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

When he returned to the small courtyard in the west of the city, the rain had just stopped. Ye Gucheng stood under the eaves, his sword in its sheath, but he was like a frozen gust of wind.

"Young master, a message has arrived from the Eastern Continent. It's a secret letter from Pang Ban."

Dongfang Weiwo paused in his act of unbuttoning his cloak. He took it—he didn't immediately probe it with his spiritual sense, but first glanced at Ye Gucheng's expression. Ye Gucheng was expressionless. His face was like snow carried from Huaibei to Zhongzhou, never melting along the way.

The jade slip was placed against his forehead, and Pang Ban's voice poured in directly.

He said the rain in Dongzhou had just stopped when they encountered trouble. Liao Chen led three thousand monks from the Jinling Buddhist Kingdom across the river, their copper bell sword energy shattering the air and breaking the sword formation guarded by the Azure Dragon Society at the northern stone gate. The residual trajectory of the sword energy still hung in the sky; Pang Ban said he looked up and saw it, and it looked like a charred scar.

"The Stone Gate is not defensible," Pang Ban said calmly. "I withdrew my defenses and opened the way. The three kings are surrounding it from the outside, they haven't moved."

Dongfang Weiwu pressed his thumb against the edge of the jade slip, where there was a newly formed crack, left by Pang Ban's excessive force when he injected the message—the old demon's cultivation seemed to have improved again, as even the slightest bit of residual force from his fingertip could leave a mark on the jade slip.

The second paragraph is even shorter. Wu Zetian integrated the military forces of Huaibei, Qingzhou, and Youzhou, proclaimed herself "Martial God of the Great Zhou," and already had half-step Celestial beings serving under her.

In the third paragraph, the True Martial Sect Leader led thirty core disciples westward into the Central Plains, leaving Guiyuan to guard the region. Pang Ban paused, then added, "You handle it."

In the last paragraph, Dongfang Weiwo's breathing paused for a beat.

Qin Muzhi sacrificed three thousand years of national fortune, sending Qin Lin'an into a void rift.

Direction: Central Plains. The dynasty has collapsed, and all three Celestial Ancestors have perished. The Ninth Prince, skilled in persuasion, is currently drifting in the void's turbulent currents, his final destination unknown.

"When did the jade slip arrive?" he asked, his voice more steady than he had expected.

"This morning," Ye Gucheng said, "when you entered the Taichu Divine Sect's headquarters."

Dongfang Weiwo held the jade slip and walked to the desk, placing his palm on the cold tabletop.

He didn't sit down immediately, but stood and thought for a while. Raindrops were still hanging from the eaves outside the window, falling and shattering on the stone steps with a sound as soft as a sigh.

He picked up his pen, and only when the tip touched the blank jade slip did he realize his hand wasn't trembling. This pleased him. Some things, as long as your hand doesn't shake, you can do them.

The first reply was to Pang Ban.

The Northern Stone Gate was given to Chen. Whether he can get it or not is his own achievement; if not, it saves us a lot of trouble.

The three kings continued to surround the outer perimeter. If anything beyond control opened the stone gate, they would immediately suppress it. There was no need to ask about Chen. There was no need to ask whether he was alive or dead.

After carving these lines, the pen stopped at the five characters "No need to ask about the dust".

He recalled the aura of the copper bell sword. The old monk Liaochen had once handed him a bowl of tea outside Jinling City.

The tea had gone cold. He picked it up and drank it all in one gulp, and Liao Chen nodded with a smile. At that time, Abbot Lei Yin was still in seclusion, and Liao Chen was serving the guest on his behalf. Underneath the bowl of tea was a note with only two words: "Knowing you."

They didn't see each other again for ten years. Until that sword strike.

The second jade slip was sent back to Dongzhou by Pang Ban, and also to Li Chenzhou—

Wu Zetian. She neither initiates attacks nor relies on others. If she moves north towards the Marquis's residence, she will respond directly. If she moves west towards the Azure Dragon Society's territory, Li Chenzhou will intervene.

If she doesn't breach our defenses, let her expand. If she wants a place in Zhongzhou, she'll come after me sooner or later. We can discuss friend or foe then.

The third jade slip was given to Pang Ban, and also to Shi Zhixuan.

The True Martial Sect Leader has entered Zhongzhou, leaving Guiyuan to guard it. The True Martial Sect must have some old members in Zhongzhou; Shi Zhixuan should keep an eye on this. Guiyuan's decision to remain behind shouldn't be over-interpreted; even if he harbors ulterior motives, with his master absent, a mere youth cannot cause trouble. However, if the True Martial Sect Leader contacts the Taichu Divine Sect, report to me immediately. Even if they don't, report to me nonetheless.

The three jade beams, simplified into streams of light, shot through the window and disappeared into the deep night in the southeast. Thunder rumbled from the depths of the clouds outside, muffled and like a giant beast turning over.

"The matter of the Zhenwu Sect Leader entering Zhongzhou is more complicated than I thought."

He withdrew his gaze, his voice neither loud nor soft, as if talking to himself, yet also as if addressing the two people behind him, "The Primordial Divine Sect didn't mention a single word about me when they saw me. Unless they know nothing about me at all, unless the True Martial Sect Leader has taken a different path."

Ye Gucheng walked from the corridor into the courtyard, his robes brushing against the puddles without making a sound.

That means the "old guard" of the Zhenwu Dao Sect in Zhongzhou is not from the Taichu Shenzong.

"Where?" Ximen Chuixue asked. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, his gaze like two unsheathed narrow blades.

Dongfang Weiwo returned to his desk. A map of Zhongzhou lay on the corner of the table, the ink blurred by moisture, some parts already indistinct.

He started from Baidi City, his finger slowly sliding upwards—crossing the territory of the Eternal Sect, where strongholds marked with red circles were scattered like stars; crossing the territory of the Shen family, like a snake coiled north of the great river; then stopping next to a blank area in the middle, where there were only three words, the ink extremely dark, as if they had been drawn more than once.

"The Valley of Ten Thousand Calamities," he said, "is perhaps far more ancient than we imagine."

Ye Gucheng and Ximen Chuixue looked over at the same time.

The three words on the map were silently nailed to the depths of Broken Soul Ridge, surrounded by a circle of dark red dotted lines, with a small note beside them: "The Lord of Calamity is in the mid-stage of Creation, and he does not appear for ten thousand years. Every time he makes a move, it causes a cataclysmic change in the world."

"The True Martial Sect Leader took thirty core disciples there," Dongfang Weiwo pointed at the three words with his fingertip, the pressure light, yet the ink blotted out slightly. "The meaning is very clear."

He straightened up and walked to the window. The rain started falling again, fine and dense, like someone sifting ashes from the sky.

The outline of Baidi City was blurred in the rain, its uneven rooftops resembling a group of crouching beasts. In the distance, lights shone from the Taichu Divine Sect's headquarters, their orange glow blurring into a gentle haze in the rain—but what lay beneath that gentleness, he did not know.

"On the eve of the merging of heaven and earth, everyone is choosing sides," he said. "The Eastern Continent is in chaos, the Central Continent is waiting, and the Valley of Ten Thousand Calamities is recruiting people."

He looked down at his right hand. The dark gold line on his palm was not very noticeable in the dim light of the rainy day, like a faded old brand.

But he could feel it pulsating, steady and rhythmic, in sync with his heartbeat. From the moment the demonic bloodline resonated within the dry well, it had never truly fallen silent.

"The ancient formation of White Emperor City is waiting for me to touch it. The Primordial Divine Sect is waiting for me to make a statement. The gray-robed man is waiting for me to approach. Demon God Lü is also waiting for me."

He lowered his hand, the lines disappearing into the depths of his palm.

"No rush to leave. Go see Shen Jinglan again tomorrow and ask what kind of 'let's talk about something else' the Taichu Divine Sect can offer. Then—"

He looked north. Beyond the rain-shrouded cliffs, towards the direction of Broken Soul Ridge, lay a land he had never set foot on. If the True Martial Sect Leader had truly entered the Valley of Ten Thousand Calamities, perhaps he should go and take a look.

It's not about stopping them, nor necessarily about helping them. It's just about going to see. To see why those who haven't left their homes for millennia suddenly opened their doors on the last night before the merging of heaven and earth.

"Go to sleep," he said. "There's always tomorrow."

Ye Gucheng and Ximen Chuixue remained silent, each taking half a step back, like two doors closing silently.

Amidst the sound of rain, a faint, dark golden light flickered deep within the dry well in the south of the city.

The array base of Baidi City was breathing, each light triggering an ancient rhythm deep beneath the earth. Twenty disciples of the Primordial Divine Sect sat cross-legged on the outer edge of the barrier, their spiritual senses weaving a dense net that enveloped the area within a hundred feet of the well opening.

When rain falls on the barrier, it is deflected, drawing countless tiny arcs of light in the darkness.

No one noticed that a gray figure had been standing atop an abandoned tower three hundred feet away for a long time.

The roof tiles were blackened by the rain, yet his boots left no mark when he stepped on them. Raindrops slid away automatically within half a foot of him, without touching his clothes at all—not by shaking them off with his inner energy, but because the raindrops seemed to be afraid of something and changed direction on their own.

The hood was pulled low, revealing only a section of the chin and the side of the neck. The skin there was deathly pale, and the carotid artery was faintly visible as a bluish tinge.

His gaze pierced through the rain, staring at the ruins of the dry well for a long time. The frequency of the dim golden light flickering in the pile of rubble around the wellhead revealed a pattern to him—not the fluctuations of natural array patterns, but a resonance triggered by some kind of bloodline.

He waited all night, and finally his heartbeat began to synchronize with the heartbeat of someone far away.

He slowly raised his right hand. The rainy night was too dark to see the lines on his palm, only a black lotus mark occasionally flashing a faint light.

The light seeped out from under the skin, like embers buried in flesh.

"The Demon-Sealing Bloodline..." His voice was mostly swallowed by the sound of rain, leaving only the movement of his lips and a very low whisper, "You've finally arrived."

The gray figure didn't linger. He withdrew his hand, turned around, and slid down the edge of the tower, like a drop of ink merging into a deeper pool. The rain closed in, and the tower returned to its emptiness.

at the same time--

Thousands of miles away. In a desolate mountain area in the Central Plains. Suddenly, a crack appeared in the night sky, like an old quilt being torn open from the inside.

Grayish light leaked out from the crack, followed by a falling human figure.

Qin Lin'an fell from the void and crashed heavily onto a barren grassy slope covered with a thin layer of frost.

He was wrapped in a dark python robe, the surface of which was torn to shreds by the turbulent currents as he passed through the void. Only half of the python's head, embroidered with gold thread, remained, lying on his shoulder, like a snake biting him and refusing to let go.

The starry sky of Zhongzhou hung overhead. Not a single star in this foreign land was recognized—the Big Dipper of Dongzhou had veered off course here, and the Purple Star had sunk below the horizon. This sky was chillingly unfamiliar.

But he was breathing. He was panting. He was still alive.

The dynasty is gone. My father is gone.

The primordial spirit lamps of the three Celestial Ancestors went out simultaneously on the same night. In the last instant before the void rift closed, he saw the three pillars of light shoot into the sky and then shatter into countless fireflies.

He looked up at the unfamiliar stars and suddenly chuckled softly.

The sound was squeezed out of the throat, mixed with blood and gasps, and was scattered by the night wind among the weeds.

There was no sorrow in the laughter. It was the chilling laughter of someone driven to the brink of despair who opened their eyes again.

"Only I exist in the East..."

He lay in the mud, gazing at the starry sky, his voice as soft as a soliloquy, yet as heavy as if carved by a knife or axe.

"You're in Zhongzhou too, aren't you?"

The rain didn't fall here. This patch of starry sky was unusually clean, as if the Central Plains were waiting specifically for him to lie down and see it all clearly.

In the distance, wolves howled. Closer by, the soft, continuous rustling of grass blades filled the air.

Qin Lin'an closed his eyes, then opened them again. He raised his right hand, fingers spread, towards the night sky.

He clenched his fist.

He sat on the grassy slope, facing southeast, the direction of the Eastern Continent. The direction of his homeland. The direction of the collapsed imperial city. The direction of his father's sinking into the ruins.

He didn't turn around.

The rain was still falling on Baidi City. Night had deepened; the old locust tree's branches had stopped dripping, and a crack appeared in the clouds, revealing a small patch of dark blue sky. The night in Zhongzhou was still long, enough for many people to do many things simultaneously.

Some are asleep. Some are awake. Some have just died. Some have just come back to life. Some are staring at a dry well in the rainy night, some are clenching their fists under the starry sky.

Dongfang Weiwo stood by the window, looking north for the last time. The ancient formation awaited him.

The resonance of the demonic bloodline within the dry well grew stronger and stronger. Even across half a city, he could feel that low, continuous pull, like a string being plucked, one note after another, refusing to stop.

He turned and walked back to the desk, then blew out the lamp.

Just as the lights went out, moonlight streamed through the clouds and shone on the open map of Zhongzhou on the corner of the table.

The three characters "Wan Jie Gu" (Valley of Ten Thousand Calamities) gleamed with a thin layer of silver in the moonlight.