Mournful Emperor realm.
After the initial rain, the air is filled with the fresh scent of vegetation, making even the smell of mud seem fragrant.
In this deserted world, the sound of joyous celebration is everywhere.
The chubby little Bei Huai run around with their tiny feet pattering, chasing each other, making the world appear full of vitality.
"Someone has reached the 'Medicine' Vital Power..."
Under the ancient japonicum, accompanied by a soft voice, a shadow gathers.
White-clothed and barefoot, hands behind his back, Bei Huai turns his head upon hearing, his gaze traveling upwards.
The shadow behind him casts no shade, only a black robe.
Standing three meters tall, beneath the large hood there are no facial features, just two glimmering will-o-wisps.
The skeletal hand under the sleeves still grips that long-handled black scythe, resting on his shoulder.
It's unclear where he looks, or what he refers to.
"Power of Medicine Ancestor?"
