True Person Taiping had spent hundreds of years preparing for this world-destroying scheme, calculating every aspect of the situation, from the Netherworld to the Mortal World, from the imperial court to the countryside, from the banks of the Turbid Waters to Cloud Terrace and back to Green Mountain.
The Never-Old Forest, which spread throughout the world, had collected countless pieces of information for him, ensuring that he would make no misjudgments at those crucial junctures.
The Zen Child was indeed in White City, because he had to guard the Snowfield, and everyone knew that the Blade Sage Cao Yuan had suffered grievous injuries in his battle with the Snow Nation Queen and had not appeared in the Mortal World for nearly a hundred years.
Bu Qiuxiao was at the critical moment before becoming a sage, sitting in meditation deep within One-Thatch Studio, his spirit roaming between heaven and earth, unable to wake.
But just as True Person Taiping had said Jing Jiu could not calculate everything, how could he himself account for everything? How could he know what choices those people would make at certain moments? What unforeseen events awaited him?
Fierce winds howled through One-Thatch Studio, sweeping against their usual course. Willows along the shore were torn out by the roots, and ten thousand lotuses snapped in the lake, flying about like tattered hats or bobbing on the water. It was an utterly desolate sight.
More frightening still, those winds had been stained red, like billowing blood mist, filled with killing intent.
The formation that had suppressed the passage into the Netherworld for countless years had failed. Bell Mountain at the end of the Thousand-Li Wind Corridor was already riddled with holes, its whimpering sounding more like a broken flute than a bell. Hard rock turned to powder and