Wu Yun realizes he's walking down a dirt path carrying a bamboo basket filled with berries in his arms. The last thing he remembers was jumping in front of Xie Xiu's blade, so he must dreaming. That must mean he's not dead, at least not yet.
Ling Yan is whistling a song to himself, his steps are lighter and he's wearing heavier robes than before. The air smells crisp, and a wan winter sun brightens the early morning. There's some lingering snow covering threes and low bushes, but the dirt path he's trailing has been cleared. He realizes then that he isn't in the Heavens anymore. Nothing shines with the glimmer of crushed stardust and the harsh light of the sun throws everything in sharp relief, showing all of nature's imperfections and chaos.
Ling Yan doesn't notice anything odd about his surroundings, and continues to whistle that unknown song.
