The small transport plane banked low over endless layers of green jungle, the sunlight dappling the canopy below.
Zhang Jiuxuan sat by the window, peeling a hard-boiled egg, the complete Celestial Master’s Seal resting on the seat beside him.
Lin Weiyao wiped sweat from his forehead.
“This region… it’s never been fully tamed.
Old stories say the ground drinks blood, and the trees remember every curse spoken here.” “Good,” Zhang Jiuxuan said, popping the egg into his mouth.
“Then they’ll know who belongs here.” The plane touched down on a rough, overgrown airstrip carved between steep hills.
No towers, no buildings—only the rusted skeleton of an old truck and piles of rotting crates marked where people had once worked.
As soon as they stepped onto the tarmac, the air turned thick and metallic.
The birds fell silent.
Even the wind seemed to stop blowing.
“Thirty kilometers west,” Zhang Jiuxuan said, pointing toward a dark valley where the trees grew twisted and black.
“The altar sits right where three dragon veins cross.
They’ve been poisoning this spot for decades.” They set out on foot.
By late afternoon, the jungle grew wilder—vines as thick as arms coiled around dead trees, and the soil underfoot was dark and sticky, smelling faintly of copper.
Suddenly, a low whirring sound cut through the quiet.
Two attack helicopters rose over the ridge, their machine guns opening fire without warning.
“Down!” Lin Weiyao yelled, throwing himself behind a boulder.
Bullets chewed up the earth all around them.
Zhang Jiuxuan didn’t flinch.
He reached into his pocket, grabbed a handful of dried beans, and tossed them into the air.
“Soldiers of heaven—manifest!” The beans burst into blinding light, forming dozens of armored warriors on horseback, holding gleaming spears.
They charged straight at the helicopters, ignoring the bullets that passed harmlessly through their glowing forms.
One spear thrust sliced through a rotor blade; the other helicopter was engulfed in golden flame before it could turn away.
Both crashed into the trees, silent and harmless.
Lin Weiyao stared, wide-eyed.
“You… you just summoned an army from rice beans?” “Soybeans,” Zhang Jiuxuan corrected, brushing dust from his shorts.
“And they only fight for what’s right.
Let’s keep moving.” An hour later, they reached the edge of a clearing.
In the center stood a massive stone altar, stained black and red.
Around it, dozens of figures in black robes chanted in a harsh, unknown tongue.
At the very top, a tall man in a silver cloak held up the third and final seal fragment, while two others guarded a cage filled with ancient scrolls and jade artifacts.
“Hong Kong masters,” Zhang Jiuxuan said softly.
“So the rumors were true.
They sold their own heritage for foreign power.” The chanting stopped.
The leader turned—his face sharp, arrogant, marked with the same twisted cross.
“Zhang Jiuxuan,” he called.
“The last fool who clings to old ways.
Hand over your seal, and we will let you leave with your life.
Refuse, and you will be buried here with these relics.” Zhang Jiuxuan stepped into the clearing, the Celestial Master’s Seal glowing bright in his hand.
“These relics belong to the earth,” he said.
“To the people who built this land.
You don’t sell them.
You don’t steal them.
And you certainly don’t use them to open gates that should stay shut forever.” The leader laughed and raised a hand.
The ground split open, and rows of armored figures crawled out—their skin grey and hard, their eyes burning with empty red light.
“Blood-armored corpses,” Zhang Jiuxuan said.
“Fused with living metal and cursed for centuries.
Very impressive waste of power.” He lifted his seal high, and fire erupted from the earth—not wild, but controlled, pure and golden.
“Samadhi True Fire—purify all corruption!” The fire rolled over the corpse army like a tide.
The armor melted, the curse burned away, and the soldiers crumbled into fine, clean ash that drifted away on the breeze.
The robed sorcerers tried to run, but golden chains burst from the trees and wrapped around their ankles, holding them fast.
The leader shrieked and drove the final fragment into the altar.
A jagged tear opened in the sky, pouring out shadow and cold.
Zhang Jiuxuan leaped onto the altar, pressed his complete seal against the crack, and shouted until the air shook.
“Seal the void.
Guard the earth.
No foreign evil steps on this soil!” Light blazed so bright it blinded everything else.
The tear closed instantly.
The altar stopped pulsing.
The shadow faded, and the warm sun broke through the clouds once more.
Zhang Jiuxuan stood alone at the top, breathing steady.
The leader lay at his feet, unconscious, the fragment now fused safely into the complete seal.
He looked down at the captured sorcerers, then at the cage of treasures.
“Take them,” he said to Lin Weiyao.
“These are the first of what we’ll take back.
And every traitor who helped steal them will answer for it.” As they loaded the artifacts onto a waiting cart, Zhang Jiuxuan looked north toward Hong Kong, then west toward the distant coast of Europe.
“This is only the first stop,” he said quietly.
“They’ve taken too much.
And now, I’m coming to collect.”