Golden Turtle Island.
Zhao Xuan looked at the wisp of mortal fortune beneath Wen Zhong's name.
"Wen Zhong is holding steady for now."
Holy Mother Jinling did not ask how he knew.
She merely gripped her sword and asked quietly:
"What about this thread, then?"
Zhao Xuan looked toward the fourth guiding thread.
Three lines of text pinned it down, yet it had not snapped.
Instead, another remnant trace surfaced deeper within it.
This time, it was not writing.
It was a very faint image.
Like a table.
A table not yet fully set, but with its seats already reserved.
There was no one at the table.
Only a few empty seats.
Beside the empty seats, several blurry marks surfaced in succession.
The Xuan Sect.
The Heavenly Court.
The Western Sect.
The mortal world.
There was also a place pressed into the very center.
It bore no words.
Only a streak of gray-white list qi.
Daoist Duobao's expression changed completely.
"This is..."
Zhao Xuan's voice was icy.
"The Investiture Table."
"The feast hasn't begun."
"But the seats have already been reserved."
The fourth guiding thread trembled faintly.
As though it wanted to withdraw the image.
Zhao Xuan raised his brush and wrote directly beneath it.
[The tribulation has yet to begin.] [The seats are set in advance.] [The mortal world serves as the lure.] [The sects take their seats.]
As the final words settled into place.
All of Golden Turtle Island abruptly fell silent.
Zhao Xuan raised his eyes.
"So this wasn't a thread at all."
"It was a table."
"They intend to use the mortal world."
"To invite the sects to the feast."
``` [The tribulation has yet to begin.]
[The seats are set in advance.]
[The mortal world serves as the lure.]
[The sects take their