Deep in the Eastern Wasteland Daoist Land stood Taishang Palace, wreathed in white clouds all year round.
Qing Xuzi, the leading figure of the Dao Sect, sat cross-legged inside Sanqing Hall on Taishang Palace's highest floor.
An ancient Eight Trigrams Bronze Compass floated before him.
Its needle spun wildly at a speed that defied reason.
Fine beads of sweat covered Qing Xuzi's aged yet ruddy face.
He was divining the Divine Capital's fortunes.
From the moment the Heaven Devouring Hou fell six hours earlier, he had sensed a bottomless crack appear in the heavenly pillar of the Great Qian Dynasty's national fortune.
That crack had not been forcibly cleaved open by an external force, but corroded and unraveled from within by some higher-dimensional law.
He tried to capture the source of that law through the compass.
The needle spun faster and faster, its friction producing a piercing screech in the silent hall.
At the very instant the compass needle was about to settle on an unknown direction.
A burst of dark golden light followed the invisible Karma Threads of his divination across countless miles and slammed back into Sanqing Hall's vaulted ceiling.
Qing Xuzi's chest tightened, and he spat out a great mouthful of fresh blood flecked with golden light.
The Eight Trigrams Bronze Compass, passed down for a thousand years, split down the middle and fell onto the bluestone floor tiles.
He clutched his chest and panted for a long time before finally suppressing the blood and Qi churning within him.
Soft footsteps sounded outside the hall doors.
A young woman in a moon-white Daoist robe pushed open the doors and entered.
Her features were cool and otherworldly, a cinnabar mark dotted her brow, and she held a jade-boned fly whisk.
She was Su Qinghan, the current generation's Holy