Chapter 9: Dragon Clan

There was no grand battle as imagined—only faint thuds echoing through the air. The seven mightiest beings of the Ancient Ruins Continent vanished under Zuo Meng’s will, erased as casually as swatting flies. In this world he created, his laws reigned supreme. If he decreed no air existed, air ceased to be.

“Seven… like stone-carved gourd dolls.”

Zuo Meng glanced at the Seven Stones scattered on the ground—former apex beings reduced to lifeless rocks. With a flick of his sleeve, he hurled them beyond the Taichu Immortal Island. Even these primordial remnants held no worth for him. Why collect what he could effortlessly recreate?

“A reset is needed. My first attempt at governing this world was sloppy—too many flaws.”

He stretched out his hand and swept it across the land.

*Hummm!*

An invisible force rippled outward. The sky over the Ancient Ruins Continent darkened. Mountains split, oceans boiled, and volcanoes roared. A world shaped over billions of years spiraled into apocalyptic ruin within moments.

A massive turtle clawed through the mud, trembling as it stared skyward.

“I warned them.”

“The Taichu Immortal Ancestor—source of all laws, root of existence—could never perish. Those fools rebelling against him? Suicide! Now their stupidity drowns even Grandpa Turtle!”

This was the Turtle Ancestor, survivor of Zuo Meng’s earliest teachings. When the Three Chaotic Beings—Huang, Ling, and Kun—had rallied others to assault the Taichu Immortal Island, this cunning reptile had burrowed into hiding. Cowardice saved his shell.

“The world ends, yet I’ve done nothing wrong!”

The turtle let mud engulf him. Before hibernating, he etched symbols onto his shell with shaky claws:

*Ancient Era. Three Chaotic Beings defied Tai Chu. Heaven shattered. Earth drowned. All life perished…*

Chaos raged for seven days.

When stillness returned, the world had rebooted—not destroyed, but remade. Lands remained, select creatures survived. The Turtle Ancestor, now strongest among survivors, shivered as Zuo Meng’s gaze brushed over him. The creator said nothing.

“Trying to mimic the Honghuang legends was folly. How can I codify transcendent laws when I barely grasp them myself? Better mirror the real world’s rules… then enhance slightly.”

Mountains sank. Oceans shifted. Time accelerated, compressing eons into breaths. Floating continents fused into a spinning sphere. Zuo Meng strode east, poked a glowing orb—*whoosh!*—flames birthed the sun. Westward, his fingertip kindled the moon. A handful of fragments tossed skyward became stars.

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He reshaped rivers and peaks from memory, purging illogical remnants: nonsensical cultivation methods, instantly sapient chaotic beings. The world’s energy plummeted from mythic grandeur to earthly simplicity—the dawn of the Totem Era.

“Xuan Gui.”

Zuo Meng tapped the ground.

The Xuan Gui awoke, mud crusting its shell. Seeing the transformed world—and the Taichu Immortal Ancestor—it flattened itself in terror.

“This age is called the Totem Era. No more chaotic beings. You alone remain from the past.” Zuo Meng preserved the turtle as a guide for newborn intelligences. Downgrading the world’s power had merits—stability increased, resonance with reality strengthened. More influence would seep outward upon awakening.

“Teach all creatures how to wield totems. Succeed, and immortality is yours.”

“Your will be done!”

The Turtle Ancestor quivered with exhilaration. The Three Chaotic Beings had sought eternal life through rebellion—now their bones were dust, while he, the coward, gained paradise. Heaven’s humor was dark indeed.

Zuo Meng vanished.

The Taichu Immortal Island dissolved, its remnants becoming black holes in cosmic crevices. Above the clouds, Zuo Meng resumed his true form—an unfathomable entity beyond mortal comprehension. This realm was his alone, unlike the restrained avatar he’d used for teaching.

“Defying heaven? Child’s play. My creations can’t kill me unless I script their triumph for amusement.”

Silence settled.

Unlike the botched Ancient Era—where emulating Daoist ancestors spawned half-baked cultivators who later turned on him—Zuo Meng now withdrew completely. Let the world grow untended.

Years trickled by.

A century. Five centuries.

In the Eastern Sea, a serpent crawled ashore. Over generations, fins became claws, scales hardened, horns sprouted. When the Nth generation emerged, they bore no resemblance to ancestors.

The first wise serpent named their kind—Dragon Clan.