All things are miracles, even darkness and silence.
After the explosion, all the noises vanished; everything burned to ashes, a scene of desolation.
The end of the world is not a dramatic destruction, but a whimpering silence; the end of hell is not endless torment, but infinite coldness and silence.
In the midst of chaos, Zheng Qing passed through the black moon and arrived at a place of quietness, where these thoughts suddenly emerged in his mind.
It wasn't his first time crossing the border of different worlds.
Nor was it his first time falling from the sky.
But it was the first time he experienced such extreme ups and downs in a short period—like riding a seatless roller coaster—one moment he struggled mid-air, torn by ubiquitous gravity, flying toward the black moon, as if a screw drawn to a magnet; the next moment, after passing through the black moon, his vision went black, his footing vanished, and he tumbled downwards.
