Within the fog-choked peaks of the Hundred Thousand Great Mountains, Fuxi's voice acted as a cooling balm to the Yao's scorched pride. He spoke of endurance, of the long game, and of the secrets held within Zixiao Palace.
His suggestion was met with a chorus of desperate approval.
"It is the only path," one Yao master breathed. "The Witches have the earth, but we have the Spirit. We have the right to stand before the Saint and listen to the Dao. Those barbarians could never even grasp the hem of a Saint's robe."
"And the discipleship!" Yingzhao added, his eyes burning with a sudden, sharp light. "If one of us is chosen, if one of us becomes a disciple of the Saint, the Witches will find that the earth beneath their feet has turned to quicksand. We will not just deal with them—we will erase them."
The sermon was their silver bullet. The gap in raw power was vast, but they believed the gap in understanding was even larger.
"Let them be smug for a moment," Jiuying shouted, thumping his chest with a hollow bravado. "When I return from the Palace, I'll personally tear one of those twelve apart!"
"Fine," Gui Che spat, his seven remaining bird-heads drooping in a rare moment of concession. "If none of you will fight now, I will wait. But my lost head demands blood. I will endure... for now."
Bai Ze stood in the corner of the council chamber, his face obscured by shadow. He listened to the boasting, the hope, and the bravado until he could no longer keep silent.
"You are looking at a wolf and seeing a dog," he said, his voice cutting through the noise like a cold wind. "Whether we fight is not our choice. It is theirs. If the Witches decide to finish what they started, our 'desire' to wait for a sermon will mean nothing."
The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. Nuwa finally broke it, her voice carrying a weary authority. "Let it rest. Perhaps, on the eve of the Saint's words, even the Witches will feel the need for restraint."
It was a hollow hope, and they all knew it.
Meanwhile, the scene at Mount Buzhou was one of tectonic upheaval. The Witches had moved in like a force of nature, clearing every trace of the Yao from the mountain's flanks.
"We were far too kind before," Di Jiang declared, his voice shaking the heavens. "We allowed those filthy things to crawl upon Father God's spine. No more. From this heartbeat forward, Mount Buzhou belongs solely to the children of Pangu!"
His decree was backed by the weight of a hundred million warriors. But the Witches were not finished.
Far to the south, the earth began to groan. In the heart of the ancient Witch-lands, twelve colossi—higher than the clouds—braced their shoulders. From the soil, the Pangu Temple emerged. It was a hall of ancient, glowing stone, wreathed in immeasurable Laws and the grey mists of Chaos. It vibrated with a sound that seemed to hum through the very fabric of space and time.
The Witches began to walk.
Every step caused a localized earthquake. They carried the divine hall toward the horizon, their movements slow, deliberate, and backed by a terrifying, unstoppable strength. Creatures along their path fled in a state of primal terror as they watched the temple—a structure more vast and potent than a Major Thousand World—being hauled toward the world's pillar.
BOOM!
The temple slammed into the earth at the base of Mount Buzhou. Billions of feet of dust erupted into the atmosphere, shrouding the sun for days. When the air finally cleared, the Pangu Temple sat anchored before the mountain like a new heart.
"Now that is a masterpiece!" Qiang Liang roared, clapping his hands with a force that sent arcs of lightning dancing through the dust.
"Father God's backbone and his divine hall, reunited," the God of Fire laughed, his voice warm with a rare, instinctual joy. "The Luck of our race will drown the world!"
"Let the Yao dream of this place from their holes in the mud!" Gonggong added, his eyes fixed on the towering heights of Buzhou. "We live here now. Let any man who wishes for death try to set foot on this soil."
At Di Jiang's command, the tribes began the great migration. The center of the world had shifted.
High on the Sun Star, Ling Xiao watched the relocation with a somber, appreciative eye.
"Rough yet meticulous," he murmured.
He understood what the others didn't. Mount Buzhou was the pillar of the world, Pangu's very skeleton. By anchoring their temple there, the Witches weren't just taking land—they were plugging themselves directly into the source of their power. It was a move of profound instinctual brilliance.
"I expected the Yao to be weak," Ling Xiao sighed, "but not this vulnerable."
He found himself in the strange position of cheering for his enemies. If the Yao were wiped out too quickly, the focus of the great Calamity would shift—and he had no desire to be the next target for the Witches' expansion.
"Strive for success, Nuwa," he whispered to the void. "Bai Ze, do something useful."
He knew the true danger. The Witches had yet to unleash their ultimate weapon—the Twelve Capital Gods Fiend Formation. It was a killer formation that could make even a Saint hesitate. Below that level, nothing in the Honghuang world could withstand it head-on.
"The Yao have a very long road ahead," he lamented, before closing his eyes to return to his meditation. "And I have more Laws to master."
The world held its breath, but the expected second strike from the Witches did not come immediately. In the deceptive calm, a figure appeared on the border of the Witch territories.
It was an incarnation of the East King Duke. He had come not as a conqueror, but as a messenger of "peace"—or at least, a stay of execution.
Inside the Pangu Temple, Di Jiang looked down from his high throne at the Duke, a sneer twisting his lips.
"East King Duke," Di Jiang said, his voice echoing off the ancient walls. "You have a great deal of courage to step into this hall. Are you not afraid I will tear your soul apart for sport?"
"The Ancestral Witches are masters of the world," the Duke replied, his voice steady despite the sweat beading on his brow. "Surely they are too wise to strike down a messenger of the primordial order without cause."
Di Jiang laughed—a loud, booming sound that held no warmth. "Speak then. Why have you come to our hearth?"
"I have heard rumors," the Duke said, straightening his posture. "That you intend to finish the Yao before the Saint speaks. I am here to ask if those rumors are true."
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