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In the middle of the night when neon lights split the skyline, the cracks of the bronze compass exude a faint blue light. While the champagne was pouring out at the celebration banquet of the capital giants, the blood mist of the black bird totem was filling the desert altar thousands of miles away - nine bronze doors carved with gluttonous patterns were slowly rotating 300 meters underground in the skyscraper. The Wall Street trader unbuttoned his custom-made suit, revealing ancient martial arts meridians entwined with blood-colored patterns; the jade earrings of the new curator at the auction house contained a thousand-year sword that could tear apart space. Those plutocratic heirs who smile in the financial headlines have ancestral river map fragments hidden in their suit pockets, while deep in the irises of Silicon Valley's upstarts, contract incantations of ancient beasts float. This war spans the Quantum Laboratory and the underground palace of the Western Zhou Dynasty, so that every wealthy marriage is buried with the murderous intention of the Zhuxian Formation, and every cross-border merger and acquisition is swirling with the whirlpool of Huangquan. When the seventh fragment of the imperial seal appeared at the Tokyo auction, superpowers disguised as investment bank executives finally tore off the human skin mask - the heavy rain in Lujiazui, Shanghai at this moment was the karmic fire spitted out by the blue dragon among the clouds.