Beneath the eternal night sky, at the highest point in Spring City, someone pushed open the doors of a towering building from which vast quantities of aberrant spirit matter poured like a waterfall. With his usual smile, he politely said, “Good morning, everyone. How did you all sleep last night?” 

Little fish were swimming in the tank. A withered old monk sat cross-legged in the corner, silent and unmoving, while a young woman gazing absently at the night scenery lowered her eyes, her expression caught between a smile and something else, and an aged craftsman in gray robes rested with his eyes closed, turning a deaf ear to everything. 

Only the middle-aged man standing before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window turned around. He had been looking down at the streams of firelight surging through the city in peace, only to frown suddenly. 

“Hm?” Lu Changsheng offered them a puzzled smile. He walked in without wavering and took his usual seat. “Everyone seems to be in a rather bad mood.”

The old monk from Wulou Temple raised his head and looked over. As his lips moved, lines of scripture flowed from his mouth, weaving through his flesh like tightly packed stitches. His voice came out muffled. “The Three Realms are a house consumed by fire. Who among us can hope to sleep peacefully through the night?” 

The mentor from the Celestial...