The Pamir Plateau, a bitterly cold place since ancient times, remained silent year-round. Today, many influential organizations gathered here. Inside a starship, a small group of prominent figures were seated, discussing, negotiating, and bargaining with each other.0

Someone tapped on the table, signaling the others to look at the big screen. “Mo Hai has lost.”0

The representative for the New Arts had a calm look on his face as he said, “The New Arts is still in its infancy, while the old art has already dwindled. One is like the rising sun, and the other is like the setting sun. The New Art holds infinite potential, where everything is possible. The only remnants of the Old Arts lie with Old Chen, but even his days are numbered. The old path is arduous, and its end is near in this era.”2

It was a pity that no one from the field of the Old Arts was qualified to sit among them. Even so, the representative of the New Arts was interrupted by someone who coldly reminded him that substantial resources had been given to the New Arts over the years.0

All of the seated individuals had impressive backgrounds, having unearthed remarkable artifacts that temporarily revived the fading path of the Old Arts. They had a plan in motion, but that abruptly changed just as they were getting started.0

“Last time, the secret medicines intended for several experimental classes of the Old Arts around the world were redirected and sent to the New Arts instead.”0

As these words echoed, a chill settled over the atmosphere. This decision had...0