Now, everything quieted down.
Whether it was the voices that had echoed in his mind, or the environment sensed through the various “nodes,” whether it was Nina’s soft reminders or Vanna and Morris’s calm reports — all of it had vanished with the folding together of the stars.
The world itself likewise returned to nothingness.
This little refuge wrought by the ancient kings, after running for ten thousand years, finally and silently perished among the new world's stars.
Now, in this sea of primordial chaotic information piled from the wreckage of many worlds, only the last ship still sailed on its final voyage.
The Lost-Home sailed on the far side of the Creation of Worlds.
Beneath the hull lay that rift which had once spanned the boundless sea for ten thousand years.
No one in the world had ever imagined that the back side of that rift would be entirely different from the front—
Zhou Ming stood by the ship's wheel.
The world had already ended; there was no longer any worry that his observation might destroy the boundless sea.
He opened his eyes.
Through gaps in the ship’s deck and hull, already close to being burned away, he looked down and saw a black fissure stretching almost infinitely into the distance.