VESSEL - Extinction Countdown 942: Celestial Edict Zhou Fate

With Xi Qing’s proclamation, winds rose from the earth. The sky shimmered with omens. Within a three-zhang around Zhang Fude’s grave, ice and snow melted, barren soil revived. His corpse decayed swiftly, turning into a pile of white bones within moments, and eventually dissolving into a pool of mud.

In the blink of an eye, a small Land Temple, half a man’s height, rose where the grave had been, its entrance facing Xi Qing. Inside, a clay statue of a gallant, long-bearded man, his expression one of serene relief as he gazed at the pair.

At this moment, Xi Qing’s hair had turned white, her entire being aged decades, yet she stood unburdened, relieved.

Unexpectedly, the little girl behind her dropped to the ground, prostrating in utmost reverence:“Immortal, take me as yours!”

Xi Qing started, then smiled faintly. “Back at my home… you were awake, weren’t you?”

Yan Yun kept her head low. “Yes, Immortal. I woke early, but your gaze… I thought you a were a people-eating monster! Now, knowing you’re an Immortal, I’d gladly be devoured!”

Xi Qing sighed. “I am a Celestial, not an Immortal. What's your name?”

“This humble one is Yan Yun.”

“Yan Yun, you bear a Heaven-Born Jade Frame. Even my Celestial nature was stirred by your inner fire. but rest assured—my divine arts, just spent in a vow, leave me no means to consume you, even if I wished!”

To her surprise, Yan Yun burst into tears.

From Yan Yun’s halting tale, Xi Qing pieced together her story.

In this era of civilization, the one called “Son of Heaven” was a man named Lord Jing. His father, a prior Son of Heaven, fell to tyranny. Lord Jing began with zeal but grew mad and cruel with age.

He waged relentless wars—every five or six years, a new campaign. His armies struck the Taiyuan Rong , only to fail; they fought Tiao Rong and Ben Rong, yet were defeated; in the Thousand-Acre Battle against Jiang Rong, his forces were utterly annihilated.

Only a loyal charioteer’s sacrifice saved Lord Jing from capture.

Yet, deaf to the scholar-gentry’s counsel, he doubled down. Recently, swayed by a concubine’s lies, he executed the innocent lord Du Bo.

Du Bo, descended from Dan Zhu, son of Yao—a revered Five Emperor—bore an emperor’s lineage. His death sparked outrage among nobles and vassals.

At this critical juncture, Yan Yun’s father, a scholar-gentry in Pangjing, met trouble, prompting her servant Zhang Fude to escort her a thousand li to the city.

Even if they’d reached it, doom likely awaited.

Xiqing listened, her fingers tracing a mystic gesture, divining silently, then spoke: “Lord Jing’s slaying of Du Bo heralds heaven’s wrath. Within three years, the last emperor ascends, and the Zhoukin’s realm will collapse!”

Yan Yun gasped—did the Immortal mean Jingjun had but three years to live? Worse still, if his heir took the throne, the Zhoukin faced a cataclysm?

She buried her face in the dirt, sobbing: “If the realm falls, one life is nothing. Yanyun would serve as food or slave for the Immortal!”

Xi Qing gazed at the prostrate Yan Yun, a lone girl whose fate in this chaos was clear.

Xi Qing not only foresaw Jingjun’s death in three years but was certain the successor would be the Zhoukin’s final lord. Then, beacons would blaze, the Central Plains engulfed in over five centuries of war, with heroes vying for dominion and lives reduced to ash!

She sighed. “If you’re not afraid of me, then follow me.”

Yan Yun stayed with Xi Qing in seclusion. A decade later, she blossomed into a radiant maiden, privy to nearly all Xi Qing’s secrets. Across the land, tales of Right God of Fortune and Virtue spread. Zhoukin enshrined him in temples, shrines, and homes, praying for blessings.

Yan Yun knew Xi Qing’s Divine Enfeoffment was no mere rumor.

Yet one mystery lingered: why did Xi Qing deny being an Immortal, claiming only Celestial?

In Zhoukin legend, Immortals forged the world in a primal war. Xi Qing, with the power of Divine Enfeoffment, refused the title—how strange!

Stranger still was Xi Qing’s room, a forbidden zone. Yan Yun was barred from entering, and at midnight, eerie teeth-grinding sounds echoed within.

Despite her burning curiosity, Yan Yun never dared cross that line. Even as Xi Qing’s Divine Art faded, her frailty growing until she could scarcely walk, she remained the Celestial who once wielded the Power of Divine Enfeoffment!

Yan Yun tended to her tirelessly, shouldering all household tasks. They leaned on each other.

Another year passed. Yan Yun turned eighteen, and the realm plunged into chaos.

The deposed prince Yi Jiu fled to his grandfather’s city, Xishen. Enraged, Marquis Shen forged an alliance with Zeng Kingdom and Quanrong to attack Zhou, leading to its downfall.

Quanrong armies razed Zhou lands, slaughtering and plundering without mercy, leaving roads crumbled and villages wailing in a living hell.

Though Xi Qing and Yan Yun’s refuge lay distant from Haojing, Quanrong raiders reached them.

The Quanrong consisted of eight tribes, led by the formidable Yellow-Haired, Red-Haired, Yiqu, and Quanqiu clans, with Yiqu’s mighty cavalry dominating the rest.

Yiqu’s chief, Ghost White Wolf, was unrivaled in battle and insatiable in lust, bedding ten women nightly without rest, a true beast.

Hearing of a stunning beauty hidden near Haojing, he led a band to hunt her for his harem.

Despite Xi Qing’s warnings, Yan Yun had to fetch water from mountain streams, a necessity in their seclusion.

As a nomad, Ghost White Wolf knew water ruled the wild. He posted men at every stream, ordering them to track silently or lose an ear if they alarmed her.

Days later, a scout reported spotting the beauty and scouting her home, finding only Yan Yun and an old woman, prompting Ghost White Wolf to lead a reconnaissance. The scout’s report proved true: a courtyard nestled in the mountains, and upon pushing the gate, he beheld a vision—flowing sleeves, waist-long hair, peach cheeks, and soul-searing eyes.

A veteran of countless conquests, Ghost White Wolf was stunned.

His loins chilled, legs quaked, a wet warmth spread—he surrendered at a glance!

“Such a beauty! Hahaha!”

Roaring with glee, he waved his men forward. Dozens of brutes charged the courtyard like ravenous tigers.

Ghost White Wolf drew his blade, sauntering behind. Yiqu’s rule was: whoever grabs first keeps it, unless claimed beforehand.

Yan Yun was his prize, untouchable by others, while the old woman and valuables were left for his men to plunder, as elders were typically slain and homes torched.

But strangely, his elite warriors crashed as if striking an invisible wall, collapsing in heaps.

He frowned. Witchcraft?!