Agreeing to the Ancestor Witches' Request, the Familiar Yet Unfamiliar Kunlun Mountains, the Unfamiliar Interception Sect

Qingyuan returned to the Pangu Temple.

This time, as he stepped through its doors, twelve gazes fell upon him at once, carrying scrutiny, anticipation, and a subtle silence that waited for him to make his move.

Dijiang sat in the deepest part of the temple.

His face remained indistinct, his figure flickering in and out of the void, as though he had merged with space itself, yet also as though he had been peeled away from it.

He spoke.

"Qingyuan."

His voice was level, as level as a mirror that reflected not the slightest emotion.

"Have you settled into life with the Witch Clan?"

Qingyuan nodded slightly.

"I have."

Dijiang said,

"What do you think of the Witch Clan's governance?"

Qingyuan fell silent for a moment, then spoke.

"It's very good."

He said, "Better than I ever expected."

Dijiang looked at him.

"Mm."

Qingyuan's gaze swept over the Twelve Ancestor Witches before turning beyond the temple, piercing its walls, the clouds, and the spiritual energy to reach deep into the Witch Clan's lands.

He saw those cities.

Each was on the scale of a star. Beneath their foundations, spiritual fire surged through the earth veins; above their ramparts, patterns of laws flowed. Their markets bustled with people, alive with countless auras.

There were members of the Witch Clan, beings of every kind, mortals, cultivators...

Spirit Ships traveled ceaselessly along the streets, trailing long wakes of spiritual light and tracing dazzling paths through the void. Within the palaces, the voices of cultivators discussing affairs gathered into a low hum, like the breathing of an ancient beast!

In the cultivation grounds, disciples stirred tides of spiritual energy as they trained, raising vortices of spiritual mist visible to the naked eye. In the Artifact Refining Workshops, furnace flames soared skyward and hammers thundered,