"Ask the traveler about the road ahead, lamenting the faint light of morning."
Lu Bingwei lay in a makeshift tent on the rooftop, his eyes opened to see the pale light of dawn in the east, dispelling the long night's darkness.
"It's... dawn."
He woke up after a night's deep sleep, dusty memories surfacing in his mind.
Without thinking, he habitually traced a strange sealing gesture on his chest, muttering, "Praise the sun."
Yes, he praised the sun, not Lie Zhenzi whom most Transcendents worshipped.
Everything in this world changes, events are impermanent, and human hearts unpredictable.
But the sun is eternal.
No matter the frost, snow, or storms of lightning and thunder, every morning the sun would rise as usual.
Rising at dawn, setting at dusk, in an endless cycle.
The sun, it was the eternal faith.
The believers of the Dawn Church prayed every day at six in the morning.
