Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Turbid Qi Remnants, Dark Currents Surging

Volume Two: The Separation of Clear and Turbid — The First Opening of Heaven and Earth

Just as he rejoiced in the first establishment of Heaven and Earth's order, Pangu detected signals of dissonance. The residual turbid qi that had been suppressed deep underground during the Clear-Turbid separation had not, in fact, completely lost its potency. It had been accumulating in the depths of the Great Earth, forming dangerous undercurrents.

Though Mingdun — Chaos's sentient remnant consciousness — had dissipated into the Void Shell, the old order of Chaos it represented had not been wholly eradicated. Those residual Chaos forces, expelled by the Clear-Turbid separation, had, under the sustained pressure of Heaven and Earth's order, taken on a new form and lain concealed deep within the Great Earth. They had lost the command of Mingdun's will, yet retained Chaos's instinctual drive toward destruction. This was the origin of the Turbid Qi Remnants.

These Turbid Qi Remnants were different from dead Chaos Qi. Dead Chaos Qi was utterly passive, merely existing without initiative. But the Turbid Qi Remnants possessed a certain degree of active potency — it was as though the nascent order of Heaven and Earth had triggered some instinct within them, a drive to destroy this world that was even now taking shape.

Pangu probed deep with his Spirit-Consciousness and discovered that this turbid qi was slowly gathering underground, like clusters of shadow silently swelling. They seemed to be waiting for an opportune moment — waiting until his strength had waned to the point where he could no longer intervene — and then they would erupt together, dragging Heaven and Earth back into Chaos.

He realized that these Turbid Qi Remnants would become a hidden peril for the future development of Heaven and Earth. They would not dissipate on their own with the passage of time; on the contrary, they would, in secret, continuously build up their strength. He had to gradually purge these hidden dangers during the growth-phase of Heaven and Earth, or else, in the future, they would brew great catastrophe.

The Turbid Qi Remnants — dark currents were surging beneath the surface. Pangu understood that although the order of Heaven and Earth had been first established, the road to true stability was still long. What he had to do was not merely hold up the heavens, but also clear away every potential threat to the long-term development of Heaven and Earth.

Though the separation of Clear and Turbid was essentially complete and the order of Heaven and Earth was being established, the remnants of turbid qi had not wholly vanished. The most stubborn, most concentrated pockets of turbid qi had hidden themselves in the deepest fissures of the Heaven-Earth Interlayer, in the crevices of the Great Earth's foundation, in the shadowed folds at the very edges of the Celestial Dome. They existed in minute volumes, at extremely high thickness and extremely low activity, as though they had entered a deep hibernation, awaiting the moment to be roused.

Pangu knew the specific locations where those turbid qi remnants lay concealed. His Spirit-Soul had captured traces of them during the initial scans — those deeply condensed masses of turbid qi were like black seeds, scattered across the hidden corners of Heaven and Earth. He had once attempted to purge them, but discovered that they had bonded too tightly with the structure of Heaven and Earth — forcefully removing them would damage the already-formed pattern of the world. Caught in this dilemma, he chose a temporary solution: surveillance. He would not touch those turbid qi masses, but neither would he let them stir. He would maintain constant surveillance, ensuring they did not erupt into violence before Heaven and Earth were fully stable.

But Pangu's Primordial Source was steadily draining away, and his energy was finding it ever harder to reach every corner. The turbid qi masses under his surveillance had also begun to show faint responses — as though they had sensed their watcher's weakening, they began to stir, almost imperceptibly. Not an obvious expansion or displacement, but an exceedingly subtle internal activity — like a colossal beast, long dormant, turning over in its sleep deep underground. He had a premonition: after he was gone, these turbid qi remnants would become the greatest hidden peril facing this world.

After their long dormancy, those turbid qi masses lurking underground began to show new movements. They were no longer merely existing passively in place under Pangu's surveillance; they had begun to move, slowly and in secret — not as whole masses, but in an imperceptibly gradual, nearly undetectable creeping motion, like thick, viscous sludge flowing toward lower ground under gravity's pull. At first, Pangu did not notice these movements — they were too slow; a single perceptual scan revealed no difference at all. It was only when he compared two scans taken a certain span of time apart that he detected those almost indiscernible changes.

The movement of the turbid qi masses was not random. Tracking their trajectories, Pangu discovered that all the masses were moving in the same direction — toward the deepest point within the Heaven-Earth Interlayer, a semi-enclosed space. The location of this space was extraordinarily concealed, hidden beneath the region where Clear and Turbid converged most frequently, covered by several thick layers of turbid qi sediment; one would never notice its existence without specifically searching for it. Those turbid qi masses were gathering and merging within that semi-enclosed space, forming a collective entity far larger than any single mass. This was a primal instinct — not Mingdun's kind of conscious will, but an instinct closer to physical law: turbid qi possessed an innate tendency to converge, just as water possessed an innate tendency to flow toward low ground.

Pangu set a special ward around the periphery of this convergence site — a ward that did not use brute force to block the inflow of turbid qi, but instead created a zone of Clear-Turbid equilibrium around the gathering place. When turbid qi entered that zone, it would be dispersed, diluted, and gradually purified by the balanced Clear-Turbid circulation. He was not plugging the path of the turbid qi; he was setting a purification barrier along the path it had to travel. This was a more intelligent mode of management — not opposing natural law, but using natural law to achieve his own purpose. Turbid qi wanted to converge? Very well — let it converge, only first be purified along the way. What was purified merged into the circulation of Heaven and Earth; what remained grew ever smaller.

Those turbid qi masses, under his surveillance, had long maintained their stillness — they were like seeds that had entered hibernation, expending no energy as they awaited the coming of spring. But Pangu knew those seeds were not dead — they were merely dormant. Each time he intensified his surveillance, the masses would grow even stiller, as though they had sensed the watcher drawing near and held their breath. The self-preservation instinct of those masses was a disquieting kind of intelligence — not Mingdun's higher intelligence, but the simplest, most primal pattern of response: contract when sensing a threat, expand when the threat receded.

He set markers above those turbid-qi activity zones deep beneath the surface — not physical markers, but energy-level imprints. These imprints would continue to function even after he could no longer maintain surveillance: when the stirring of the turbid qi masses exceeded a certain threshold, the imprints would release a pulse of energy, which would travel along the Earth Veins to the surface, triggering localized tremors in the Great Earth. Those tremors would become the first signal by which future beings would detect turbid qi activity underground. It was the last warning sign he left for this world.

Pangu carved the design principles of that ward into his memory like a single thread — not so he could repair it in the future, but so that someone in the future might find it. The construction of that ward embodied his understanding of his own most essential power — using Clear-Turbid balance to counter extreme turbidification, using natural circulation to dissolve aberration. He could not maintain this ward forever, just as one cannot forever hold down a cloth about to be lifted by the wind — sooner or later, he would have to let go; sooner or later, the cloth would fly. He was merely buying more time for Heaven and Earth, waiting for forces of the future to take his place.

The turbid qi aberrations underground, in the way they manifested within his perception, reminded Pangu of a word — fermentation. Those turbid qi masses were like fruit sealed within a vessel, slowly fermenting under the combined action of darkness and time, their internal chemical components undergoing changes he could not fully comprehend. Sour bubbles rose and burst within the masses, releasing a new kind of energy he had never before encountered, carrying an acrid scent. The process of fermentation was not merely decomposition — it was also creation. Those aberrant masses of turbid qi were, even as they destroyed old structures, brewing something entirely new — a form of existence that had never appeared within the order of Heaven and Earth.

Those turbid qi masses, under Pangu's surveillance, were like a cluster of dormant predators, lurking in the darkness, drawing their bodies tight, making as little sound and movement as possible. He could feel the energy within them stirring slowly — not growing, but circulating internally, like wild beasts maintaining a faint heartbeat and breath even in deep slumber. This was the most paradoxical quality of turbid qi — it was both dead (without consciousness) and alive (possessing instinctual tropism).