Three days later, the sky above Penang turned a bruised, murky grey.
The air grew heavy and still, and the waves along every shore rose higher than anyone had seen in living memory.
Fishermen refused to put out to sea.
Coastal roads flooded at high tide, even though there was no storm forecast.
Local elders whispered that the old sea god was angry—and this time, he wasn’t just thrashing in his sleep.
Zhang Jiuxuan stood on the roof of Lin Weiyao’s seaside mansion, staring out at the churning Strait of Malacca.
The wrapped metal shard lay warm in his pocket, pulsing faintly in time with the distant roar of the waves.
“They’re making their move,” he said.
“Full moon is tonight.
They’re not just waking one guardian—they’re tearing open the whole underwater gate.” Lin Weiyao shifted anxiously beside him.
“The authorities say it’s just abnormal tides.
But I saw what happened at the temple.
What can we do if the whole ocean rises?” “Make them remember who rules this shore,” Zhang Jiuxuan said simply.
He pulled a long, plain cloth bundle from his bag and unfurled it to reveal a heavy square seal carved from pure white jade, etched with the three peaks of Mount Longhu.
“This is the first half of the Celestial Master’s Seal.
It can command mountains and rivers.
But to stop this, I have to take it straight to the water’s edge.” By dusk, the wind howled like a wounded beast.
Rain lashed down so hard it stung the skin.
They drove back to the Gurney Drive reclamation site, where the breakwater was already crumbling under the assault of massive waves.
When they reached the shore, the water pulled back all at once—leaving hundreds of yards of seabed exposed, littered with rotting ship timbers and ancient bones.
Then, a roar like thunder rolled across the water.
A wall of dark water rose up, hundreds of feet high.
At its crest stood a towering shape: a scaled, finned horror with eyes like burning coals, its body twisted by black magic, its roar carrying the voices of every drowned soul for a thousand years.
Behind it, dozens of shadowy figures surged—corrupted sea spirits, drowned sorcerers, and the twisted remnants of the Black Cross’s local forces.
“The true sea demon of the South China Sea!” Lin Weiyao gasped, clutching the railing.
“It’s impossible—these legends were buried centuries ago!” “Legends only stay buried if you keep them sealed,” Zhang Jiuxuan said.
He stepped forward until his feet touched the damp sand, holding the jade seal high above his head.
“But you dug it up.
Now you face the one who laid the seal in the first place.” The demon shrieked and smashed a massive claw down toward him.
Zhang Jiuxuan didn’t run.
He slammed the base of the seal into the sand, and a golden barrier flared up, stopping the blow dead.
The shockwave flattened every tree within a hundred yards, but Zhang Jiuxuan didn’t budge an inch.
“Your rage is borrowed,” he called over the roar.
“Your strength is stolen.
You serve no god—only thieves who fear the light.” He bit his thumb and pressed it to the center of the seal.
Golden light exploded outward, turning the rain into glittering fire.
He traced a great arc through the air, and the sky split open—not with rain, but with bolts of pure, azure lightning.
“Divine Thunder of the Heavenly Sect—cleanse the deep!” One by one, the lightning bolts struck the wave wall.
The dark water boiled and hissed, turning clear and blue.
The shadow spirits screamed and dissolved into mist.
The great demon thrashed, the black magic clinging to its scales flaking away like ash.
For a long moment, the two forces clashed.
Then the demon’s roar softened, turning into a low, sorrowful rumble.
It lowered its massive head, its burning eyes dimming to a gentle glow.
“Trapped… twisted… used…” a voice echoed in Zhang Jiuxuan’s mind, deep and ancient.
“Thank you… for breaking the chain.” The demon dissolved into a wave of pure, clear water that swept over the shore, healing the cracked earth and washing away every trace of black magic.
The storm broke instantly.
The clouds parted, revealing a bright, full moon hanging over calm, silver seas.
Zhang Jiuxuan stood alone on the sand, the jade seal glowing softly in his hands.
He had won the first great battle—but as he looked down at the seal, he saw a faint crack running along its edge.
“They’ve damaged the foundation,” he said quietly.
“This was just the vanguard.
The Black Cross won’t stop until they drain every drop of dragon blood in Southeast Asia.” Lin Weiyao ran down to the shore, his face shining with rain and relief.
“Master!
The tide… it’s falling back!
The water’s calm!” Zhang Jiuxuan nodded, but his gaze turned south, toward the dark outline of the Malacca Strait.
“Next stop,” he said.
“Mallaca.
That’s where the first imperial seal was lost.
And that’s exactly where they’ll go looking for the second piece.”