Inside Lin Weiyao’s private office overlooking the construction site, the heavy blueprints were spread across a long mahogany table.
Zhang Jiuxuan leaned over them, his red flip-flops propped on the edge of a leather chair, one hand tapping slowly against the map of the reclamation zone.
“The layout is wrong,” he said, pointing to a cluster of red marks near the northern breakwater.
“You didn’t just disturb one old bed.
You drove piles straight through three ancient burial grounds and a sunken temple gate.
Someone marked this spot decades ago to draw in evil.” Lin Weiyao’s face went pale.
“That can’t be.
We hired top surveyors and geologists.
No historical records mention any ruins here.” “Because they were erased on purpose,” Zhang Jiuxuan replied.
He straightened up and tapped the center of the blueprint, where a faint, irregular circle was drawn in grey pencil.
“Look at this shape.
It’s not natural.
It’s a blood offering formation.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small compass made of dull brass.
The needle spun wildly the moment it touched the table, swinging fast enough to blur before snapping still and pointing straight down at the floor.
“Pure yin energy,” Zhang Jiuxuan murmured.
“Thick enough to drown a dragon.” He walked over to the large floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the site below.
Several workers had stopped moving, standing stiffly in the hot sun as if frozen in place.
Their shadows stretched long and twisted, even though the sun was directly overhead.
“Those men aren’t resting,” Zhang Jiuxuan said grimly.
“They’re already marked.” Lin Weiyao rushed to the window and gasped.
“They’ve been standing there for twenty minutes!
I thought they were waiting for instructions!” “Someone has been feeding this formation for months,” Zhang Jiuxuan said.
“Every night, they pour blood and chant curses here.
The sea demon I just quieted was only the guardian.
The real thing they’re building is much worse.” He turned back to the table and picked up a magnifying glass, running it over the fine lines near the deepest pile locations.
After a moment, he froze.
Embedded in the tiny corner of an old survey note, almost erased by whiteout, was a faint symbol: a cross twisted into a jagged circle, with a snake coiled around its base.
“The Black Cross,” Zhang Jiuxuan said softly.
“I knew I smelled that stench earlier.” “The what?” Lin Weiyao asked, confused.
“A secret order from the West,” Zhang Jiuxuan explained.
“They’ve been stealing luck and spirit from Eastern lands for centuries.
Wherever they go, they drain the local dragon veins, wake up buried evil, and feed the power back to their masters overseas.
They don’t just want this land—they want to bleed all of Penang dry.” Before he could say more, the office lights flickered and died.
A cold wind swept through the room, even though all windows were closed.
The air filled with the sharp, metallic scent of copper and rotting seaweed.
From the doorway, a slow, clapping sound echoed.
“Well done, little Taoist,” a hoarse voice rasped.
“You found the mark faster than the last three masters we sent running.” A man stepped out of the shadows.
He wore a black hooded robe embroidered with silver thread, his skin grey and shrunken like dried fruit.
Around his neck hung a medallion carved with the exact same twisted cross symbol.
“Master Chen, our… our spiritual consultant,” Lin Weiyao stammered, stepping back in shock.
“You… you work for them?” “Work for them?” The sorcerer laughed, revealing teeth stained black.
“I serve the order that rules the tides.
Your little island is nothing but fuel for our new master.” He raised one hand, and black smoke curled from his fingertips.
The shadow of the man stretched across the floor, lengthening and splitting into dozens of writhing shapes that slithered toward Zhang Jiuxuan’s feet.
“Step aside,” the sorcerer hissed.
“Or I will bury you here with the rest of this cursed land.” Zhang Jiuxuan didn’t flinch.
He simply reached down and adjusted his flip-flop, then looked up with a faint, cold smile.
“Funny,” he said.
“I was just thinking the same thing about you.” He snapped his fingers.
A golden light burst from his palm, cutting straight through the black smoke like a blade.
The shadow shapes shrieked and dissolved into ash the moment they touched it.
The sorcerer stumbled back, eyes wide with disbelief.
“That seal—you can’t be—” “Last Celestial Master of Mount Longhu,” Zhang Jiuxuan said, stepping forward.
“And today, I’m cleaning house.”