In Aoxue’s memories, the Fusang Purewood was hundreds of millions of yards tall, reaching up to the heavens and rooted deep beneath the earth. Every bit of kindling on its branches was a sun in its infancy.

This particular specimen was clearly on the brink of death, and someone had sculpted its trunk into an imperial coffin. The nine dragons etched on the coffin evoked a strange order, exhibiting the grandeur of the emperor but suppressing his heart at the same time.

“Nine dragons....” Lu Yun widened his eyes. “The dragons are arranged like the Enneawyrm Coffinbearers! That should’ve occurred to me sooner!”

He slapped his forehead. “Since...