Catastrophe

The wind lifted her silver hair.

She glanced down at the faint glow cradled in her palms, the corners of her mouth twitching into a rare tenderness.

On the platform, only those people remained, and a tower scarred all over.

But Chen Guan noticed that the dot the size of a fingernail had begun to move. It slowly slid across his palm until it came to a halt.

Guan Jinyue hadn’t left.

Everyone saw the ball of light she held in her hands.

“Xiao Heng, big sister is here.”

Still no response.

Guan Jinyue tightened her fingers slightly, silver hair slipping over her shoulders, half-covering her face.

Su Yuehe sensed something wrong. She stepped forward, extending her perception, gently brushing the edges of the soul.

Guan Jinyue didn’t stop her.

“What’s wrong?” Hong Yuan noticed Su Yuehe’s expression shift and leaned in to ask.

Su Yuehe didn’t answer right away. She probed for a few more seconds, then withdrew her spiritual energy and turned to Guan Jinyue.

“Miss Guan, her soul’s origin… the damage is severe.”

Guan Jinyue finally lifted her head, fixing her gaze on Su Yuehe.

“What do you mean?”

Su Yuehe chose her words carefully. “She was used as a spell’s eye for three years. Her soul has been worn down by the seal during that time. The part that’s been stripped out now…”

“It’s just a shell.”

Hong Yuan didn’t understand, frowning. “A shell?”

“No consciousness. The soul’s origin is still there, but the awareness has been nearly ground away. Right now, she can’t perceive anything from the outside world.”

Guan Jinyue looked down at the faint light in her palm—still, unresponsive. One by one, she closed her fingers around it, shielding it in the deepest part of her grasp.

“Can it be cured?”

She asked Su Yuehe, her tone exactly the same as when she’d threatened everyone just moments ago.

Su Yuehe bit her lip.

“My ability can only stabilize a soul to keep it from dissolving further. To repair the origin and restore awareness… we’d need things beyond what I know of.”

Yin Chen had been standing to the side for a while, and now spoke up.

“Grandfather, is there any way in our family to help?”

Yin Tianzheng was still kneeling on the shattered metal plates. He was silent for a long time before answering.

“Repairing the soul’s origin cannot be achieved through spells alone.”

“It requires a medium with the same soul origin, or a rare treasure capable of reshaping consciousness.”

He paused.

“Our Yin family’s vault contains nothing like that.”

Guan Jinyue’s eyelids dropped slightly.

She had waited three years. Killed who knows how many people. Tore open the sky above Demon Capital and forced everyone to the negotiating table—all to bring her sister back.

She had succeeded.

Her sister was in her hands.

Alive. Whole. Not a soul dissipated.

But she couldn’t wake her.

Chen Guan stood five paces away, watching Guan Jinyue’s profile. He said nothing, remaining silent.

Guan Jinyue had once called them kindred spirits, trapped in the same fate—true enough. Both of them kept vigil over someone who wouldn’t wake.

In his mind, a flurry of comments scrolled past.

[Soul repair like this? Only a handful of people in this world could do it.]

[That divine fragment Brother Coffin carries—could it work as a same-origin medium? It’s a god’s thing, after all.]

[Above, you’re overthinking it. A divine fragment and a human soul are completely different systems. Forcing it would just blast the soul apart. Otherwise, Baal would’ve acted by now.]

The comments offered no reliable solution.

The system shop might have something, but Chen Guan himself was in debt, willing but powerless.

Guan Jinyue closed her palm, then took out a fist-sized transparent container from her storage ring. Its material was unidentifiable, silver patterns flowing across its surface.

She carefully placed the soul light inside, sealed it, and held the container with both hands resting before her.

“Yin Tianzheng.”

The old man looked up.

“Next time I come, I’ll bring Xiao Heng to settle accounts.”

Guan Jinyue looked at him, then turned to leave.

Then everyone heard a sound.

Thump.

Dull and heavy, resonating up from beneath their feet. Something deep inside the tower struck once.

Like… a heartbeat.

Guan Jinyue stopped.

Long Ao lowered his head, pressing his ear toward the ground.

“What was that sound?”

Hong Yuan also felt it—the vibration under her feet was even and strong.

“The tower isn’t shaking,” she said, crouching to touch the metal plate beneath her.

“Something down there is moving.”

Yin Tianzheng’s expression changed instantly.

He tried to push himself up, but his arms gave way, and he collapsed back to his knees. A mouthful of blood surged from his throat and sprayed onto the broken metal floor.

“Grandfather!” Yin Chen rushed over, grabbing Yin Tianzheng’s shoulder.

Yin Tianzheng pushed his hand away, wiped the blood from his mouth, and stared at the golden runes reigniting beneath his feet.

The runes flickered—on and off, on and off—in sync with the rhythm from below.

One heartbeat, one flash. Another, another flash.

Exactly matching the pulse.

“The seal… can’t hold,” Yin Tianzheng said, his voice carrying a panic that belied his age.

An Changqing’s hand immediately drew half of his sword from its sheath, starlight running along the blade.

“What do you mean it can’t hold?”

Yin Tianzheng didn’t answer him. Instead, he turned his gaze to Chen Guan.

“Young man.”

Chen Guan looked toward him, waiting.

“Your divine fragment, when it linked with the remnant form a moment ago, didn’t just get its attention.”

“It’s been hungry for so long. Your divine fragment is exactly what it most wants to eat.”

“That few seconds of contact—it swallowed some of the leaked energy from the fragment.”

“That little bit was enough for something in a dormant state.”

“Enough for what?” Long Ao pressed.

Yin Tianzheng didn’t look at him. Two words fell from his lips.

“To wake.”

Thump.

The second heartbeat came louder and heavier than the first. The entire Oriental Pearl Tower visibly shook with that single thud. The metal plates under their feet screeched as new cracks spiderwebbed from the center—chips of metal popped and fell with a clatter.

He had no more time to watch.

“Guan Jinyue, use space teleportation—get everyone out.” An Changqing’s judgment was swift; he pointed his drawn sword at the ground.

Even now, he chose to trust Guan Jinyue, who had always been their enemy.

Guan Jinyue held the soul container in her left hand and raised her right, drawing an arc in the air.

Silver light gathered at her fingertip for a moment—and shattered.

She paused, tried again.

Light gathered—shattered again.

A third time.

Shattered.

She lowered her hand, turning to look at An Changqing.

“The spatial structure is disrupted. Teleportation won’t open.”

Hong Yuan’s face turned pale. “What do you mean—we can’t get down?”

“The elevator.” Long Ao spun and ran toward the elevator. The metal cabin door hung open, but the lights inside were dead. The numbers on the button panel had all turned into gibberish, flashing in erratic strings.

He slapped the panel twice. Nothing. He kicked it once. Still nothing.