Within the mountain gates of the White Mountain Beast Taming Sect, two to three hundred coffins were laid out. Lechuan led Fang Qingyuan past them. Though the path was short, the two walked for a very long time.
"Their passing wasn't painful. They were gone before they even knew what happened."
Gazing at the endless rows of coffins, Fang Qingyuan felt a sting in his nose. He had known many of them; he might have even worked alongside them in years past.
It was only then that the concept of thousands of Cultivators dying transformed from an abstract idea into a tangible, heavy weight that settled deep within his heart.
Before, no matter how many Cultivator deaths he had heard about, it had only been a concept. After all, he hadn't witnessed the carnage in the Nine-star Marketplace with his own eyes.
But now, seeing the rows of coffins and knowing that each held a familiar face, Fang Qingyuan finally felt the immense gravity of the loss.
