The burning of the imperial tombs. Lightning punishment descended upon the imperial palace. Ominous sign after ominous sign spread across the whole of Wu Jing, then beyond Wu Jing to every prefecture and city under its reach. The people, who had not yet recovered from the devastation of the corpse-toxin plague, were seized with dread. Uneasy rumors sprang up everywhere, the world was filled with agitated talk, hearts grew unsettled, and the court fell into turbulence.

Those on the outside did not know — but the officials of the Bureau of Astronomy were ashen-faced to a man, watching the chaotic tracks on their celestial charts. The Emperor Star had gone dim. The hexagram foretold that the ancestral tombs were shrouded in dust. They trembled and did not dare to speak.

These were the signs of a nation on the verge of collapse.

Who would dare to openly proclaim such a sky-dividing secret — and keep their head?

Yet there are no walls without cracks. Especially because after that night, the Jian’an Emperor fell ill, withdrew from court, and retreated into seclusion — which only confirmed every suspicion. The nation’s fortune had faltered.

Rumor spread like wildfire. Once these ominous signs were out in the open, they ran unchecked. In teahouses and taverns, on street corners and alleyways, fear and unease saturated every conversation. The faces of ordinary people were filled with helplessness and terror about what lay ahead — especially because most of them had still not recovered from the corpse-toxin plague. Were they now to suffer the upheaval of another chaotic age as well?

In a time of chaos, was it not always the rootless and powerless common folk who suffered first?

In no time at all, voices rose from every part of the land calling for the Son of Heaven to abdicate. Certain figures with their own designs fanned those flames, adding fuel and direction — and it grew into a full-scale demand: the Emperor had lost virtue, and that was why heaven had sent its lash. The people called on the Emperor to issue a decree of self-reproach and step down from the throne.

But unlike the terror of the common folk, those powerful noble clans, regional administrators, and military commanders who had been holding their ambitions in check — men whose cunning and hunger for power had long been suppressed — felt those ambitions begin to grow like wild grass, spreading unchecked, stirring and restless, quietly maneuvering, sharpening their blades.

The saying went that emperors took turns — the Tantai clan had held the nation for over two hundred years. Surely their fortune had run its course?

Why did people believe this?

The previous year, the An’he Emperor had abruptly abdicated in favor of the Jian’an Emperor without any warning — that alone had been a deeply unsettling signal. The Jian’an Emperor had sat on the throne for less than a year before the corpse-toxin plague broke out and turned living people into undead abominations — a catastrophe without precedent that chilled the blood of everyone who heard of it. It was said to be not a natural disaster but a man-made one.

And now heaven had rained down ominous signs — fire had fallen on the imperial tombs, lightning had struck the palace. By any reading, this looked like heaven itself severing the Tantai line’s remaining fortune.

When a dynasty’s fortune is nearly spent, it naturally becomes an opportunity for every faction and force — even those of unconventional origins — to rise and contend. Every warlord harboring dreams of dominion would raise their banners and fight to seize this vast land under heaven.

Far away in Lingnan, Ning Zhe received the news from Wu Jing. His brow furrowed slightly, his lips pressed together. He sat through an entire night before he rose, opened the doors of his study, walked out of the government offices, and stood on the open street.

He watched the people of the street going about their lives with their loads and burdens. When they noticed him, they bowed to him from a distance, with genuine smiles on their faces. Children shyly smiled back, then ducked behind the adults to peek out at him.

The smiles on their faces were relaxed and at ease — the contentment of people living in peace and security.

These were the people under his administration. The great majority of them had no sweeping ambitions. They only hoped to wear warm clothes, eat enough food, and have a roof above their heads. That was the wish of most people in the nation of Great Yan.

What I see is what I wish the world to be.

To give the world a heart. To give the people a purpose. To carry forward the wisdom of the sages. To bring peace to ten thousand generations.

A glint of resolve appeared in Ning Zhe’s eyes. He turned and walked back into the government offices. After this, he suspected he would have very little time to spare.

Not for any cherished ambition of his own. Not to repay anyone. For the sake of the people — for that alone, he too should press forward without hesitation.

The storm wind fills the tower before the mountain rain arrives.

The storm that Lang Jiuchuan, Feng Ya, and Tantai Wuji had set in motion could not be contained — it swept outward and shook the entire balance of the world.

Lang Jiuchuan was not yet aware that the world was in upheaval. After that night of fighting at the imperial tombs, she had collapsed unconscious, her soul also severely damaged, and she had not woken since.

Feng Ya had taken her to that hidden place deep within the dragon vein to recover. Lang Jiuchuan might not have been willing to nourish herself with dragon vein energy the way Tantai Wuji had done — but the circumstances now were different.

They had dismantled the greater part of Tantai Wuji’s thousand-year plan, pulling up his most vital foundation from its very roots, destroying his hope — but it had also driven him to madness, and he had not hesitated to drain the entire imperial clan’s fortune in order to strike back and flee, leaving behind a centipede that would not die while still causing the imperial dynasty’s fortune to scatter and the world to fall into turmoil.

Lang Jiuchuan and Tantai Wuji still had a battle ahead of them — she would absolutely bring him down and destroy him entirely. And with the world in chaos, she would not stand by and ignore it, because the upheaval was partly caused by the two of them. Starting a fire and then refusing to put it out — letting the common people suffer — was not what she wanted.

Her tough exterior was only a sharp tongue.

But whether it was purging the wicked and upholding the right, or bringing peace to the world under heaven — the prerequisite for either was overwhelming power. Her body, soul, and spiritual energy all had to reach their peak before she would have the strength to face this chaos. Without that, everything would be empty words.

So this dragon vein energy was something she needed. To say it put her in the same category as that old fiend Tantai Wuji would be going too far. Her role had been ordained by heaven — what was wrong with drawing on a little dragon vein energy? They were not stealing or robbing. What they used was a gift of heaven and earth — their conscience was clear. Only she would be so particular about it.

Besides, in all the world, there was no other hidden sanctuary better suited to nurturing a body and soul — and this one kept them hidden from Tantai Wuji’s eyes, beyond his reach.

Of course, that man was probably too consumed with his own problems to spare attention for anything else. He was occupied with repairing his soul — except, who had he possessed now, which unfortunate soul had he landed on?

Feng Ya had no leisure to dwell on that. He felt the dragon energy stirring and looked over his shoulder. The vital pulse of the vein moved just as before, curling around Lang Jiuchuan and wrapping her in its embrace. He lowered his gaze to examine himself, and sank into quiet thought.

This body had been built up on dragon vein energy and countless threads of fortune. The fortune it had absorbed was chaotic in origin, but transformed through the formation array, the resulting power was pure.

He found the body repugnant — but using it to be an even greater source of repugnance to Tantai Wuji made it something he could tolerate.

In the future, using it to help Lang Jiuchuan deal a final blow against Tantai Wuji — the image of that was, he had to admit, rather satisfying.

The corner of Feng Ya’s mouth curved upward in an arc filled with cold intent. He sat down cross-legged, both hands forming a complex seal. A current of Nine Underworld power surged outward from him, intertwining with the vast fortune drawn from this body’s original source. He converted that fortune to his own use, merging it into himself, reshaping it into the power of the dark underworld — his aura climbing steadily upward.

In the depths of the imperial palace, Tantai Wuji seemed to sense something. He vomited another mouthful of essence blood, his fingertips trembling, and opened his eyes. Those eyes had the look of a sea of blood — consuming and dark, the gaze beneath them shadowed with malice.

Everyone was pushing him. Good. Very well.

A black mist rose and drifted around him, enveloping him entirely. He murmured in a low chant, and a dark reddish-black antique lamp materialized from the air — permeated with an ominous and malevolent aura that pressed down on everything around it. The blood-red flame inside it flickered between light and dark, reflecting the resentment and refusal to accept defeat in the depths of his eyes. He breathed in a low and seething whisper:

“Who will be the victor in the end — that remains to be seen.”