The purple light did not fade. It expanded.
Within minutes, the morning sky above Taichu Sanctuary City turned into a swirling sea of violet and liquid gold. A three-hundred-mile canopy of auspicious merit clouds gathered over the mountain basin, rolling like silk across the heavens.
Down on the streets, three hundred and forty thousand citizens stopped in their tracks.
Old Man Liu leaned on his broom by the canal, looking up with wide, reverent eyes. Beside him, mothers held their infants, young apprentices paused by the forge doors, and thousands of former refugees looked toward the hundred-story white jade tower.
“Look at the sky,” someone called out softly.
“It is Chairman Lin,” another voice said, trembling with emotion. “The heavens are blessing our sanctuary.”
A wave of spontaneous gratitude swept through the entire valley. Three hundred and forty thousand people bowed toward the pinnacle of the Benevolence Tower, their hearts filled with profound, unshakeable loyalty.
At the top of the tower, Lin Mo felt a sudden, deep tremor in his dantian.
