The Shattered Halberd Parts the Clouds, Startling Witchcraft; Ink Mist Swallows Light, Locking the Post Station

The shamans moved to surround the altar, taking their positions according to the alignment of the Northern Dipper.

Their black shamanic robes snapped in the wind, while the totems on their faces flickered in and out of the altar firelight.

"Sweet herbs steamed, orchids spread beneath; cassia wine and peppered brew are laid..."

The aged shaman-priest began first. His chant was ancient and eerie, carrying the distinctive lilting sorrow of Chu.

"Slow the measure, sing in peace; set the reed pipes and zithers, raise a mighty song..."

The middle-aged shaman-priests joined in chorus. The sounds of reed pipes and zithers drifted from the depths of the altar, entwining with the chant into a vast tide of sound that soared straight into the heavens.

They offered song and dance as sacrifice, communed with Eastern Emperor Taiyi through incantations, and poured every ounce of resentment and obsession into that curse spanning a thousand li.

At Wangyue Post Station, Lord Changping suddenly stopped screaming.

He sensed a familiar force surging in from afar, flowing along his bloodline and into the blood seal on his back.

That blood seal grew hotter and hotter, as though it were about to burn through his flesh.

His sagging body slowly straightened. Though drenched in blood, he exuded an eerie strength.

He suddenly threw back his head and laughed wildly at the sky, his voice shrill and unrestrained. "Ying Zheng! And Blood Butcher! You're finished! You're all finished!"

Before his words had even faded, the once-clear sky abruptly changed color.

Dark clouds in the west seemed to be churned by an enormous hand, gathering madly above Wangyue Post Station. Within moments, they had blotted out the sun and sky.

The low-hanging clouds pressed overhead, black as spilled ink, yet their edges glimmered with an eerie dark red—as if