The Palace of Severed Heads did not die quickly. It groaned—a deep, tectonic shudder that vibrated through the jade floor and into the soles of ***Li Wei***'s boots.
The structural integrity of the mountain was failing, compromised by the violent release of Stage 6 Qi and the hundreds of microscopic vibrations ***Li Wei*** had seeded into the load-bearing pillars.
But for ***Li Wei***, the destruction of the architecture was secondary. He was here for the information—the biological blueprints that had turned his home into a slaughterhouse.
He stepped over the cooling remains of Elder Mang. The Sect Master's blood was beginning to separate into its constituent parts: the dark red of the **Erythrocytes** settling at the bottom, and the pale, Qi-infused **Plasma** rising to the top.
To a normal man, this was a corpse. To ***Li Wei***, it was a spent battery, its chemical energy drained to fuel his own ascent.
He walked toward the Rear Apse of the throne room. Here, the air grew colder, stripped of its warmth by a massive wall of black obsidian. This wasn't a standard door; it was a **Bio-Mechanical Seal**.
In its center was a circular plate of polished bone, etched with thousands of microscopic channels that mimicked the human circulatory system.
"The **Hematological Key**," ***Li Wei*** whispered. His voice was steady, even as the ceiling above him began to shed flakes of gold leaf. "A lock that only speaks the language of the master's pulse."
Most would try to pick it. Some would try to blast it. ***Li Wei*** simply reached into his silver basin, which held the distilled essence of Mang's **Golden Core**.
He dipped his fingers into the royal-purple fluid and pressed his palm against the bone plate.
The silver needles hidden within the lock fired instantly. They didn't just prick the skin; they sampled the **Hemoglobin**, analyzed the **Void-Qi** resonance, and measured the **Viscosity** of the fluid.
The lock was checking for the specific cellular markers of the Black-Tiger lineage. Because ***Li Wei*** had refined Mang's essence into its purest form, the lock recognized the "Master."
With a sound like the grinding of a million teeth, the obsidian wall split down the middle. It didn't slide; it unraveled, the stone blocks pulling apart like a ribcage being opened for surgery.
----
Beyond the door lay a vertical shaft, lit by jars of bioluminescent fungi. This was the **Archive of the Flayed Soul**, the secret repository where the Sect kept its most forbidden anatomical research.
***Li Wei*** descended the iron ladder, his eyes scanning the shelves. These weren't books. They were scrolls made of **Human Dermis**, preserved in a solution of formaldehyde and spirit-salt. Each scroll was a record of a specific "Harvest."
He stopped at a shelf labeled *Northern Wastes: Mist-Veil Project*. He pulled out a scroll, the skin feeling cold and waxy beneath his fingers. As he unfurled it, the clinical details of his own tragedy were laid bare in neat, brush-stroked calligraphy.
"Subject 402. Age: 8. Gender: Female," the scroll read. ***Li Wei***'s eyes didn't flinch, but his **Pupils Dilated** by two millimeters—a physiological response to extreme stress.
"Procedure: **Trans-Spinal Marrow Extraction**. Purpose: To test the viability of **Progenitor Cells** in the creation of the Emperor's 'Elixir of Perpetual Spring'. Note: Subject survived the first three extractions before the **Cerebrospinal Fluid** became toxic. Final disposition: Cremation."
***Li Wei*** stared at the word "Cremation." The silver ash in his pouch was the only physical evidence of Subject 402—his sister, Hua. The Empire hadn't burned his village out of hate or even for land. They had done it because they needed fresh, young **Stem Cells** to slow the cellular decay of a dying Emperor. To them, Mist-Veil Village wasn't a home; it was a farm of high-quality biological materials.
------‐
He continued reading, his mind cataloging the names mentioned in the margins. It wasn't just the Black-Tiger Sect. The **Ministry of Rites**, the **Imperial Apothecary**, and the **Grand Inquisitor** were all listed as "Primary Stakeholders."
"The whole body is infected," ***Li Wei*** muttered. "The Sect Master was just a **Lymph Node**. The cancer is in the **Central Nervous System**."
He found a second scroll, thicker than the others. This one contained a map, but not of land. It was a map of the **Imperial Spirit-Veins**—the subterranean tunnels of Qi that ran beneath the capital.
These veins were designed to mimic the human **Venous System**, carrying the "life-blood" of the earth toward the Emperor's palace to sustain his artificial longevity.
***Li Wei***'s surgical mind immediately began to plot the incision. "If I block the **Internal Jugular** of the city at this junction," he traced a finger over the map, "the back-pressure will cause a **Spiritual Aneurysm** in the Imperial Court. If I sever the **Great Saphenous** vein of the outer walls, the city's defenses will experience an immediate **Ischemic Stroke**."
He tucked the map into his robes. He didn't take the other scrolls. He didn't want the Empire's research; he wanted its destruction. He pulled a vial of **Potassium Perchlorate** from his kit—a chemical that, when mixed with Void-Qi, created a fire that fed on organic matter.
He poured the liquid over the shelves of skin-scrolls. As the blue flame began to eat through the records of a thousand murders, ***Li Wei*** watched the smoke rise. He was erasing the Sect's legacy, one protein chain at a time.
------‐
As the archive burned, the ceiling finally gave way. Huge blocks of obsidian crashed down, but ***Li Wei*** didn't move. He stood in the center of the falling palace and pulled out the **Golden Core** he had extracted from Mang.
It was a pulsing, royal-purple orb, the size of a pomegranate. It contained eighty years of stolen life-force. To any other cultivator, this was a treasure to be refined over decades. To ***Li Wei***, it was a high-dosage injection.
He didn't swallow it. He placed the core against his own **Solar Plexus**. He used his **Celestial Silk** to lace the core directly into his **Nervous System**.
"Extraction... and Integration," he hissed.
The energy hit him like a lightning strike. His **Systolic Blood Pressure** surged. His **Capillaries** roared as the purple Qi flooded his veins.
A normal man's heart would have exploded, but ***Li Wei*** had already reinforced his **Myocardium** with Void-Qi. He forced the energy downward, into his **Bone Marrow**, using the raw power to rewrite his own genetic code.
His senses expanded. The "Scholar" was dead. The **Anatomical Sovereign** was born.
Suddenly, the world was no longer solid. He could see through the stone walls of the falling palace. He could see the **Skeleton** of the mountain itself.
He could hear the heartbeat of a mouse a mile away in the forest. He could feel the **Electromagnetic Pulses** of the earth's crust.
He was now Stage 6. But unlike Mang, who used his power to bully, ***Li Wei*** used it to observe. He saw the world as a patient on an operating table, and he was the only one who knew where the scalpel needed to go.
-----
***Li Wei*** walked out of the crumbling palace as the first rays of the sun hit the peak. The Palace of Severed Heads was now a pile of rubble and ash.
The 700 steps were a river of cooling blood. The Black-Tiger Sect was gone—erased from the map as if it had never existed.
He stopped at the edge of the cliff and pulled out his charcoal stick. His hand was as steady as a surgeon's during a heart transplant. He looked at the parchment.
**"Sect Master Mang: Extracted. Archive: Sterilized. Project Mist-Veil: Terminated."**
He crossed out the last name on the mountain's list.
**"Target Count: 2,219."**
The number was still massive. But he wasn't looking at the mountain anymore. He was looking toward the South, where the golden spires of the Imperial Capital pierced the horizon. That was where the real "Architects" lived. That was where the heart of the disease was pumping.
He wiped a single drop of royal-purple blood from his chin with a white silk cloth. He checked his pulse. 60 beats per minute. Perfect. Cold.
"The Sect was just the **Appendix**," ***Li Wei*** said to the rising sun. "Unnecessary. Inflamed. Removed. Now... let's talk about the **Heart**."
He stepped off the cliff, his moon-white robes catching the wind like the wings of a predatory owl. He didn't fall; he glided, his Stage 6 Qi manipulating the air pressure beneath him.
The Butcher was coming to the capital. And he wasn't bringing mercy. He was bringing a full surgical suite.
**"Target Count: 2,219."**
The Empire was about to find out just how fragile a "God-King" really is when a surgeon decides he's done with the anesthesia.