Through the shimmering golden-blue spatial window hovering above the porch table of Willow-Breeze Courtyard, the heavy clank-thud of the Upper-Realm Patrol Wardens’ boots grew louder at the top of the Ninth Abyssal Ice Trench.
Inside Sector 6, Empress Luo Qingxue spoke rapidly, every word clear and precise despite the God-Freezing Chains rattling against her wrists.
“Changsheng, remember this rule of the Heavenly Script Pavilion,” Luo Qingxue whispered, pressing her palm one last time against the warm golden light where Gu Changsheng’s hand rested on the other side. “Every fake ‘Chosen One’ they plant in the mortal world carries a Plot-Anchor Halo linked to the local heaven-and-earth luck. Whenever a Regressor’s Halo drops to thirty percent.
The residual curse inside their soul automatically triggers a desperate Regional Calamity Backlash—like a border beast tide or a royal blood-sacrifice—to forcefully harvest mortal lives and repair their halo! Don’t let that Regressor Prince catch your citizens off guard when his halo hits thirty percent!”
“Wait for me in Sector 6, Qingxue,” Gu Changsheng said, his dark eyes steady and warm. He poured one last surge of Rank 4 Mid Warm-Hearth Spirit-Fire. The aroma of the entire pot of sweet-and-sour pork ribs through the hairpin to wrap around her shoulders like an invisible winter coat.
