"The Honghuang was carved from the void by our Father God," the Ancestral Witch Zhu Rong—the God of Fire—declared, his voice crackling like a forest fire. "As his true bloodline, we are the masters of his legacy. Achieving Sainthood through the strength of our physical bodies is not a question of 'if,' but 'when.'"
Houtu watched her brothers, a shadow of worry crossing her beautiful, earthy features. "It is not so simple. At Zixiao Palace, I saw beings whose roots are as deep as our own. The Sanqing, specifically—they claim the orthodox lineage of Pangu as well. Their strength is already formidable. In time, they may contest our rule over the world's Luck."
Gonggong, the God of Water, let out a booming laugh. "Sister, those three inherited a mere fragment of a spirit. Our Father God's true power was his physical form—the strength that held up the sky! What does a wisp of a soul amount to against our iron bone and muscle?"
Houtu remained silent. She was one against eleven. Though her brothers were arrogant, they were also nearly invincible. Perhaps her intuition was merely the result of the Saint's confusing sermons.
"Regardless of the Sanqing," Xuan Ming added, her cold voice tempering the heat in the room, "we cannot afford to be stagnant. If we are to honor Father God, we must rule the world he died to create."
"Well said!" Qiang Liang, the God of Thunder, roared. "The Dragons and Phoenixes are dead and gone. It is time for the Witches to take the throne."
Dijiang, the eldest, stood. His presence was like a mountain range coming to life. "Then it is decided. From this day forward, the Witch Race expands. We shall occupy every valley, every mountain, and every sea until the entire Honghuang is ours."
The decree was absolute. The Witches did not absorb the spiritual Qi of heaven; they were fueled by the Turbid Qi of the earth and the flesh of living beings. To them, the "fur and horn" creatures of the Yao Race were not just rivals—they were a harvest.
As the Witch legions marched out, led by the Great Witches, the world began to bleed. Rivers of red carved through the valleys, and a thin, sickly shroud of Evil Qi began to gather in the atmosphere. The Calamity was no longer a prophecy; it was a hungry reality.
The Treasures of Mount Buzhou
While the earth below turned into a slaughterhouse, the summit of Mount Buzhou—the pillar that held up the sky—glowed with a celestial light.
"Buzz!"
A pillar of radiance shot into the zenith, scattering the clouds. The mountain was suddenly bathed in an auspicious treasure-qi that turned the grey stone into shimmering gold. From a hidden cleft in the rock, an ancient gourd vine manifested, its leaves breathing out a mist of seven-colored spiritual rain. Seven gourds, each glowing with a different primary hue, hung from the vine like ripening stars.
"It is here," Laozi whispered, his calm eyes flashing with a rare spark of excitement. He and his brothers had felt the pull of destiny the moment they returned from the sermon.
"Haha! This treasure clearly has a deep affinity with the West!"
The Two Sages of the West, Jieyin and Zhunti, appeared as if from thin air. They clapped their hands, their faces masks of pious greed. "It has traveled so far just to meet us. Truly, it would be a sin to let it stay in the cold."
Nuwa, Fuxi, and the red-robed Hongyun also gathered, their eyes fixed on the seven treasures. In the Honghuang, an Innate Spirit Treasure was a life-altering find.
In a concealed crag nearby, two figures watched the gathering of legends.
"Big Brother," Taiyi whispered, his hand tight on the Chaos Bell. "Is that it?"
"I feel it," Dijun nodded, his heart racing. "That gourd... it is a piece of my destiny. I cannot leave without it."
"Then we don't leave," Taiyi said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. "I'll draw their fire. You take the treasure and run."