THUMP-THUMP-THUMP—
Jing Huaisheng lay prone on the ground. That was the sound of his heart beating.
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP—
The villagers were mauling each other like madmen. That was also the sound of the Bronze Fragment, pulsing and striking.
It was like a bronze bell from ancient times, carrying that vast and archaic sound from the distant, unknown past to the present day.
Song Ciwan stood outside the ancestral hall, listening to the tolling of the bell. For a moment, she felt a surge of inspiration. The sound seemed to merge in a strange and wonderful way with everything she had previously seen through the Bronze Fragment.
Every toll of the bell was filled with the subtle rhythm of the Dao.
It was as if an invisible hand had emerged between heaven and earth, plucking the threads of the Dao and its principles at will, as if they were strings.
