly, the red and white lights ascended higher above Tao, intertwining gracefully. From the storm-torn sky, two faint glows emerged to meet them—one a serene green, the other a deep ocean blue. The four colors—red, white, green, and blue—merged in gentle motion, their brilliance soft but vast, spreading across the heavens like ripples on still water.
Tao felt his heart wrench violently. As the four lights began to rise, a sharp, unbearable pain tore through his chest. It felt as though his very soul was being cut into countless pieces—an emptiness spreading within him that no strength could fill. His breathing grew shallow; his consciousness trembled. The connection between him and those lights was not just energy—it was blood, bond, and love.
From afar, Luo Peak shimmered under the radiance of the four divine lights. The villagers fell to their knees instinctively, tears streaming from their eyes without knowing why. The elders stood still, their hands clasped in silent prayer. And near the base of the peak, Luo Tang's parents watched in quiet devastation. The process had aged them visibly—their hair now streaked with white, their faces pale and lined. They looked like an old couple who had endured centuries of hardship in a single day, yet their gazes remained calm and proud.
High above, the four lights converged once more above Tao's head. From within that union, two faint silhouettes appeared—blurred figures of a man and a woman, their forms hazy, half ethereal. Each held in their hands a radiant pearl: the woman's shone with soft green light like an emerald tear, and the man's glowed deep blue like the depths of the ocean. Though faint, Tao recognized them instinctively.
They were his parents.
Neither spoke. They only looked down at him with indescribable gentleness. Then, at the same moment, they lifted their hands high, releasing the pearls into the air as though letting fall two sacred drops of life.
The instant the pearls were released, the world changed. The heavens froze. The winds ceased. Even the flow of time itself seemed to stop. The blue star beneath them—the entire world—hung suspended in silence. Space distorted, and the laws of Heaven and Earth bowed before that simple, graceful gesture.
The two pearls hovered for a heartbeat, then slowly began to merge their energy. Streams of light coiled around them, drawing in the scattered divine power of the storm. The clouds churned inward, and the roar of Heaven grew deafening. Lightning gathered again—thicker, denser, a pillar of divine fury descending directly toward Tao.
But just as it was about to strike him, something extraordinary happened.
The red and white lights flared one final time, merging their essence into the path of the lightning. The entire torrent of Heavenly power halted an inch—barely a breath—above Tao's body. The world seemed frozen in that single, trembling instant.
Then, the thunder's might began to refine itself—its destructive nature dissolving into a gentle, pure radiance. The wrath of Heaven became warmth, its fury turned into blessing. The energy condensed into a single, steady stream and entered Tao's body—not as punishment, but as power, as love, as the final gift from his parents.
Heaven roared once more, not in anger but in grief, as if lamenting what it had witnessed. Dozens of thunderbolts struck down in vain, but none could harm him. Each bolt dissolved into the faint glow surrounding Tao, purified and absorbed by the essence left behind by his parents.
Tao's body trembled. His breathing was shallow. He hovered in that fragile state between consciousness and oblivion—half awake, half lost to the storm. The warmth of the red and white lights lingered in his chest, intertwining with the green and blue. Their presence was fading, but their essence had become part of him, engraved deep within his blood.
Above him, the blurred figures smiled one last time. Then, like mist in dawn light, they dissolved into the heavens.
And as the last echo of thunder faded, only silence remained—vast, eternal, and heavy with both sorrow and love.
The heavens that moments before had raged in fury now stood still. Not even a whisper of wind stirred through Luo Peak. The world itself seemed to pause, holding its breath in reverence of what had just transpired.
The blurred silhouettes of a man and a woman hovered quietly above Tao, their forms surrounded by a faint divine light. No one could see their faces—only the outlines of their figures, and the unmistakable sense of one being male, the other female. Their presence was like that of ancient deities: unknowable, vast, and impossibly distant from mortal comprehension.
Below them, Luo Tang's parents stared upward, unable to move or speak. For a fleeting moment, they both felt something achingly familiar emanating from those two figures—an aura so close to home that it made their hearts tremble. It was as if they had known them once, long ago. Yet their origin was beyond reach, hidden in mystery.
The Luo parents' breath quickened. That divine aura… it was unmistakably benevolent, gentle, and infinitely powerful. It was not human. It was not demonic. It was pure. They exchanged a glance, both silently understanding that they were witnessing something beyond Heaven's natural order—something sacred.
Even if Tao's life had hung by a thread, neither of them now dared to intervene. Their instincts told them that these beings were not to be disturbed. If Tao could survive under their light, it was already a blessing that defied destiny. They forgot even the Heavenly Thunders that had just torn the sky apart, their attention wholly fixed on the blurred man and woman above.
Silence filled the mountain. The villagers knelt instinctively, their hearts heavy yet calm, unable to comprehend what their eyes beheld.
The two blurred figures looked down at Tao with faint, serene smiles. Their expressions could not be seen clearly, but the warmth radiating from them was unmistakable—gentle, loving, and infinite.
After a moment, both of them seemed to sense something. The faint light around them pulsed once, and the man raised his hand slightly, while the woman followed in perfect harmony. From within their bodies, two delicate drops of light emerged—one green, one blue—glowing softly like divine pearls.
Those lights hovered before them for an instant, trembling gently as though alive. And then, at that very moment, everyone in the area felt it.
A presence.
Not the oppressive might of thunder or the sharp edge of killing intent, but something far greater. It was the feeling of being watched by gods. Every elder, every villager—even the seasoned cultivators—felt their souls quiver. No one dared to breathe. The sheer divinity emanating from those two lights was enough to make the entire world bow its head.
Even the strongest among them knew, with a single instinctive thought, that no mortal, no cultivator, no being under heaven could stand equal to these two blurred figures. The pressure was not of violence—it was of existence itself.
While the world trembled in silent awe, the two figures moved again. They lifted their hands together, tracing a faint motion in the air as though drawing an unseen circle. The two glowing pearls before them began to vibrate—resonating with an invisible rhythm.
Within those pearls, faint traces of red and white light stirred—the very essence that had once left Tao's heart. The divine man and woman guided those lights into the pearls, merging the four colors—red, white, green, and blue—into one radiant brilliance. The combined light shimmered like a living flame of creation, neither harsh nor blinding, but full of life and serenity.
Then, with a motion so swift that no one could react, the two blurred figures sent the glowing pearls downward.
The twin orbs streaked through the air like shooting stars, their trails painting the heavens with color. In the blink of an eye, they appeared before Luo Tang's parents—hovering just inches from their chests. The couple barely had time to gasp before the pearls touched them gently… and vanished into their bodies in a single flash of light.
For a heartbeat, everything was still.
Then, waves of color rippled through the couple's forms—green, blue, red, and white flowing in gentle harmony. The divine energy spread through them, washing away exhaustion, purifying every drop of blood, every broken vessel, every worn cell.
The frail, aged appearance they had taken on from years of overconsumption and sacrifice began to fade. Wrinkles smoothed, their complexions brightened, and their auras swelled with vitality. Their bodies straightened, and the light in their eyes returned—strong, radiant, and full of life.
Within moments, they had returned to their prime, restored to the peak of their strength and vigor. It was as if the divine figures had not only healed them but rewound the very thread of time upon their bodies.
Gasps of awe spread among the villagers and elders. None could speak, none could move. What they had witnessed was no illusion, no spell—it was a miracle.
High above, the blurred man and woman looked down one last time, their indistinct forms bathed in the fading colors of heaven. They said nothing, made no gesture, yet their silent gaze carried a message that all who saw would remember for the rest of their lives—a gaze of love, of farewell, and of divine will.
As the sacred light of the red man and white woman began to fade, the heavens themselves seemed to dim in reverence. The air lost its color; even the roar of thunder and hum of wind had vanished. Their radiance, once brilliant enough to outshine the storm, now softened into a faint glow — like two distant stars about to vanish from the firmament forever.
They were disappearing — not dying, not departing — but ceasing to exist within this realm, transcending beyond the reach of Heaven, Earth, and time itself.
Yet before that final moment, both figures turned their gaze downward.
Their indistinct faces remained blurred, their forms ungraspable, but their attention fixed upon Tao — who still knelt amid the broken ground, half-conscious, half-awake. His breath was uneven, his body trembling from the remnants of divine lightning, yet his spirit flickered stubbornly, refusing to fall.
Neither of the two divine figures spoke. No words passed between them, no gestures revealed the nature of their bond. Were they husband and wife? Mother and father? Gods of an ancient age? Or remnants of a forgotten lineage that Heaven itself had erased? No one could tell. Even their existence raised more questions than it answered.
Why had they appeared now, after so many trials?
Were they truly alive — or echoes of souls long departed, returning for one final act?
No mortal, not even Tao himself, would ever know.
But though silence reigned between them, there was understanding — a wordless unity deeper than speech. The red figure, the man, turned his hand slightly. The light around him shimmered once, then flowed gently into the woman's blurred form. His radiance merged with hers, his crimson glow blending with her soft white brilliance until the two were no longer separate but one — a divine hue neither mortal eyes nor Heaven could define.
The light surrounding her body intensified, rippling with both warmth and sorrow. For a brief instant, her aura felt like an embrace — soft, eternal, and heartbreakingly tender.
Then, her faintly outlined face tilted downward. Her lips parted, as though she wished to speak. The air trembled, the heavens quivered, and the world itself seemed to lean forward to hear the words that never came.
No sound left her mouth.
No voice carried through the sky.
Instead, the divine light that enveloped her body surged forward in a single, brilliant motion — and entered Tao's forehead.
A wave of warmth burst through him. His entire being shuddered as the divine light poured into his soul, cleansing the fragments of black energy that still lingered within. It coursed through every meridian, every drop of blood, every shattered bone, filling the hollow emptiness that had consumed him.
For a moment, Tao's mind was blank. He felt no pain, no thought, no fear — only warmth. It was a feeling beyond words, beyond logic. A warmth that carried the tenderness of a mother's touch, the strength of a father's embrace, and the serenity of the heavens themselves. It was home.
Slowly, his consciousness returned. His eyes flickered open. The storm was gone, the light was fading, and the blurred figures had already vanished — leaving behind no trace, no sound, not even an echo in the wind.
No questions were answered. No explanations were given. Yet in that silence, Tao understood.
All the questions — who they were, where they came from, why they had chosen him — no longer mattered.
Because in that final instant, as the divine warmth filled his heart and dissolved his pain, he knew one truth beyond doubt:
They had loved him.
And they had given everything — even their existence — to protect him from the darkness that once sought to claim him.
As the last glimmer of light sank into his skin, Tao exhaled slowly. His trembling stilled. The hollow ache within him was gone, replaced by a quiet, radiant strength.
There were no words, no sounds — only the lingering warmth in his heart that whispered softly, endlessly, like the voice of eternity itself.