Chapter 11

The Shattered Anchor

The Southern Gate of Tianzhou stood like a colossal iron monolith against the suffocating, mist-choked skies of the capital.

Massive iron chains, thick as a dragon's spine, creaked in the damp river wind as they anchored the city's towering outer ramparts to the muddy riverbanks below. Beneath the eastern pier of the gate, hidden behind cascading curtains of stagnant water, lay one of the city's four secondary array anchors—a shimmering stone pillar carved deep with glowing, blood-red Daoist runes.

Ming Xian crouched silently among the rotting wooden rafters of an abandoned salt warehouse, his straw hat casting a deep shadow over his face.

His dark eyes, sharp and calculating, mapped the courtyard below. The ambient moisture in the air carried a heavy, metallic tang—the distinct signature of high-density spirit energy being forcibly compressed into the earth.

"The seal is heavily reinforced," Baihua whispered, her translucent green form floating just inches from his left ear. Her spectral presence was pulled tightly inward to avoid triggering the spiritual wards. "Four elite ritualists from the Righteous Sword Sect, plus a localized barrier array. If you try to shatter that pillar with brute force, the resulting spiritual backlash will light up the capital like a signal fire. Grand Elder Song will know your exact coordinates instantly."

"We aren't here to shatter it with brute force," Ming Xian said low, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He reached into the inner folds of his grey cloak, withdrawing two long, razor-sharp iron needle daggers. "We only need to disrupt the Qi flow. An array of this magnitude relies on absolute, symmetrical balance. Destroy one balance point, and the system destroys itself."

"And the four guards?" Baihua asked, a cold, mocking smile touching her spectral lips.

"They're ritualists, not frontline combatants," Ming Xian replied, adjusting his grip on the steel needles. "They channel Qi into the pillar; they don't channel it into their bodies. They rely entirely on their outer perimeter sentries—sentries we've already bypassed."

Without waiting for the patrol to complete its cyclic sweep, Ming Xian dropped from the rafters, landing soundlessly on the wet stone bridge leading toward the anchor pier.

He didn't activate his inner meridians to sprint. Channeling Qi would instantly alert the divine mirrors mounted along the stone arches. Instead, he relied purely on physical momentum, low center of gravity, and spatial mastery honed through years of practical survival. To the array's sensing mechanisms, he was nothing more than a passing breeze or falling rain.

SWISH!

Ming Xian closed the gap behind the first ritualist before the man's shadow even shifted on the slick cobblestones.

With a swift, precise thrust, Ming Xian driven the long iron needle through the back of the priest's neck, piercing the brain stem and severing his vocal cords instantly. Before the man's knees could buckle, Ming Xian caught him by his high collar, sliding the dying body silently behind a stack of waterlogged timber.

"One," Baihua noted in a faint whisper, her green eyes flashing with subtle appreciation.

The second and third ritualists stood side-by-side near the glowing rune pillar, their hands locked in intricate mudra signs as they chanted in rhythmic unison. A steady stream of pale crimson Qi flowed from their fingertips into the stone, keeping the city-wide suppression field anchored to the southern gate.

Ming Xian didn't pause. He flicked his right wrist with lethal precision, sending a heavy iron throw-blade whistling through the dense fog.

THUD!

The blade buried itself deep into the second ritualist's throat, severing his windpipe. The priest choked, blood spurting over the pristine white robes of his companion.

As the third ritualist froze in sheer shock, his mudra sign collapsing, Ming Xian stepped into his line of sight like a shadow breaking from the dark. Before the priest could scream or draw the ceremonial sword at his hip, Ming Xian's notched knife drove upward beneath the man's ribs, piercing straight into his heart.

The third ritualist gasped violently, his eyes widening as blood spilled over the glowing runes at the base of the pillar.

"You... renegade..." the priest rasped, fresh blood bubbling over his lips. "Grand Elder Song... will rend your soul into dust..."

"He can try," Ming Xian muttered, pulling the notched blade free with a cold twist. He let the priest's corpse collapse onto the stone altar.

With three of the four ritualists dead, the delicate balance of the anchor collapsed instantly. The pale crimson light of the rune pillar flickered violently, turning a deep, unstable purple as the fresh blood of the priests corrupted the delicate Qi channels carved into the granite.

The fourth ritualist, stationed on the far side of the pillar, finally realized what was happening. His eyes filled with horror as he reached for the copper alarm flare at his waist. "Intruder! The Southern Anchor is—"

CRACK!

Before he could pull the ignition cord, Baihua materialized directly behind him. A storm of razor-sharp pine needles, woven from concentrated spiritual frost, enveloped the priest. The icy needles shredded through his outer robes, pinning his arms to his sides and freezing his throat solid within half a second.

"Now, Baihua!" Ming Xian ordered.

Baihua expanded her spectral figure, her eyes glowing with ancient, emerald fire. She drove her spirit roots deep into the fractured base of the glowing stone pillar.

BOOM!

A blinding flash of crimson and icy-green energy erupted beneath the bridge. The massive granite pillar split down the center, spiderwebs of violent, unrefined energy bursting outward before the stone exploded into fine dust.

Instantly, a violent shockwave of displaced spiritual energy rippled outward through the Middle Ward. Heavy stone tiles buckled along the pier, and the river water surged upward in a sudden, violent crest.

In the far distance, towering over the central plaza, the high-pitched chime of the Imperial Clock Tower faltered. The rhythmic, suffocating pulse of the grand suppressing bell missed a beat, sending a visible ripple through the foggy clouds hovering over Tianzhou.

The heavy weight pressing down on Ming Xian's shoulders eased significantly.

Baihua returned to her small form, landing beside him on the edge of the pier. She looked slightly winded, her spectral edges flickering softly, but a cold triumph shone in her eyes. "The Southern Anchor is shattered. The suppression field covering the capital just dropped by twenty-five percent."

"Grand Elder Song felt that," Ming Xian said, sheathing his notched knife and pulling his straw hat back over his eyes. "He knows someone isn't just surviving in his city—they're tearing down his foundation."

"He will redirect his remaining guards to the other three anchors," Baihua analyzed, turning her head toward the distant cityscape. "The East, West, and North gates will be reinforced within minutes."

"Which is why we aren't going to touch them," Ming Xian smiled coldly, his dark eyes fixing on the sharp spire of the clock tower rising above the mist. "We've disturbed the web. While he's busy trying to stabilize the remaining three anchors, we go straight for the center."

He stepped out from beneath the dripping stone archway, blending seamlessly back into the foggy, shadowed streets of Tianzhou.