Chapter 132: Facing the Heavenly Dao

The driving rain halted in an instant. Countless droplets hung suspended midair, as though even the heavens had been shaken by that single utterance, too awed to shed another tear for her.

Behind her back, Ming Zhuo’s severed hand moved slightly, subtle as a whisper. Across tens of thousands of puppet strings, it was as if she had exchanged a palm strike with Luo Xu.

Their hearts were as one—no words needed.

Luo Xu chanted a spell, lifting the lid of the bronze coffin. With lightning speed, she carved a single character onto its surface: “断”—Break.(1) Then, with a powerful strike, she sent it flying. That one word split into countless others—break, break, break—all surging toward Ming Yao.

“Little Imperial Lord,” Ming Han said gently, “Didn’t your father or your grandfather ever tell you about the temperament of monarchs? This one—once she sets her heart on something, the harder it is to achieve, the more determined she becomes.”

He summoned the secret treasure from his left side: a scarlet-gold li bird. Once unsealed, it stirred to life, wings fluttering with a delicate rustle. He offered it up with a tender smile. “The more you try to keep the monarch sealed in that coffin, the more fiercely she’ll fight to emerge.”

What he loved most was a good deadlock. Looking back on all the snares he had crafted over the years, each and every one forced his prey into an impossible choice.

Now, as Luo Xu fought to restrain Ming Yao, Ming Han poured even more spiritual energy into controlling her. And Ming Zhuo—caught between them, the conduit through which the power passed—was the one who bore the full brunt of the cost. That was why she said: she wasn’t competing with Ming Han. She was only contending with herself.

The scarlet-gold li bird pierced through the frozen raindrops, flying alongside the storm of “Break” characters. Together, they plunged into Ming Yao’s arms.

The bronze coffin groaned under the sudden weight, its four limbs splaying wide as though it was supporting some lofty mountain, as it was pressed into the ground.

Ming Zhuo and Luo Xu joined forces, suppressing the coffin lid from afar—but then came a sharp kāchā, followed by several more. In the blink of an eye, seven or eight jagged fractures split across the coffin lid guarded by both divine powers.

Ming Han murmured, “The tide of fate cannot be turned.”

And the coffin lid shattered on the spot!

Ming Yao raised her left hand. The scarlet-gold li bird settled lightly in her palm. She cast a sidelong glance at Luo Xu and said: “Heavenly Dao.”

Overhead, the grand manji formation dimmed. The Four Mountains trembled violently. The dī-dīdā-dá of rain began to fall again. But this time, it was not summoned by Ming Zhuo. It was the wrath of the sky-ocean itself, crashing against the seals on all four sides—breaking them open, letting fury spill out.

From the Four Mountains to the Six Prefectures, across the unified realm, every living being was swept into a torrential storm. In temples across the land, incense flames were snuffed out in unison. Countless statues and name plaques began to tremble violently on their altars, rattling with deafening ka-ka-ka sounds.

What does it mean to reign over all spirits? This—this is what it means! With a single utterance of “Heavenly Dao,” the very heavens yield, and even gods change colour in fear.

Ming Zhuo’s face had gone bone white. The incantation marks had crept up the tip of his tongue. He could no longer even hear his own breath—only the fire blazing in his chest, threatening to consume him from within. He bit down hard, tasting blood, and roared: “This—”

Rain crashed down like arrows. The wind shrieked with the cries of ghosts and wails of gods, all aimed straight at Luo Xu. Pain flared in his chest, a familiar agony. He raised his hand and pulled fiercely at the air, steadying the Silver Command of Heaven’s Punishment and finishing the words Ming Zhuo had tried to speak: “This place is forbidden!”

Silver light and violet flame surged together as divine thunder burst in the shape of a blazing manji. Pīlipālā!—lightning tore through the sky. Emperor or god, world’s first or not— So long as the two of them stood guard today—this must not be allowed to pass——

The sea of heaven roared to life. A single towering wave crashed down and shattered the bronze beast that guarded the coastal stronghold—then came a flood of ten thousand fathoms, surging straight from above, drowning and collapsing the unmanned Southern Imperial Mountain in one sweeping blow.

Luo Xu coughed up a mouthful of blood against the flow, silver hair drenched and scattered by the rain.

He bore the title of the Tianhai Imperial Lord, his duty sworn to its defence. If the sea breached its bounds, he would be subject to the severe punishment decreed long ago by the Empress herself. This was the price of wielding the Heaven-Slaying Silver Talisman—a burden etched into the title of Imperial Lord.

In this world, every spell, every spirit comes at a cost. Mortals begin the path of communion with spirits by "borrowing" power. But the higher one climbs, the heavier the toll becomes. The clans and sects of the Six Prefectures are obsessed with worship, not because they revere the divine, but because the deities themselves have long been tamed by the Ming Clan’s command sigils, turned into mere conduits for spiritual exchange.

But the Luo Clan of the Heavenly Sea had long been bound under the Ming banner. And in return for borrowing the strength of the gods and the endless tide, their price was this: to guard the Heavenly Sea, generation after generation.

Now the levee had burst, and the Tianhai Imperial Lord would be the first to pay the price.

"Pa!"

Through the pouring rain, dozens of spirit-writing brushes were swept into the muddy earth. Their owners—some sprawled, some slumped—lay with dull, clouded eyes wide open, staring helplessly into the sky as the rain beat down on their lifeless faces.

A young man slowly loosened his death-pale grip. Dī-dīdā-dá—the rain drummed gently into his palm. Behind him, youthful faces—lined one after another—lay atop his back, heavy with silence and finality.

“Shifu...” the young man whispered, “’ Zhén’, how do you write it? You, a second time, must teach me.”

Before him still shimmered a cracked Great Seal of Zhenhai, once bright with power. At its center had once sat a scarlet-gold spirit mouse. Now, it was empty, and all that remained was the sound of waves.

Scattered all around were countless talismans, soaked by rain. The young man bent down and picked one up—then another. Their ink had run, their script blurred to nothingness. Whatever power they once held was now unreadable. He stuffed them into his mouth. Like a starving man who had not eaten in days, he devoured them—ravenous, desperate.

"I wish to follow the Clan Chief…"

The voices of his fellow disciples rose like waves, echoing faintly in his ears. He swallowed hard, ink smearing across his lips, his hands, his entire face. When the last talisman was gone, he seized his brush once more, rose to his feet, and stepped forward. Around him, corpses jostled against his body, limbs fallen together like scattered firewood. But he did not waver. With a thunderous stroke, he brought his brush down upon the cracked Great Seal of Zhenhai.

“Together with my brothers and sisters,” his voice rang out as he wrote, “I shall guard Heaven’s Pass!”

His brush moved like lightning, steady and resolute, sealing the fractures in the sigil. A serene smile curved his lips as he completed the stroke. The final character flared to life. A burst of ghostly light surged into the sky. A gale swept through the mountain slope, lifting every sodden talisman into the air—then driving them headlong into the raging wave of the Heavenly Sea that had torn the seal apart.

The character “Zhén” exploded into the sky, drawn in pure black ink, as though splashed by the hand of heaven itself. It solidified midair in a flash. And the roaring sea hesitated for just one breath. Then the breach gave way, and the floodwaters of the Heavenly Sea surged through in a force that could not be resisted, swallowing the young man whole.

The voices of the disciples, still echoing faintly, struck like alarm bells. They rang out three times—then faded into silence.

In the heavens, the twin arms of the manji formation flickered and dimmed. Jiang Xueqing rushed back into the ancestral temple at a dead run, only to hear one disciple cry out: “Something’s wrong! Right after those two thunderclaps, the Scarlet-Gold Fire Fish started thrashing!”

But by now, Jiang Xueqing had steeled her heart. She stepped forward without hesitation, crouched low, and listened. Deep within the Great Seal of Zhenhai, she could still hear the Fire Fish swimming calmly. “Don’t panic,” she said. “The seal hasn’t broken. That means the Imperial Lord’s Silver Command of Heaven’s Punishment still holds power. The manji formation is still in place…”

As if in answer to her words, a crisp crack split across the surface of the Great Seal of Zhenhai. Gasps rang out among the disciples. They surged forward, murmuring in alarm. “This seal was left by the Empress herself! Now that it’s cracking—could it be that some evil from the Heavenly Sea has gained passage to the heavens and seeks to descend and bring ruin upon the mortal world?”

Jiang Xueqing said calmly, “No…”

The four Scarlet-Gold sacred treasures bore the heavens not by chance, but because they shared their source with Hundun. Long ago, Ming Yao had established the Four Pillars to Uphold the Sky, invoking the power of gods and exhausting the strength of the world to anchor those treasures atop the four sacred mountains. Such divine artifacts—no mere evil spirit could break them.

Thoughts rushed like the tide through her mind. But even before she could settle them, the Great Seal of Zhenhai split once again.

A disciple cried out, “It’s no use! The seal is weakening—the Scarlet-Gold Fire Fish is breaking free!”

“Form the array!” Jiang Xueqing commanded.

The disciples sprang back, hands flying to their swords. Tension surged like thunderclouds on the brink of a storm. Then—someone stepped through the gate and clapped their hands leisurely. “No need to panic. It’s not time for battle yet. From the looks of it, your Imperial Lord can still hold the line.”

“Shifu!” the disciples exclaimed with joy.

The one who had arrived was none other than Sanhai-Jun, Jiang Shuangke, known across the world by another name: Yishi Niang, the one form lady. Sword at her hip, hair tousled as though just awakened, she wore a wrinkled robe and an air of effortless ease. Nodding to her disciples, she said, “That Fire Fish has stayed in our household for centuries. What’s the harm in letting it stretch a little? You all just let it be, ba.”

As she spoke, she stepped up to the Great Seal of Zhenhai, reaching out as if greeting an old friend. She gently brushed her fingers across its surface. “Seems well-behaved to me. Doesn’t look the least bit eager to come out.”

And just like that—the Fire Fish, which had been thrashing in a frenzy, froze mid-motion, still, silent. The seal restored itself completely. Not a single crack remained. Jiang Shuangke turned, eyes calm. “What is the code of Posuo Sect?”

The disciples answered in chorus, “Resolve to quell calamity and misfortune.”

“Ah?” Jiang Shuangke blinked. “Is that the one? I could’ve sworn you made me recite a different one last time… Well, never mind. I thought it was ‘use offence as defence’.”

Strange, perhaps, how she reeked of wine and treated crisis with such irreverence—but the moment she appeared, every disciple’s heart steadied. Even if the sky were falling, they believed their Shifu would find a way to prop it back up.

Jiang Shuangke rummaged in her sleeve and pulled out a hair tie. Carelessly gathering up her tousled hair, she smiled slightly and turned to her disciples. “And what is the First Style of the Posuo Hellfire Sword?”

“Shifu, you’re drunk!” everyone said together in a ruckus. “Of course it’s Plucking Vanguard”

“That one I don’t know.” Jiang Shuangke grinned. “But today, we’ll strike to defend. So I'll help Shifu with Plucking Vanguards today.” She turned as if casually, tapped twice upon the empty air— “Come now. Let’s go to the Heavenly Sea. See what ruckus is brewing—and who dares challenge the Heavenly Pass of our Beilu Mountain.”

"Wēng—!"

Her knock opened a path—a gate straight to the boundless Heavenly Sea. A violent wind surged through it, sea spray flung like knives, crashing into her robes.

Jiang Shuangke’s sleeves billowed like sails. One hand on her sword, she stepped forward and crossed the threshold. With every step she took, the waves calmed a little more.

The northern arc of the manji formation blazed to life, like a blaze of karmic fire. It joined the power of the Silver Command of Heaven’s Punishment—and rose to meet Heavenly Dao, with the sharpness of its edge unsheathed!

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Foot Notes

1. 断 or “Duàn”