My divine sense sliced through the haze around my bloodline, and at the end of my sea of consciousness, a towering figure appeared, holding a giant axe. A transmigrator's soul had fused with Pangu's blood essence, which refused to dissipate, and taken shape through an innate cloud. Pangu's blood essence should have been like that of the Ancestral Witches, with a complete primordial spirit left intact, but the cloud diluted it and branded it with the label of Hong Yun. Pangu's descendants are born targeted by the Heavenly Dao. The Twelve Ancestral Witches all die, and the Three Pure Ones are nothing but hounds of the Heavenly Dao. Now I had become Pangu's contingency plan, and was destined to be manipulated. But the calamity of the dragons, phoenixes, and qilin had only just ended, and the world's primordial energy had yet to recover. There was still a chance. I opened my eyes and saw a palace hanging overhead.
