Immortal Dust, Old Sorrow

In the past, immortal sects stood in multitude, the Heavenly Dao was cold, and all mortals were mere pawns of fate. Mountains and rivers shattered, immortal gates toppled. Young cultivators were trapped in the cage of destiny—one thought ascends to immortality, one thought sinks into mundanity. The path of immortality was never clear and bright; beneath all glory lay debts, seas of blood, obsessions, and irreparable regrets. Sects scattered, right and wrong reversed, immortality hypocritical, and the common people adrift. All were pushed by fate into entanglements of slaughter. Some bore eternal sins, guarding broken bonds in desolate ruins; some were trapped by deep love, unable to escape the obsessions of love and hate amidst the immortal dust. Ordinary cultivators, fallen comrades, chaotic demons, and destined villains—all were ground down by the Heavenly Dao, each with their own sorrows and obsessions. The ten-thousand-zhang immortal path is not a glory to ascend to heaven, but a journey of parting sorrows. The boundless immortal path, full of mundane dust, myriad old wounds, never to heal until death. Drifting for a thousand years, immortality never pure, dust never scattered, sorrow never healed.