I transmigrated into a junior sister of the Jie Sect, but everyone wants me dead
The day the Investiture of the Gods was revealed, I watched my master personally write down my senior brothers’ names, one by one.
Yet the senior brothers and sisters beside me all sneered, saying that this transmigrator’s time was nearly up.
No one knew I had bound myself to the “Jie Sect All-Members’ Fate-Changing System.”
Until I led the Heavenly Lord of the Primordial Beginning to rebel against the Xuanmen and storm the Purple Cloud Palace.
The Elder Ancestor Hongjun flew into a rage: “Tongtian, you would defy Heaven for a disciple of unknown origins?!”
My master merely drew me gently behind him, the cold light of the Four Swords of Zhu Xian illuminating the thirty-three heavens.
“Wrong,”
he said calmly.
“I personally taught her how to bring this primeval world crashing down.”
Deep within Biyou Palace, an oppressive silence reigned.
The air was as still as ice that had endured for ten thousand years, pressing heavily on every heart. Each breath carried a rusty chill, along with a faint but ever-present smell of blood.
Wen Zhao knelt on the cold black jade floor, her head slightly bowed. Her raven-feather lashes concealed every glimmer in her eyes. She could hear her blood rushing against her eardrums, thud, thud, like a pounding drum, making even her fingertips go numb. It wasn’t fear, or at least not fear alone. More than anything, she felt an absurd, icy certainty.
At last, it had come.
