The Celestial Alliance Council—a colossal fortress of shimmering jade and starlight—floated above the tenth sky, suspended between order and ruin. Its vast dome pulsed with the rhythm of the heavens themselves, radiating divine brilliance that blinded mortals and gods alike.
Yet tonight, its light flickered.
The stars trembled around it.
Inside, twelve thrones lined the Hall of the Nine Suns—each throne representing one of the Celestial Orders. Behind every seat burned a pillar of pure divine law, binding Heaven's power together.
But something unseen was shaking those laws now.
A single report, written in trembling script and sealed with Seraphis's crest, had reached the central dais.
And as the High Council read it, silence rippled through the divine hall.
---
"A god of soil…"
"A realm that breathes…"
"A barrier that even Celestial Law cannot pierce…"
The murmurs grew restless.
One of the elders—bald, with skin like burnished bronze and eyes burning with judgment—slammed his palm against the golden table. The shockwave cracked through the air, shattering the floating runes of silence.
"Blasphemy!" he thundered. "A mere ascendant dares reject Heaven's decree! And he shelters Xuan Wuji, the Fallen Lord of Shadows! This is rebellion of the highest order!"
"Peace, Elder Ran," said a calm voice beside him. "Do not let fury cloud what must be understood."
The speaker was Elder Yu Meilin, a woman draped in flowing silver robes. Her expression was serene, but her aura rippled like an ocean before a storm.
"The report says his realm rejects external qi," she continued. "That is no mere divine ability. That is sovereignty. The kind only the Primordials once wielded."
A low hiss escaped through the chamber.
The bronze elder spat, "Then he must be destroyed before that sovereignty grows! The last time a god achieved such balance, entire realms vanished under the weight of their own divinity!"
Another voice interrupted—cold, sharp, and dangerous.
"Destroyed?"
The word sliced through the air like a sword.
From the shadows stepped Lord Raijin, the Heavenly Warlord of the North—his white hair fell like lightning, his eyes carrying the weight of countless wars.
"If Heaven feared every spark that could become fire, there would be no stars left," he said. "This Tian Yuan does not seek dominion. The envoys said it themselves—his aura was calm, his words were peace."
Elder Ran snarled, "Peace is a lie crafted by the weak to disguise defiance!"
"Defiance?" Raijin turned, his gaze sharp enough to cleave silence. "No, Ran. It is fear. Fear that Heaven's order is crumbling under its own arrogance."
His words struck deep. Some gods looked down; others clenched their fists.
High above them, the Celestial Prime, seated upon the Throne of Nine Flames, finally opened his eyes. His irises burned like twin suns.
"Enough," his voice rolled like thunder and prophecy entwined. "Both of you are correct—he is peace, but he is danger. Tian Yuan's existence is a paradox Heaven cannot ignore."
He rose slowly, the hall trembling as golden light surged through the runes of creation.
"Summon the Seers," the Prime commanded. "Let the Fates read his soil. If the roots of this new god threaten the skies… then we shall burn the field before the harvest."
---
Far from the council's divine light, in a quiet starless void between realms, the air shimmered faintly.
A cloaked figure emerged—its form constantly shifting between man, shadow, and flame.
He chuckled.
"So, the Council stirs again. Always pruning, never planting."
From his hand bloomed a small seed of glowing light. He studied it for a moment, then whispered,
"Your soil awakens, Farmer God. Let us see how long before Heaven fears the garden you grow."
He flicked the seed into the darkness, and it vanished—falling through countless dimensions like a whisper carried by wind.
---
Back in Tian Yuan's Realm
The farmer god stood at the edge of his Divine Lake, watching as ripples glowed under the moon's gentle reflection. The air shimmered faintly with whispers—he could feel the heavens stirring, like restless winds before a storm.
He exhaled softly.
"So… they've finally begun to notice."
The System's voice chimed suddenly, but this time it carried a peculiar liveliness—almost smug.
> [System Notification: ALERT — Celestial Snoopers detected!]
[System Processing Response… Loading sass.exe…]
"Master, those nosy heavenly pigeons are watching again!"
Tian Yuan blinked. "Pigeons?"
> "Yes! Glowing pigeons with superiority complexes. Want me to pluck their feathers?"
He couldn't help but laugh. "You've gotten bold since your upgrade."
> "Bold? No, no, just properly self-aware."
"Besides, if they peek too long, I'll blind them with our realm's brilliance."
"Let them look," Tian Yuan said quietly, gazing toward the horizon where the golden sun began to rise. "They will not understand what they see."
The System hummed thoughtfully.
> "You sound too calm, Master. Usually gods panic when Heaven looks their way."
"Why panic?" he replied, his tone serene. "They cannot enter without my will. And besides…"
He looked toward the valley where his divine beasts trained—the Golden Dragon soaring through the sky, the Vermilion Phoenix blazing trails of crimson light, the White Tiger roaring across mountains, the Turtle Guardian stirring the lake, and the mischievous Kirin racing through the meadows.
"…This soil still needs tending."
The System's tone softened.
> "You really are strange, Master. Most gods crave power. You crave roots."
Tian Yuan smiled faintly. "Roots hold the world together."
---
Elsewhere, in the Mortal Realm
The wind howled through the ruined plains of the old Green Mist Valley.
Where the humble village once stood, great cities now towered—empires built by his disciples.
But beneath that prosperity, a dark ripple stirred.
In the shadow of the capital's great temple, a cloaked man knelt before a statue of the Farmer God, his trembling hands clutching the hem of his robe.
"Master…" he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. "We built the world you dreamed of. But… they've begun to twist your teachings."
Behind him, armored soldiers marched in golden armor engraved with divine soil symbols—the very mark of Tian Yuan's faith, now worn as a banner of conquest.
The empire his disciples forged was powerful—too powerful.
And in their glory, they had begun to forget why their master had planted them in the first place.
---
Meanwhile, in the Upper Realm
The Heavens continued to whisper Tian Yuan's name like a prophecy.
The farmers of creation, the god who ruled without dominion, the Lord of the Living Soil.
Some called him heretic.
Others… hope.
But above all, they began to fear what he represented—
a world where balance existed without Heaven's chains.
---
In his divine manor, Tian Yuan felt a faint ache in his chest—a connection to his disciples' realm below.
He turned toward the golden window where stars shimmered, as if carrying echoes from the mortal lands.
The System chimed softly.
> "Master, you sense it too, don't you?"
"Yes," Tian Yuan murmured. "The soil I planted is beginning to split."
> "Shall I send a little divine reminder?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Let them learn what happens when a garden forgets its roots. Only then will they understand what balance truly means."
---
That night, Tian Yuan stood beneath his Eternal Willow again, watching the heavens ripple faintly with golden lights.
He could feel it—
The Council had begun its divinations.
The gods were trying to read his world.
But as their gaze fell upon his land, the realm responded with quiet defiance—its qi twisting the threads of fate, obscuring itself with blooming light.
Even Heaven's eyes could no longer see clearly.
---
High above, in the Hall of Fates, the Seer Gods opened their divine scrolls.
The runes shimmered, then blurred—lines bending, destinies shifting into unreadable spirals.
One Seer gasped, dropping his brush. "Impossible! The ink rejects divine sight!"
The Prime frowned deeply. "Explain."
The Seer's voice trembled. "Every time we write his name, the script blooms into flowers."
A tense silence filled the chamber.
The Prime whispered, almost to himself,
"…A god whose destiny grows rather than binds."
And from the shadows, the cloaked observer from before—his eyes like stars in the void—smiled faintly.
"The soil has begun to dream."
(END OF CHAPTER 71)