The monitor's alarm pierced the dead silence. The father's withered hands clenched the blood-stained bronze compass, burning three thousand years of Jiang's secrets into his son's palm. The oxygen pipe that the gray shadow clings to is quietly tightening, while eight pale ghost hands outside the window have already reached up to the window sill of the fifteenth floor - this battle for the inheritance between the Yin and Yang realms is destined to use mortal flesh and bones to ignite the God-conferring Fire.
