Qi Yun stood in the void, no longer possessing a trace of Buddha's Rhyme or the noble appearance of a Bodhisattva.
He had changed into a simple, unadorned, wide-sleeved robe of pure white. The fabric, like clouds or mist, fluttered gently with the lingering aura of time.
His black hair was tied up with a simple wooden pin. His face was calm and gentle, yet his eyes held a profound tranquility—the kind that comes from surviving great tribulations and perceiving True Suchness.
His calm gaze swept across the distant Celestial Vault, over the True Monarchs and Bodhisattvas, each with their unfathomable auras and varied expressions.
Then, the corners of his lips curved slightly upward, revealing a frank and composed smile.
He held one hand before him. His voice, clear and resonant, was neither high nor low, yet it carried distinctly across the silent expanse of space that had just witnessed a cataclysmic battle:
"This humble Daoist greets you, fellow Daoist Friends."
