East King Duke stood in the center of his garden, his mind a whirring mechanism of contingency. He had been passed over for discipleship, but the title of "Head of Male Immortals" was a seal of the Dao Ancestor himself. It was a weapon, provided he knew how to wield it.
"I shall not let this authority go to waste," he whispered. "The Saint spoke of a Heavenly Court... then I shall raise an Immortal Court. If the world lacks order, I shall be the one to impose it."
But his ambitions were cut short by a tremor that made the very foundations of Zifu Island groan. It felt as if a tectonic beast was clawing its way through the crust. The Duke's blood ran cold; he knew that scent—the smell of ancient, unrefined blood and raw, predatory power.
The Ancestral Witches had arrived.
Rumble!
The ceiling of his grotto-palace was peeled back like a dry leaf by a colossal, grey-skinned hand. A face, vast and terrifyingly impassive, loomed over him.
"East King Duke," Di Jiang rumbled, his pupils glowing with a divine light that made the space around him shudder and warp. "Where do you think you're going?"
The Duke's first instinct was to flee, but he suppressed it. To run from the Sovereign of Space was a fool's errand; he would be hunted down and torn apart before he reached the horizon. He steadied his breathing, though his smile was as thin and brittle as glass.
"Fellow Daoist Di Jiang! What auspicious wind has brought the children of Pangu to my humble island?"
"Stop the theater, Duke," Di Jiang barked, his killing intent flaring like a physical heat. "You made me a promise. I have a long memory, and my patience is a shallow pool. Do you have the secret, or do you have a death wish?"
"I have it!" the Duke shouted, his voice gaining a sudden, desperate strength. "I was preparing my journey to find you this very hour! Please, Fellow Daoist—shrink your form, take a seat, and let me explain the wonders I have learned."
Di Jiang paused, his gaze a sharp blade of scrutiny. He shifted his size, stepping into the ruined hall. "No tricks, Duke. I can smell a lie better than I can smell blood."
"Of course, of course," the Duke said, his posture straightening as he felt the "Expert" persona take hold. He had to make this good. He couldn't repeat the Saint's actual words—telling a Witch that Sainthood required "perseverance" was a death sentence. He had to give them something they could touch.
"In the Zixiao Palace, I asked the Dao Ancestor privately about the fate of the Wu," the Duke began, his voice dropping to a solemn, weighty register. "And the answer I received was a single word: Pangu."
Di Jiang's eyes narrowed. "Father God?"
"Exactly. Your race is the blood of the Creator. You are the only ones who can claim his physical legacy. Thus, your path to the summit is not through the spirit, but through the restoration of the Father's form."
The Duke watched Di Jiang's expression. He saw the flicker of pride—the legendary Witch arrogance—and he leaned into it.
"There are two paths for the Wu," the Duke spun the tale, his confidence growing with every word. "First: belief. You must condense the reverence of your billions into a singular, unwavering faith. The world, which is Pangu, will respond to that love. It will shield you and elevate you."
Di Jiang nodded slowly. It sounded right. It sounded like the way a son should honor a father.
"And the second path?"
"Reclamation," the Duke said, pointing toward the sky. "Pangu's body transformed into all things. The more of those shards you hold, the greater your Luck. You have already taken Mount Buzhou—his spine—and felt your power grow. But what of his eyes?"
The Duke's voice was a silken trap. "The Sun Star and the Taiyin Star... they are the eyes of the Great God. They light the path for all living things. Rightfully, they belong to the children of the blood. If the Witches held the eyes of Pangu, would any Saint dare to look down upon you?"
Di Jiang's pupils dilated. The logic was a perfect mirror of his own desires. He looked up, his gaze piercing the roof of the cave to find the Sun Star burning in the heavens. Father's eyes... they should be lighting the way for our people, not the nests of Crows.
"You have given me much to ponder, Duke," Di Jiang said, his voice now carrying a hint of genuine respect.
"I live only to maintain the order, Fellow Daoist," the Duke replied modestly. He saw his opening and struck. "But there is one more thing. If the Wu Race marches upon the Yao... if you should happen to corner the thief Kunpeng... could you hand him to me? Not for the bird, but for the Primordial Violet Qi he carries. It is a spiritual trifle, useless to a master of the flesh like you, but it would serve my Court well."
Di Jiang laughed—a loud, booming sound that shook the island. "East King Duke, you are a merchant to your very marrow. I shall consider it. But remember: if these 'paths' prove to be smoke and mirrors, I will return to Zifu, and I will not be in a mood for conversation."
Di Jiang stood and vanished into a rift in space, his mind already mapping the war for the heavens.
The Duke watched him go, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. He had survived. He had turned the most dangerous man in the world into his own vanguard. Now, he just had to wait for the Golden Crows to fall.