The world tasted of antiseptic and shattered dignity. My inner perception, though dulled by this barbaric realm's impoverished Qi, immediately registered the coarse canvas binding my limbs. A straitjacket, they called it. A crude iron cage for a phoenix, more like. Did these mortals truly believe such flimsy fabric could contain the Grandmaster of the Azure Firmament, Qiao Zhendong? A guttural snort escaped my lips. This was no ordinary confinement; it was a test of willpower, a gauntlet thrown by some obscure, low-level sect. My eyes, which had witnessed galaxies birth and crumble, narrowed to slits. They sought to break my spirit, to humble me. Foolishness! My cultivation base, though merely a fraction of its former glory in this desolate, Qi-starved plane, was still sufficient for such a trivial challenge. I initiated the Bone-Shrinking Grand Technique, a profound art imparted to me by the Void Serpent during my third ascension. My skeleton, a lattice of cosmic jade and starlight, began to subtly, impossibly, contract. Muscles rippled beneath the coarse canvas, flowing like liquid mercury. The tightly cinched straps, designed to immobilize common thugs, slackened. With a grace that belied the situation, I slipped one arm free, then the other, the crude fabric falling away like discarded cicada shells. Ah, freedom! A mere moment's work. My gaze immediately swept the sterile cell, seeking my spiritual artifacts. The Void-Cleaving Brush, the Thunder-Drinker Gourd… all gone. My chest ached with a hollow, barren ache. Then, my eyes landed on it. Perched precariously on a metal shelf, beside a plastic cup and a box of tissues, sat the jade blade. My flying sword, the very manifestation of my will and a weapon that had sundered mountain ranges, reduced to an inanimate trinket. Before I could reclaim it, the heavy, reinforced door hissed open. A man entered, his face etched with an expression of perpetual, weary skepticism. Dr. Julian Croft, his name tag declared. A 'doctor,' they called him. I knew him for what he was: a Guardian of the Minor Heavenly Gate, tasked with preventing my escape. He held the green steel in his gloved hands, turning it over with clinical detachment, as if it were a common pebble. A hot thrum pulsed in my veins. “Good day, Mr. Qiao,” Dr. Croft said, his voice a practiced monotone. “I see you’ve managed to get out of the restraints again. Impressive dexterity, but we’ll need to adjust the protocol.” He tapped the chassis. “And this… this is highly irregular. An unregistered drone, Mr. Qiao. Security found it during your intake. We can’t have patients operating flying objects within the Veridia Bay Institute. It’s a breach of safety regulations. It will be confiscated.” Confiscated? My sovereign blade, forged in the heart of a dying star, called an ‘unregistered drone’? The indignity was almost too much to bear. I felt a tremor of fury, a familiar sensation that usually heralded the activation of my Nine Heavens Shattering Fist. But this realm’s Qi was too thin, my body too weak. A vein throbbed in my temple. “You… you dare to profane a divine artifact?” I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. Dr. Croft merely sighed, a sound of practiced exasperation. “Mr. Qiao, we’ve discussed this. Your ‘divine artifacts’ are either toys or household objects. This one, a rather sophisticated model, I admit, will be returned to your family upon your discharge. Now, let’s join the others for the dawn round of medication. Nurse Higgins is waiting.” He placed my sword-that-was-a-drone into a secure, clear plastic box, sealing it with a click. The sight of my companion, imprisoned and mislabeled, sparked a new resolve. I would reclaim it. I would stop the earth dragon. And these 'doctors' and 'nurses' would become my outer sect disciples, their ignorance purged by my supreme wisdom. I followed him down the brightly lit corridor, past several other patients, their eyes either vacant or darting with a disquieting intensity. We arrived at a counter where a woman with a kind smile and overly bright eyes, Nurse Clara Higgins, stood with a tray of small paper cups. Her aura, to my trained awareness, possessed a subtle distortion, a faint, earthy resonance that was utterly out of place in this sterile environment. “Greetings, Mr. Qiao,” Nurse Clara chirped, handing me a small cup containing three multicolored pills. “Dr. Croft has prescribed your daily dose. Just swallow these with water.” I looked at the pills. Crude. So crude. These were not the meticulously refined elixirs of the Grand Alchemist Ling Bao, nor the spiritual confections of the Jade Phoenix Sect. These were mere lumps of compacted dust, no doubt brimming with mundane toxins designed to dull the senses and cloud the mind. Yet, an opportunity presented itself. I would treat this as an alchemical trial, a test of my Qi purification techniques. I took the cup, ignoring the water. I tossed the three pills into my mouth, savoring the bitter, chalky taste. Then, I closed my eyes and circulated my Qi, not to absorb their energy – there was none – but to identify and neutralize their noxious compounds. The Qi flowed, a faint, golden current within my core, swiftly encapsulating the foreign elements, rendering them inert. A childish challenge, but a challenge nonetheless. Just as I opened my eyes, a low rumble vibrated through the floor. It was faint at first, then intensified, growing into a deep, guttural roar that seemed to emanate from the very foundations of the earth. The fluorescent lights flickered wildly. A jarring clang echoed as the secure plastic box holding my sword slid from the shelf, shattering on the tile floor. My sword lay exposed, glinting innocently. “Earthquake!” someone screamed. Panic erupted. Patients shrieked, staff members shouted commands. The reinforced windows along the corridor groaned, then buckled, spiderweb cracks spreading across their surfaces before exploding inward with a shower of glass fragments and a gust of dust-laden wind. The entire building swayed precariously. My divine intuition flared violently. This was no mere seismic tremor. This was the awakening. The ancient Earth Dragon, imprisoned beneath Veridia Bay, was stirring. Its primordial Qi, dark and suffocating, pulsed up from the depths, a promise of devastation. Amidst the chaos, my gaze snapped across the room. A young woman with shaking hands had stumbled to the floor. Chloe Sun, her nametag read. When she glanced up, an amber thread of energy sparked between us. For an instant, her terrified gaze cleared, replaced by an ancient, fathomless wisdom. I saw it then: a flicker of the Jade Seraphim, the fragmented Qi of my lost Dao companion, Tianwu, swirling within her. I froze. After millennia, could it be? Before I could utter a single word, a sharp prick pierced my arm. Nurse Clara, her face now devoid of its sweet cheer, smiled. Her eyes, usually so bright, held a chilling, knowing glint. A syringe, now empty, dangled from her hand. “Sleep well, Mr. Qiao,” she purred, her voice strangely resonant, no longer the gentle lilt of a nurse, but something deeper, older, a serpentine hiss. “The serpent king hungers. And the city… it shall feed.” I felt the sedative rushing through my veins, swiftly overwhelming my weakened Qi. My limbs grew heavy, my vision blurred. The world began to spin, the chaotic scene melting into a kaleidoscope of terror and revelation. But her words, her final words, echoed in the receding darkness, a chilling premonition of a doom I had long known was coming. It was a fragment of an ancient dragon-cult incantation, one I had heard only once, in a forgotten age, chanted by a mad prophet on the eve of a world’s end. “*Zhulong’s hunger gnaws the root, the city’s heart, a bitter fruit.*”

The Confiscation of the Venom-Spitter