High atop Victoria Peak stood the headquarters of the Hong Kong Feng Shui Guild—an imposing stone mansion built in the style of an ancient fortress, its gates carved with twisted dragons that bared their fangs at anyone who drew near.
Zhang Jiuxuan walked up the winding path alone, Lin Weiyao and Huo Yunxi waiting safely below.
The red flip-flops slapped softly against the stone steps, the only sound in the dead stillness.
When he reached the main hall, the heavy iron doors swung open on their own.
A long table stretched down the center, lined with men in embroidered silk robes.
At the head sat an old man with silver hair tied back, wearing a crown carved from black jade—Master Wen, head of the guild and the Black Cross’s most powerful ally in the region.
“You took your time,” Master Wen said, his voice raspy as dry leaves.
“I expected you days ago.
But no matter—you’ve walked straight into the only trap you’ll never escape.” Zhang Jiuxuan stopped a dozen paces away, glancing at the black jade crown.
It glowed with faint, sickly purple light.
“That crown isn’t yours,” he said.
“It’s carved from a meteorite that fell on a cursed battlefield.
It doesn’t grant power—it feeds on the soul of whoever wears it.” Master Wen laughed, tapping a finger on the table.
“Ignorant child.
It channels the power of the Western masters.
With it, I will drain every drop of fortune from Hong Kong, then all of China, and hand it over to the Order.
In return, they will make me immortal.” He raised a hand, and the guild masters on both sides stood up in unison.
Each pulled a sharp dagger and sliced their own palms, letting blood drip into carved stone bowls.
The blood hissed and turned black, spreading across the floor to form a massive, swirling curse array.
“Twelve masters’ life force,” Master Wen said.
“Enough to bury even a Celestial Master.
Kneel, or be swallowed whole.” Zhang Jiuxuan didn’t move.
He only pulled the complete Celestial Master’s Seal from his shirt, holding it where all could see.
“Hong Kong’s fortune belongs to its people,” he said firmly.
“To the fishermen who sailed these waters, the merchants who built these streets, the families who buried their ancestors in this soil.
You don’t give it away.
You don’t sell it.
And you certainly don’t steal it to buy a twisted lie of eternal life.” He slammed the seal onto the floor.
“Dragon vein, hear me!
Cast off the chains!
Let the true fortune flow!” Golden light burst from the seal, so bright it turned the whole hall white.
The black blood array shattered like thin glass.
The daggers in the masters’ hands melted into harmless wax.
The black jade crown on Master Wen’s head shrieked, glowing purple then cracking down the middle.
Master Wen clutched his head, screaming as the cursed power turned back on him.
“No!
This is impossible!
The Order promised—” “The Order promised you nothing but a grave,” Zhang Jiuxuan cut in.
“And you dug it yourself.” He waved a hand, and the broken crown fell from Master Wen’s head, dissolving into dust before it hit the floor.
The old man collapsed, gasping, the stolen power draining away until he looked small and frail.
The other guild masters fell to their knees, terrified.
“Spare us!
We were forced!
The Black Cross threatened our families!” Zhang Jiuxuan looked at them calmly.
“You have a choice.
Help me undo every curse you’ve laid, return every coin and artifact you’ve stolen, and stand guard over this land from now on.
Or stay here and answer to the dragon you tried to rob.” Every head bowed low.
“We choose to make amends.” Zhang Jiuxuan nodded, then turned to the window, looking out over the glittering harbour stretching into the dark.
“Master Wen told me something before he fell,” he said quietly.
“The Black Cross’s main stronghold in Asia is hidden in Macau.
And their leader—Cardinal Roderick—has already arrived to oversee the final stage of their plan.” He tucked the seal back under his shirt, a sharp glint in his eyes.
“Macau is next.
And this time, there’s nowhere left for them to run.”