"Not everyone who dies has their name recorded in reincarnation.
There are some, whom even heaven wishes to forget.
But they... are the ones who once came closest to the true nature of the Heavenly Dao."
Northern Border – Ash Burial Valley Abyss
Lin Mo traversed hundreds of miles of cold mist alone.
Wind swept over his skin like tiny blades.
Not a single living creature dared to approach.
Ahead – a bottomless abyss, as gray and hazy as the bottom of a sky-pot, emanating the decaying scent of bones and dead spiritual essence that had perished for tens of thousands of years.
This was the Ash Burial Valley – an ancient ruin from ages past, called:
"The graveyard of those who once wished to rewrite the heavenly scroll."
The moment he stepped in, the blood within Lin Mo's body immediately surged.
Not because of danger – but because this place called to his ash blood.
"Welcome... you, without Dao, without a name.
You have come to the right place.
This is where those like you are buried."
A faint voice echoed – not a sound, but like residual thoughts from bones that had rotted tens of thousands of years ago.
Lin Mo walked into the center of the cracked, dry land, filled with petrified skeletons.
On each skeleton, Dao script was carved – inscribed by each person themselves before their death.
"Defiance of Dao... is it a sin or a Dao?"
"I once saw the Heavenly Dao kill a child because it was born at the wrong time."
"If I die to preserve the Dao, then what do I live... for?"
These Dao scripts did not transmit power, but caused profound spiritual tremors, forcing anyone who read them to confront themselves.
He stood motionless.
Blood energy condensed.
He saw himself... transforming into each person who had died here:
One who used his wife and children as sacrifices, just to gain an opportunity to question heaven.
One who once stepped into the Nine Heavens, then was slain by his own master for "not conforming to heavenly mandate."
An anonymous youth, simply for asking: "Who is the Heavenly Dao?" and was annihilated by myriad sects.
He roared, but no sound came from his throat.
"Am I them... or are they me?"
"If the Dao is fair, why do all righteous ones die?"
A stream of gray ash tore through the illusion.
He emerged from the myriad bleeding spirits, his eyes ablaze:
"I have seen.
This Dao is not meant for us.
But precisely because it is not meant... I must seize it."
From Lin Mo's Dantian, a circle of ash-colored Dao heart suddenly opened into a new form:
Not only absorbing his blood ash, but also connecting with the residual thoughts of tens of thousands of Dao practitioners here.
Beneath the ground, the bones glowed, transmitting into him streams of emotions, fragmented dreams – like myriad old threads reconnecting a song that had never been fully sung.
He became the bearer of the incomplete Dao of tens of thousands of predecessors.
A dried skeleton on the ground suddenly shattered.
From within it, a white bone tablet appeared, inscribed with:
"You are the last one we awaited.
Carry this Dao... out of the grave pit."
Profound Bone Talisman – the first piece of the Primordial Dao Scripture.
Lin Mo absorbed it. The blood within him surged violently.
That night, as he left the Ash Burial Valley, a strange phenomenon appeared in the sky above the Northern Border: The Summons of Myriad Spirits.
The souls of thousands of cultivators who had died unjustly in ancient battles automatically flew northward.
Those whose souls had not yet dispersed shed tears.
Even those who had transcended... turned their heads.
And amidst the starry sky – a voice rose:
"You... are the Dao path that never was,
but all spirits once longed for."
"You are... the Second Origin."