Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

In the main hall of Wanfo Temple, Zen Master Liaochen slowly straightened up amidst the 108 scattered prayer beads.

His hand holding the secret letter was withered and thin, and when he finished reading the last word, a light that was almost burning in his cloudy old eyes shone through.

"After waiting for a hundred years... this day has finally come."

As he stepped out of the palace gate, the morning mist in the mountains parted automatically before his knees.

All three thousand monks of Wanfo Temple stood solemnly before the mountain gate, their gray robes like clouds, and each of them had a faint golden light emanating from between their brows—their true cultivation, suppressed and hidden for a hundred years, was now being released in full.

"Send word to the various prefectures south of the Yangtze River. Tell the powerful and influential families that Wanfo Temple is about to undergo a transformation."

On the same day that Wanfo Temple sent a message, thirteen of the prominent families in the seventeen prefectures of Jiangnan personally responded.

Within three days, prominent families in Jiangnan, such as the Shen, Wang, Lu, and Xie families, successively issued proclamations declaring their "support for the emperor." However, in reality, their elite troops began to gather south of the Yangtze River, and the scale of grain and fodder transportation far exceeded what was needed for the "support for the emperor."

In Jinling City, the heads of the thirteen families reached a tacit understanding overnight—the area north of Jinling belonged to the imperial dynasty, while the area south of Jinling belonged to the aristocratic families.

The gray-robed monks of Wanfo Temple began to frequently travel on the official roads of various prefectures in Jiangnan.

Wherever they went, the city gates were opened.

The southern prefectures, which had been silently infiltrated by Zen Master Liaochen for a century, were like chess pieces that had been covered up for a long time, finally pushed onto the chessboard by an old hand.

Four Extremes Sword Sect

Deep within the sword mound, which had been silent for eighty years, a dusty tombstone slowly cracked open.

After the stone tablet shattered, a thin, withered body was revealed, sitting cross-legged. The person was covered in bluish-gray stone cocoons, looking like a terracotta figure that had been forgotten for too long.

The stone cocoon began to crack from the head, and fragments fell down, revealing a face so old that its age was impossible to discern.

The old man opened his eyes.

The moment he opened his eyes, thousands of ancient swords in the entire sword tomb simultaneously hummed and unsheathed, their tips all pointing in the direction of the old man, as if in worship. Some of these ancient swords were broken, some were rusted, and some were only half left, but they were still trembling.

"Feng'er has been imprisoned in the Suspended Mirror Platform dungeon?"

The old man spoke, his voice dry and hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against rust.

The remaining disciples of the Four Extremes Sword Sect guarding the Sword Tomb knelt on the ground: "Ancestor, the Sect Master was captured alive by the Suspended Mirror Platform while trying to seize the Imperial Mausoleum Halberd, and now..."

"I understand."

The old man slowly stood up, fragments of stone cocoons falling from his body to reveal an old robe beneath, its original color now indistinguishable. "Go to the Suspended Mirror Platform and demand the person back."

He carried no sword. But the moment the old man took his first step out of the Sword Tomb, all the ancient swords on the entire mountaintop simultaneously flew up, converging behind him into a hundred-zhang-long river of swords. Each sword in the river of swords exuded a lingering sword intent, drawn by the old man's aura, like countless streams flowing into the sea.

Early stage peak of the Celestial Being realm.

On this continent, there are only a handful of people who can fight this man.

The Western Regions, the headquarters of the Heavenly Demon Sect.

After retreating back to the Western Regions with his remaining troops, the Blood Shadow Elder remained in seclusion.

However, when the news of "Qin Muzhi being seriously injured and in seclusion" was received that day, dark clouds covered the sky above the Heavenly Demon Sect's headquarters for three days and three nights. It was said that the aftershocks of the Blood Shadow Elder's laughter in the secret chamber had cracked the ceiling.

On the fourth day, the main gate of the Heavenly Demon Sect's headquarters was pushed open. The Blood Shadow Elder emerged from seclusion, his face even thinner than when he last appeared at the Imperial Mausoleum, but the sinister aura between his brows was even more intense.

"Send word to the thirty-six caves and seventy-two strongholds of the Western Regions. Within one month, all shall submit to the Heavenly Demon Sect. Those who refuse to submit—"

He paused for a moment.

"kill."

"What about the Tianshan Sect?"

The Blood Shadow Elder looked towards the direction of Tianshan Mountain, a cold smile appearing on his lips.

"They've waited much longer for this day than we have. A hundred years ago, the Tianshan Sect's main peak was cleaved in two by Lu Moshen's halberd. Now that Lu Moshen is gone, the Tianshan Sect's Supreme Elder, who has been imprisoned under the mountain for eighty years—should finally see the light of day again."

At the summit of the Tianshan Mountains beyond the Great Wall, beneath millennia of ice and snow, a withered hand pierces through the ice and extends out.

He slowly clenched his fist, crushing the ice shards in his palm into powder.

Northern border.

After the Golden Clan's defeat, the various barbarian tribes of the North had been subdued for several months. However, the chaos at the Imperial Mausoleum...

When news of the East Sea Passage and the Emperor's assassination reached the northern border in quick succession, the campfire in the barbarian tent was rekindled.

The barbarian chieftain Chile sat on a tiger-skin chair, a newly written secret letter spread out before him. The letter contained only one sentence:

"The Central Plains dynasty is in chaos; each department can decide its own course of action."

He handed the secret letter to the messenger, his gaze sweeping over the more than twenty tribal leaders in the large tent.

"Deliver this letter to the Ten Thousand Buddha Temple, the Four Extremes Sword Sect, the Heavenly Demon Sect, the Heavenly Mountain Sect—and those three aristocratic families that have already rebelled. Tell them that the Northern Barbarians are willing to be allies."

An elderly tribal chief said in a deep voice:

"Great Chieftain, what about the Golden Clan? Although the Heavenly Khan is severely wounded, the Golden Clan's million-strong cavalry is still intact."

Chile chuckled, a laugh tinged with the ruggedness and shrewdness characteristic of barbarians. "The Golden Clan shares the same goal as us: to move south. But the Golden Clan wants to monopolize the Central Plains, while we only need a few southern prefectures. Each gets what they need; there's no conflict."

The cold wind howled outside the tent, making the campfire flicker.

The sound of iron hooves echoing across the North is rising again.

The capital city, February 3rd.

The three major families, Nangong, Ximen, and Beihai, issued a joint proclamation on the same day.

The proclamation listed twelve charges against the dynasty, including "the dynasty's moral failings," "the emperor's incompetence," "favoritism towards sycophants," and "the destabilization of the state," concluding with a resounding statement:

"We have received the Emperor's favor for generations, but that favor has run its course, and the world is about to change hands."

The manifesto was stamped with the private seals and clan emblems of the three patriarchs.

The three seals have different colors of ink—the purple-gold of the Nangong family, the black of the Ximen family, and the sea blue of the Beihai family—but when they are stamped side by side on the same piece of paper, they have a striking sense of neatness.

Although the Celestial Ancestors of the Nangong and Ximen families were injured in the chaos at the Imperial Mausoleum, their foundation at the initial stage of the Celestial Realm remained intact.

The Beihai family is the most mysterious of the three, having lived on the northern coast for decades and rarely getting involved in affairs in the Central Plains.

But everyone knows that the Beihai family's foundation is no less than that of the Nangong and Ximen families—some even speculate that the Beihai patriarch may have already broken through to the initial stage of the Celestial Realm.

After the three families issued their declarations, seven of the thirteen families in Jiangnan publicly responded.

Within three days, 30% of the major and minor families, sects, and regional warlords in the Central Plains expressed their stance—some pledged allegiance to the three major families, some claimed to remain neutral and observe, and a very small number chose to continue to serve the dynasty.

The dynasty's territory cracked open with countless visible fissures on the very night the three proclamations were issued.

Qin Muzhi is currently in seclusion in a secret chamber recuperating from his injuries, and the Imperial Seal of the State is temporarily being handled by the Cabinet.

The three cabinet ministers looked at each other in bewilderment as they faced a deluge of official documents and military reports.

All they could do was issue orders one by one, but more than 30% of the counties and prefectures that received each order simply ignored it.

Standing atop the capital's city wall, Zhao Chengying gazed at the southern horizon and murmured, "The world is about to descend into chaos."

Cao Zhengchun stood beside him, unusually offering no rebuttal.

The commander of the Suspended Mirror Platform, whose round face was always beaming with smiles, was now silent. Behind him lay a dense network of intelligence agents throughout the capital, and every report from these agents pointed to the same conclusion—

"The three months His Majesty has been in seclusion have been the most dangerous three months in the Tianxuan Continent in the past hundred years."

Zhao Chengyuan walked over from the other side of the city wall, his face as taut as iron as the commander of the Zhenfu Division.

"The Embroidered Uniform Guard, the Suspended Mirror Platform, and the Garrison Command—the elite forces of these three departments are still capable of putting up a fight. Within the capital, there are also two hidden celestial beings within the imperial family, as well as the residual power of the Demon God Lü left behind by His Majesty. Defending the capital shouldn't be a problem."

"Can we defend the capital, and defend the entire country?" Zhao Chengying's voice was very soft.

The three of them fell silent.

Dark clouds hung low above the city walls, as if a snowfall could fall at any moment. But this snow no longer carried the delicate fragrance of plum blossoms.

The headquarters of the Azure Dragon Society in the west.

Bai Yujing, Li Chenzhou, Guan Qi, and Shi Zhixuan sat in a secret room.

On the table in the center of the room lay a newly updated map of the world's situation, marked with more than a dozen burning red dots in vermilion—Jiangnan, the Western Regions, the borderlands, the northern frontier, the East China Sea, and the capital region. Next to almost each red dot was written the name and movements of the current power.

After reading all the intelligence, Shi Zhixuan raised his head. His face was expressionless, but a rare hint of solemnity appeared in his eyes, beneath his usual composure.

"Second Dragon Head," he began, "is the young master still in Red Capital?"

I just received his letter last night.

Bai Yujing took out a letter from his sleeve. "He said the matter in the Southern Frontier had been settled, and the Red-Robed Dharma King had been taken back to the Azure Dragon Society's headquarters for safekeeping. He himself was on his way back to Pingyang County."

Shi Zhixuan nodded.

"The world is in turmoil in five directions simultaneously. The Wanfo Temple in Jiangnan is leading the charge, the Heavenly Demon Sect and the Tianshan Sect in the Western Regions are echoing each other, the barbarians in the Northern Border are stirring, the three great families have directly rebelled, and there's also the Underworld Emperor lurking in the shadows—our Azure Dragon Society's game of chess has to be rewritten."

Li Chenzhou said in a deep voice, "Second Dragon Head, you make the decision."

Bai Yujing pondered for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the map one by one.

"With Pang Ban overseeing things in the East Sea, the Demon Clan's passage is temporarily secured, so we can put that aside for now. The elite forces of the Three Offices in the capital are still intact, so the dynasty won't collapse in the short term. The most urgent matter is Jiangnan—if Wanfo Temple can integrate the aristocratic families of the seventeen prefectures of Jiangnan, it will be like cutting a knife through the waist of the Central Plains."

He pointed to the area south of the Yangtze River.

"I'm going to Jiangnan."

Shi Zhixuan narrowed his eyes slightly: "The two dragon leaders are going in person?"

"Master Liaochen has endured for a hundred years, and now that he has made his move, he must be carrying all the accumulated resources of Wanfo Temple over a thousand years. Ordinary people cannot stop him."

Bai Yujing stood up and straightened his robes. "I'll take Ye Gucheng and Ximen Chuixue south to confront Wanfo Temple head-on. The three dragon leaders will stay to guard the main altar, and the fourth dragon leader—"

He looked at Guan Qi.

Guan Qi leaned back in his chair, twirling a copper coin he'd somehow produced in his hand:

"I'll go to the northern border. If the barbarians dare to launch a large-scale southward invasion, the Misty Sky Alliance will teach them a lesson in stalling tactics."

"Where is King Yama?" Li Chenzhou asked Shi Zhixuan.

Shi Zhixuan smiled slowly:

"I'm going to the capital. His Majesty is seriously injured and in seclusion, the three great families have betrayed us, and the capital is now just an empty shell. But beside that empty shell hangs a sword—the passage beneath the imperial mausoleum. The demons suffered a setback in the East Sea, and they might try to sneak in through another entrance. I need to go see if that sword has been stolen."

The four of them agreed on their roles in the secret room.

As they stood up, Shi Zhixuan suddenly said:

"By the way, there was another sentence in the letter—he said that although the Demon God Lü is missing, he may not have gone far. A hundred years ago, he was able to single-handedly defeat the Underworld Emperor, leaving him barely alive, break through the gates of the Ten Thousand Buddha Temple, cleave the main peak of Tianshan Mountain, and seize the Nine Transformations of Heavenly Secrets and the Myriad Tribulations Pestle. He relied on more than just his Celestial Realm cultivation."

Bai Yujing paused at the doorway: "What else did he say?"

"He said, if Demon God Lü really left, why did he only leave behind that halberd?"

The room fell silent for a moment.

Bai Yujing didn't ask any more questions, pushed open the door and walked out. The white-clad figure quickly disappeared into the shadows at the end of the corridor.

Shi Zhixuan stood still, folded the letter again and put it into his pocket. Then he looked down at the dark gold line on his palm that he had brought back from the Penglai Stone Gate—the mark left after the wound healed had not disappeared yet, like some kind of mark.

He clenched his fist.

"Lu the Demon God," he muttered to himself, "what are you waiting for?"

No one answered.

Outside the window, the western sunset was ablaze, dyeing the entire sky a dark red, molten lava color. The color was exactly the same as when the Penglai Pass in the East Sea opened, like a gigantic furnace between heaven and earth being slowly ignited.

The game of chess has begun.

All the pieces have been placed on the board, and only the final player is needed to make a move.