The moment Yuan Ji heard that word, her fingertip hovering over the jade slip paused. A mournful dragon’s cry echoed in her mind, as if calling from the depths of her soul, sending a sudden pang through her heart.
Her smooth fingertip slowly pressed against the jade slip, its warmth pulling her thoughts back. When she looked up again, her eyes had regained their calm.
Below her, Wu Qianxi’s heart pounded like a drum. He stared unblinkingly at Yuan Ji’s composed expression, anxiety gnawing at him.
Could she have already known about this prophecy?
No, impossible.
Wu Qianxi quickly dismissed the thought. Back in the secret realm, he had been the only one to witness this prophecy—no one else could have seen it.
With a soft click, his heart skipped a beat.
Yuan Ji set the jade slip down on the table, leaning back in the wooden chair as she slowly turned her gaze to Wu Qianxi. “And then?”
“What?” Wu Qianxi hadn’t expected this reaction. It was as if he hadn’t just revealed a prophecy that should have shocked everyone, but instead remarked on something as mundane as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.
For a moment, he was at a loss for words. But beside him, Ye Wenshu sharply sucked in a breath.
“Good heavens, are you saying Cultivator Qi is facing a calamity in a month?!” Ye Wenshu rushed forward, eyes wide. “Is it true?!”
Wu Qianxi nodded slowly, his expression unwavering.
Gasps filled the room, and the air grew thick with tension, pressing heavily on their chests.
Strangely, seeing their reactions brought Wu Qianxi some comfort.
So it wasn’t that the prophecy wasn’t shocking enough—it was just that this River God couldn’t be measured by ordinary standards.
“Damn it, what do we do?!” Ye Wenshu groaned, casting a pleading look at Yuan Ji.
If the River God is this calm, she must have a plan.
Even System was stunned by the news. It struggled to pull out a crumpled plot summary from its pile of storybooks, flipping through the pages frantically before muttering in disbelief.
“This can’t be right. The timeline in the plot hasn’t reached this point yet. And there’s no mention of this prophecy anywhere!”
According to the records, Qi Yan had lived all the way to the end as the head disciple of the Tianji Sect, only to have his identity exposed by the protagonist, Xuan Changsheng, before being vanquished and scattered to the winds.
But that wasn’t supposed to happen yet.
System’s data streams tangled into knots, its virtual head overheating as it tapped its temples in frustration before admitting defeat.
“Yuan Ji… I think I might have a virus.”
Its voice was barely a whisper, the entire system curling up in embarrassment.
Yuan Ji raised a brow, unfazed. “It’s fine.”
To her, the plot had always been nothing more than decoration—whether it existed or not made no difference.
Her words, though quiet, struck deep into System’s core. An inexplicable surge of emotion welled up, and it sniffled. “Yuan Ji…”
But then its tone shifted to worry. “But what about Qi Yan? If this prophecy comes true, the entire plot will collapse, and this world might be destroyed.”
To its surprise, Yuan Ji let out a soft laugh, her expression utterly serene.
“That prophecy won’t come true.”
“As long as I’m here, his soul will never scatter.”
