The gray-black vortex of the Ruin completely engulfed Ye Chenyu. The world's order disintegrated in an instant; time and space were crushed as if by invisible hands, leaving only the dead silence of the void. He felt his body stretching and compressing infinitely, his soul seemingly stripped away, his consciousness drifting deep within the Wildlands. Countless whispers echoed around him—low, silent, yet rising from the depths of the mind—irresistible in their pull.
Within this boundless void, Ye Chenyu suddenly saw flickering lights. His memories reassembled like inverted reflections, past, present, and future overlapping. He saw a colossal presence—its contours indistinct, yet exuding immense oppressive energy, like the gaze of a faceless god, pressing every fragment of consciousness into the void. This was the observer of the Wildlands, the scrutiny he had felt in the West Mountains and the wasteland before.
The whispers from the vortex gradually became clear, revealing a staggering truth: Ye Chenyu's identity was not human. He was a descendant of the ancient Wildlands god, "Zhu Jiuyin," a "human-shaped vessel of the seal." His bloodline was tightly linked to the Wildlands. Every time he entered the Spirit Realm, the god's gaze would follow him. His existence had been chosen by the ancient god, meant to maintain the balance between gods and humans. In that instant, Ye Chenyu understood why every trial—from the South Mountains to the West Mountains, East Sea, and the Wildlands—seemed manipulated by some invisible force, why someone had guided him at the edge of life and death.
Within the void, he saw images of his childhood—the boy forgotten by the world, displaced from his place, alone and helpless. Then, he saw himself fragmented into divine shards of the Wildlands, traversing the endless wasteland. Beneath his feet, bones, vortices, and monsters became extensions of his bloodline. The overlapping and intertwining of all these visions brought his mind to the brink of collapse.
"Who… are you?" he shouted into the void. His voice felt like self-tearing, yet there was no reply—only the deep, resonant echo of the ancient god: "You are both mortal and not. You are the key to the Rift, the existence of balance."
As Ye Chenyu felt himself being consumed by the Wildlands, a surge of self-awareness rose within him. He sensed the latent potential in his bloodline, the power originating from Zhu Jiuyin, crashing against his consciousness like a tidal wave. He saw himself become the center of the Wildlands, commanding time and space, as if all the order of the world were under his control. Yet every surge of power brought an indescribable sense of nothingness—the abyss of the Wildlands seemed intent on devouring everything, including his soul.
The figures of Xing Lan, Liyue Ying, and Xuan Ye flickered at the edge of the void, reminding him he was not entirely alone. Their presence offered a thread of connection, yet even that warmth was gradually erased by the Ruin's vortex. He realized that whether he embraced his human identity or awakened as the child of the Wildlands, both paths would bring inescapable loneliness and fear.
In the endless void of the Wildlands, he glimpsed his future self: if fully awakened, he would become a divine presence of the Wildlands, with time and space revolving around him, the fates of all living beings undulating in the rhythm of his bloodline. If he retained his human form, he would endure endless pursuit and scrutiny, constantly tested by the ancient god and the Wildlands, until his soul was worn to exhaustion.
Ye Chenyu struggled within the void. His will was like ash in a Wildlands storm, constantly torn apart yet stubbornly coalescing. He began to understand that his existence was not mere coincidence but an ancient covenant—the boundary between the Wildlands and humanity must be maintained, and that "person" was him.
Within the vortex, the Ruin's tendrils gradually withdrew, as if waiting for him to make a choice. Ye Chenyu closed his eyes and a clear thought surfaced: even facing the void, even enduring the abyss of the Wildlands, he must assert his presence in his own way—recording, existing, ensuring that the secrets of the Spirit Realm are not forgotten. He felt the power of the Wildlands within his bloodline resonate with his own will. Fear and helplessness in his heart eased slightly, yet the sensation of the void still surged like a tide, suffocating and immense.
Finally, his consciousness emerged from the edge of the void. When he opened his eyes, the Wildlands remained gray-white, the vortex temporarily receded, and the four were pushed back into reality by the Ruin's force. His hands trembled slightly, yet within, a silent determination had taken root:
No matter how cruel the road ahead, he would record his experiences, the truths of the Spirit Realm, and the horrors and divinity of the Wildlands—complete and unbroken. This would be proof of his existence, a testament to the intertwining of humanity and divinity.
The wind in the depths of the Wildlands still whispered, like silent scrutiny, but Ye Chenyu knew: his name would be etched upon the boundary between blood and void, and his story would endure, written in words.