Mo Ling was lost in the balloon's words, his mind reeling.
'Hostility from thirty-five hundred years in the future… No wonder it's so thin and hard to detect.'
"It's surprising, isn't it? An event so far in the future was actually decided long ago. A current in the sea developed hostility toward a mass of magma inside the Volcano. They are fated to meet in thirty-five hundred years."
"This thread will grow thicker and draw closer, finally snapping when one of them is destroyed."
Mo Ling was stunned. He never imagined hostility could manifest to such a degree.
And now, he could easily change what would happen thirty-five hundred years from now, simply by snapping this fragile thread.
Mo Ling dazedly reached out, only to let his hand fall.
He didn't dare to pluck the strings of fate, even though this might all just be a simulation within the Sea of Creation.
A gentle sea breeze blew. The shore was perfectly calm, and the countless threads in the air hung motionless.
