Liang staggered back, heart hammering, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and terror. The air itself felt heavier—as if reality strained to contain the presence before him. Whatever this being was—god, ghost, or something far older—it felt… familiar. Deep in his soul, he knew it. Not by memory, but by instinct.
The figure laughed.
It wasn't a sound meant for joy. It echoed through the celestial garden like thunder cracking stone, rattling leaves and sending shimmering ripples across the tranquil spirit pool. It was the laughter of something unbound—triumphant, frayed, and unmistakably mad.
When it finally stilled, the being turned its gaze upon Liang. Eyes like burning ice—cold, vivid, and far too knowing.
"You," it said, voice silk-wrapped in venom, "have done well. Far better than you realize."
A crooked finger rose to point at him. "But tell me—do you even comprehend what you've set in motion?"
