Chapter Nineteen: Dissecting Tianlong… and the Gears of Fate
Tianlong City was not merely a gathering of mortals—it was the physical incarnation of the Imperial Dao itself.
To an ordinary cultivator, the city appeared as a marvel of architecture and splendor. But to Zhuo Fan, who possessed the Eye of Calculation, the city was a living organism of energy, bound by thousands of interlocking spiritual chains.
Zhuo Fan sat cross-legged inside his room at the Golden Cloud Inn, resting in the stance of Void Stillness. He was not merely meditating to recover energy—he was extending his spiritual perception outward, weaving it into the city's foundational frequencies. Deep beneath the ground, he could feel the pulse of the Dragon Vein, that colossal terrestrial force which granted the empire its longevity.
"The system here is built upon a fragile equilibrium," Zhuo Fan thought as thousands of analytical charts formed in his mind within an instant.
"There are eight primary towers acting as energy stabilizers. Each tower is guarded by a cultivator at the Nascent Soul Realm. If even one tower collapses, the spiritual atmospheric pressure will destabilize, and the city will implode from within due to excess energy."
This was the fundamental difference between Zhuo Fan and all other cultivators.
Others thought in terms of conquest.
Zhuo Fan thought in terms of dismantlement.
He did not wish to destroy the walls—he intended to make the walls mathematically illogical, so they would collapse on their own.
Zhuo Fan emerged from his meditation when he heard a soft knock at the door. Ling'er had returned, but her expression carried a mixture of exhaustion and shock.
"I did as you instructed," she said, sitting at a cautious distance from him, as though afraid his shadow might drain her energy.
"The Information Market is in turmoil. The Third Prince, Zhang Song, is not merely powerful—he's obsessed with collecting spiritual schematics. It's said he possesses a formation called the Heavenly Balance, capable of measuring anyone's talent with absolute precision. He's actively searching for variables the balance cannot quantify."
Zhuo Fan's golden eye gleamed.
"The Heavenly Balance?" he murmured.
"He's attempting to crudely imitate the Lost Celestial Calculations. He seeks perfection, yet fails to understand that perfection in this world is zero. Continue. What about the distribution of power?"
Ling'er inhaled deeply and began outlining the city's tangled political landscape.
"There are three major factions operating beneath the surface:
• The Emperor's Faction — they control the Dragon Vein directly, but their strength is eroding as the emperor's health declines.
• The Cosmic Elder Council — representatives of the great sects, weary of imperial authority and seeking to divide the Dragon Vein among themselves.
• The Third Prince and his Shadow Alliance — the most dangerous of all. They have no interest in conventional power. They seek the Supreme Dao, to rewrite the very essence of the continent."
Zhuo Fan listened intently, analyzing these forces not as people, but as vectors within a probability space.
"Then the Autumn Dragon Banquet, to be held in three days, is not a celebration," Zhuo Fan concluded softly.
"It is a singularity point—the moment where all vectors intersect. And since I currently wear the mask of Long Xiao, I possess an entry ticket to this volatile reaction."
He rose and stood before the window, gazing at the partially floating imperial palace. At that moment, a strange vibration rippled through the Lost Celestial Calculations within his chest. An ancient, yellowed page began to glow faintly.
Imperial Entitlement Equation.
Zhuo Fan realized something profoundly dangerous.
The Dragon Vein beneath Tianlong was not natural.
It was a prison—confining a power thousands of times greater, a force that had been calculated and shackled in ancient times to serve a specific bloodline.
"Ling'er," Zhuo Fan said without turning around.
"I want you to purchase large quantities of Black Spirit Ink and Celestial Papyrus. I will construct a miniature formation known as the Resonance Reflector. If the Third Prince intends to use his Heavenly Balance to measure my talent, I will give him a result that will make him kneel—either in awe… or in terror."
The next two days, Zhuo Fan isolated himself completely inside his room. What he was doing went far beyond drawing symbols—he was modifying frequencies.
He dipped his brush into the spirit ink, and instead of inscribing traditional cultivation runes, he wrote complex differential equations, linking spiritual flow, atmospheric pressure, and light density within the room.
A low, omnipresent hum filled the air, like the buzzing of countless bees. Static electricity saturated the space, causing furniture to slowly levitate.
"Every cultivator is a number. Every technique is a function," Zhuo Fan whispered as cold sweat rolled down his back.
"To deceive the Heavenly Balance, I must become the square root of a negative number—an imaginary value the system cannot comprehend."
Meanwhile, deep within the imperial palace, the Third Prince Zhang Song stood before a massive bronze mirror radiating pure white light.
This was the Heavenly Balance.
Suddenly, the mirror trembled violently. Fine cracks spread across its edges.
"Your Highness! The Balance is destabilizing!" one expert cried out.
"There is a strange interference approaching the city. Its total energy is insignificant—but its density is illogical!"
Zhang Song stared at the mirror coldly, ambition and madness blazing in his eyes.
"At last," he murmured.
"The variable I have been waiting for has arrived. Whether god or demon… I will make it part of my collection."
No one knew that, inside his modest inn room, Zhuo Fan had just completed the inscription of Absolute Zero.
He gazed at the formation and said calmly:
"The banquet is about to begin…
and with it, the countdown to the fall of the throne."