Beyond the village limits, the world had been reduced to a monochromatic nightmare.
Jiang Dao walked in silence, the thick soles of his boots crunching rhythmically against the heavy accumulation of snow. The sound was distinct, a dry creak-creak that seemed deafening in the stillness of the desolate landscape. He paused, tilting his head back to gaze at the sky. A howling wind whipped the falling snow into a frenzy, a chaotic white curtain that blurred the horizon and bit at exposed skin.
His expression darkened. The weather wasn't just harsh; it was unnatural.
For over ten days, the heavens had unleashed a relentless assault. If it wasn't torrential, freezing rain, it was blizzards so thick they choked the air. It was as if the world itself was trying to snuff out humanity.
Before the old Taoist left, he mentioned a shift—something that would alter the trajectory of heaven and earth, Jiang Dao mused, his brow furrowing as the icy wind tore at his clothes. Is this what he meant? Did the old fool actually predict the end of days?
The implications were catastrophic. A freeze this severe and prolonged wouldn't just kill the weak; it would obliterate the harvest. Crops were freezing in the fields. The soil was turning into iron. Even if ordinary people managed to survive the hypothermia, they would soon face the hollow ache of starvation.
Jiang Dao's heart burned with a mixture of rage and resolve. He pushed the thoughts aside for the moment and strode forward, leaving the desolate outskirts behind.
Inside the walls of Qianyuan City, the atmosphere was one of suffocating despair.
Masses of refugees huddled in the alleyways and corners, pressing their bodies together in a futile attempt to share warmth. They were a shivering, trembling organism of human misery. The air was filled with the low, constant hum of weeping. They had come from all directions, fleeing the frozen wastes, only to find a city that was struggling to keep its own heart beating.
It was a sea of black desperation. Many were mourning kin who had already frozen to death on the roadside. Worse whispers floated through the crowd—tales of hunger so profound that families were trading children, a desperate exchange of flesh for survival.
The mortal realm had ceased to be a home; it had become a purgatory.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sharp, rhythmic strike of metal on metal cut through the mournful sobbing. Heads snapped up.
"The Flame Gang is recruiting!" a voice bellowed from the street corner, rough and commanding. "Three full meals a day! We're digging coal at Nanshan! Anyone willing to work, step up and sign your name!"
The reaction was instantaneous and violent.
The promise of food acted like a spark in a powder keg. The shivering masses surged forward, a tidal wave of desperate humanity crashing toward the voice. The order of the street collapsed into chaos.
"Me! Pick me! I'm strong!"
"I can do the work of three men! Look at my arms!"
"I'm not afraid to die! Send me down the mines! I just want to eat!"
The recruiter, a hardened member of the Flame Gang, scowled at the approaching mob. "Line up! Get in line! Don't push!" he roared, his voice amplified by internal energy. "The Flame Gang isn't a charity house. You have to lift a thirty-pound stone just to qualify. If you can't lift, we can't use you!"
"I can lift it!"
"We can all lift it!"
The screams were desperate, terrifying in their intensity.
A short distance away, a luxurious carriage sat idling by the roadside, an island of wealth in a sea of poverty.
Xiang An, the Right Guardian of the Flame Gang, tucked his hands into the warm sleeves of his robe and peered out through the curtains. He watched the scene unfold with a heavy heart, exhaling a long plume of white vapor into the freezing air.
"This screwed-up world," Xiang An muttered, his voice low. "This thief of a Heaven isn't leaving a single path for people to survive. It's only been a few days, and the refugee count has tripled. Maybe quadrupled."
"Indeed," replied Du Feng, who was riding alongside the carriage window. He watched the desperate mob, his jaw set tight. "The world is dark enough as it is. Does this damned Heaven not have eyes? Can it not see the suffering?"
The influx of refugees had shattered the local economy. Prices were skyrocketing. Copper coins were becoming worthless. The panic in Qianyuan City was palpable, and even the Flame Gang was feeling the pressure, forced to shutter several of their businesses.
Their saving grace had been the Gang Leader's accidental discovery at Nanshan—strange black rocks that burned hotter and longer than wood.
Coal.
It was the lifeline that kept the Flame Gang breathing. It solved their heating issues and provided a trade commodity they shipped to the Central Plains, the North, and even the Dayu Dynasty. The profits were immense, but more importantly, the mines gave these refugees a chance. It gave them work, warmth, and food.
"My biggest worry right now isn't money, it's grain," Xiang An said, his brow furrowed. "Damn it all. We traded for massive stocks from the North, but if this insanity continues—if the freeze doesn't break—yields everywhere will collapse. Money won't matter if there's no rice to buy."
"True," Du Feng agreed, anxiety etching lines into his face. "Rice used to be three wen a dou. Now? It's nearly a tael of silver. If this keeps up, even the Flame Gang won't be able to hold the line."
"Has the Gang Leader returned?" Xiang An asked, changing the subject.
"Not yet. He's still out in the wastes."
Xiang An sighed, a sound of pure exhaustion, and signaled the driver to move on.
Hundreds of miles away, in the territory of the Dayu Dynasty, the snow was just as unforgiving.
Xu Zifeng and Zhao Ziling halted their carriage at the border of Tianshi Mountain. The journey had been grueling, the landscape erased by the endless white.
Zhao Ziling, a young woman with a vibrant spirit that the cold couldn't dampen, stepped out of the carriage and stretched. She looked toward the town ahead, a cluster of white roofs in the distance. "Senior Brother," she said, breathing out a cloud of steam. "Just past that town, and we'll finally see Master."
Inside the carriage, Xu Zifeng did not share her relief. He was staring intensely at the copper coins scattered in his palm. His brows were locked together in a tight knot.
"Something is wrong," he muttered. "Ziling, be on your guard. The reading... It's wrong."
Zhao Ziling rolled her eyes, turning back to him. "Senior Brother, be honest. How many times have your readings actually been right on this trip? I used to think you were a divining genius, a man who missed nothing. But ever since the Daye Dynasty, you've been jumping at shadows. You're disappointing this heroine."
Xu Zifeng ignored her teasing. He gathered the coins and cast them again.
The result was the same. The hexagram was hazy, obscured by a dense, impenetrable darkness. But through the gloom, he saw the faint, terrifying glimmer of blood.
"How can this be?" Xu Zifeng whispered, genuine fear creeping into his voice. Was his skill failing him, or was the world simply becoming unreadable?
"I'm going to check out the town," Zhao Ziling said, stepping away with long, confident strides. "You stay here and play with your money."
"Wait, Ziling!" Xu Zifeng scrambled out of the carriage, panic rising in his chest. He looked toward the town, desperate to see what the coins were seeing.
"You can't calculate everything, Brother," she called back, exasperated. "Let's just look with our eyes."
"Just wait! Let me cast one more—"
BOOM!
The sound wasn't an explosion of fire, but an eruption of presence.
A wall of terrifying, dense grey fog exploded upward from the town ahead. It was vast, rolling out in all directions like a tsunami of smoke. It carried with it a chilling, oppressive aura that seemed to freeze the blood in their veins.
The town, previously a picturesque scene of snow-covered roofs, was swallowed instantly. The grey fog moved with supernatural speed, blurring reality.
Simultaneously, a sound filled the heaven and earth. It was a melody, eerie and soft, like a twisted lullaby. It didn't enter through their ears; it drilled directly into their minds, shaking their souls and turning their thoughts to sludge.
Zhao Ziling froze. Her eyes went blank, her body going rigid as her consciousness was snatched away.
"No!" Xu Zifeng screamed.
He clamped his hands over his ears, terror overriding every other instinct. He didn't think; he lunged forward, grabbed the catatonic Zhao Ziling, and dragged her backward, retreating frantically as the wind howled and the world seemed to capsize around them.
Back in Qianyuan City, Jiang Dao had returned.
He moved through the streets like a wraith, observing the chaos. His senses were sharp, tuned to the supernatural, but after a patrol of the districts, he found no trace of evil spirits. It was just human misery.
Satisfied that the city was secure for the moment, he headed for the Flame Gang headquarters.
"Gang Leader! You've returned?" Xiang An had just stepped off his carriage when he saw the towering figure of Jiang Dao. Relief washed over him.
"Summon Guo Dutian and Yan Wushuang," Jiang Dao ordered, not breaking his stride. "I'll be in the main hall."
Minutes later, inside the warm, spacious hall, Jiang Dao blew gently on a cup of fresh tea. Two burly men entered and bowed low.
"Greetings, Gang Leader!"
"Rise," Jiang Dao said, his voice calm but commanding. "The martial artists we're training. How are they? Any issues?"
"Everything is normal, sir," Guo Dutian reported. "The original one hundred and twenty men... they are terrifyingly strong now. Several times stronger than before."
"Only several times?" Jiang Dao frowned slightly, setting the tea down. "Has anyone shown signs of rage? Uncontrollable temper?"
The two lieutenants exchanged confused glances. "No, sir," Guo Dutian replied cautiously. "Nothing like that."
Jiang Dao nodded slowly. They haven't cultivated the technique long enough, he realized. Their strength is still low. The madness comes with power.
"And you two?" Jiang Dao asked, eyeing them. "Do you feel in control?"
"We are fine, Gang Leader," Yan Wushuang said, looking puzzled. "Is there... something we should know?"
"It's nothing," Jiang Dao waved a hand. "Just know this: if you feel your temper slipping, or if you see the men losing control, come to me immediately. If I'm not here, go to the White Tiger Hall. I've left a manual there designed to dissolve hostility. Do not ignore this."
"Yes, Gang Leader!" A chill ran down their spines at the seriousness of his tone.
"Good. I'm going out again to handle some business. I don't know when I'll be back," Jiang Dao stood up, his presence filling the room. "I've swept the surrounding area, so there shouldn't be any major threats. Xiang An is in charge. You two focus on your training."
Three days later.
The blizzard had not relented. The wind was a knife, stripping the heat from the world.
Jiang Dao stood before a massive, ominous mountain range. It was a scar on the landscape. While the rest of the world was buried in white, this place was pitch black.
The rocks were dark brown, the color of dried blood. The vegetation was twisted and black. Thick, rolling waves of death energy and corpse aura poured off the slopes. Flocks of crows circled overhead, their caws sounding like mocking laughter.
Strangest of all, the snow refused to land here. It was as if the flakes themselves were terrified of touching the soil.
This was Mount Corpse Demon. The stronghold of the only Destiny Royal Clan within the Daye Dynasty.
At the foot of the mountain, inside a ruined temple, a creature cowered.
It was a corpse demon, a monster that usually terrorized humans. But now, it was broken. Its arms and legs had been snapped like dry twigs. Putrid fluids leaked from its wounds. It stared up at Jiang Dao not as a predator looks at prey, but as a victim looks at a butcher.
"Let me get this straight," Jiang Dao said, his voice conversational. "Aside from a few Ancestors, everyone else on this mountain went to the Dayu Dynasty?"
"Y-yes," the demon stammered, trembling violently.
Jiang Dao smiled. It was a predatory grin.
He had prepared for a war. He had strategized, planned for traps, and was ready to fight the Thirteen Corpse Demon factions. But the Heavens, usually so cruel to the refugees, had thrown him a bone. The mountain was empty.
Four Ancestors and the elites were gone. Three others were asleep in unknown locations. Only five active Ancestors remained, and only one Spirit Zombie. The rest were grunts.
"Your numbers seem... low," Jiang Dao noted.
"We... our fertility is low," the demon squeaked. "Every member is precious..."
"I see," Jiang Dao said, his smile widening. "So, this really is the end of your line, isn't it?"
"Please, don't—"
Pfft.
A beam of Extreme Yang Divine Fire shot from Jiang Dao's finger. It punched through the demon's skull. There was a dull thump, and the creature burst into flames.
Jiang Dao stepped out of the temple and looked up at the looming black mountain.
"Good people get bullied by men. Good people get bullied by Heaven," he muttered, watching the storm rage around the mountain's perimeter. "Why does the storm destroy the homes of the innocent but leave this hellhole untouched? Does the Heavens protect the wicked?"
He cracked his neck. "It doesn't matter. Whatever I mark for death dies. Even Heaven can't save you today."
He began to walk up the narrow, black path.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
Halfway up, thousands of crows perched on withered locust trees turned their gazes toward him. Their eyes were like ghost lights. Suddenly, as if sharing a single mind, they took flight. A black cloud of feathers and beaks descended, blotting out the sky, aiming to strip his flesh from his bones.
"Seeking death," Jiang Dao murmured.
BOOM.
He didn't lift a finger. He simply let it out.
The Blazing Sun Field.
It expanded instantly, a dome of terrifying, concentrated solar heat. It was like a miniature sun had been born on the mountainside. The darkness, the Yin energy, the death aura—it all evaporated.
The crows didn't stand a chance. Thousands of them screeched as they hit the field. They didn't just burn; they popped, exploding into puffs of black mist that were instantly incinerated. The field acted like a vacuum, sucking the birds into their doom.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
In seconds, the sky was clear. The crows were gone.
Jiang Dao retracted the field and kept walking.
Nearby, a coffin lid flew open. A corpse demon, sensing the terrifying Yang energy, tried to scramble up the mountain, abandoning its dignity to flee.
"Did I say you could leave?"
The demon froze. "You—!"
A spear of fire pierced its back. It didn't even have time to scream before it was ash.
Jiang Dao moved like a glitch in reality. He looked like he was strolling, but with every step, he flickered forward a hundred meters. Every demon he passed—whether hiding in coffins, caves, or behind rocks—was obliterated. He didn't fight them; he erased them.
Finally, he reached the summit.
The ground was paved with bones—human, bird, beast—bleached white and brittle. Among the bones sat a village of rotting black wooden houses, covered in moss and reeking of ancient decay.
"The mighty Thirteen Corpse Demon Mountain lives in a dump like this?" Jiang Dao sneered.
Then, his body began to change.
Muscles swelled, tearing through his upper robes. Bone spurs erupted from his skin. He grew taller, wider, transforming into an eight-meter-tall juggernaut of destruction. He activated the Extreme Yang Divine Fire Body, but he held the fire inside, compressing the heat deep within his core until he was a walking nuclear reactor.
He grinned, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. "Hide and seek," he whispered.
In a dilapidated hut nearby, a father and son sat by a pit of black fire.
The father was a Corpse Demon Ancestor, a creature of pure death energy. The son was a Spirit Zombie, small, looking no older than seven, his skin a sickly indigo.
"Patience, my child," the father said gently. "The Corpse Demon Fire is potent. You cannot rush it. One day, you will sit in the flames as I do."
"It's too slow," the child complained, his voice raspy. "I want the Corpse Demon Body now."
"Hehe. You are the most talented of our bloodline," the father soothed. "But if you insist... I will give you a taste."
He guided a wisp of the black fire toward the child's forehead. The boy groaned, veins bulging, face twisting in agony.
"Endure it," the father encouraged. "Your physique rivals your eldest brother's. If that villain hadn't murdered him at the foot of the mountain... Ah, what a waste. You must avenge him."
"I will!" the child hissed through gritted teeth. "I will kill him!"
Suddenly, the father stiffened. His head snapped toward the door.
"Who is it?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He lashed out, sending a blast of black fire that shattered the front door into splinters.
But outside, something far worse than fire was waiting.
Jiang Dao, in his monstrous, eight-meter-tall form, had been peering into houses one by one. Hearing the noise, he turned.
He leaned down, his massive, grinning face filling the shattered doorway.
"Oh," Jiang Dao rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "Found you. Still training, are we?"