Stop!
Good, it stopped!
As long as it stops, there’s hope for communication.
The spirit of the divine tree looked somewhat bewildered at the excited Daoist Wang.
It couldn’t make sense of those few simple words.
What does “you’re late” mean?
And the tree spirit had no idea that Wang Jixuan had no intention of explaining the logic behind that remark.
Logic didn’t matter — speaking was what mattered.
Wang Jixuan drew a breath and said in a low voice, “Fellow Daoist, you must be the Fusang Divine Tree, yes? I apologize. In what follows we may harm you. If possible, we wish to help prolong your life to atone for our wrongdoing.”
The divine tree spirit frowned and stared at Wang Jixuan.
Even though its “tree heart” was devoid of desire, and its feelings toward the passing ages had long since dulled, there was one thing it cared about above all: whether it would live.
“You… what… do you mean?” it managed, forcing human words out.
Wang Jixuan cupped his hands. “There are powerful enemies seeking to surround and kill me. I can only take this desperate measure: by burning up this small world as the price to try to shatter those foes. Inevitably the Fusang Divine Tree will be damaged in the process. I wish, before acting, to solicit your opinion — you are the master of this place, I will compensate as best I can.”