Chapter Eighty-Eight: Turbid Qi Stirring, the Earth Veins Tremble

Volume Three: Supporting the Cosmos Across Eternal Ages — Heaven and Earth Take Fixed Form

The external chaotic death-qi had not yet subsided when new trouble arose from within. The residual turbid qi settled deep underground began to stir. Stimulated by the encroaching chaotic death-qi, it awakened from slumber. This turbid qi differed from chaotic death-qi — the latter came from outside, while turbid qi was a product of the world's own interior.

The turbid qi churned in the depths, causing the Earth Veins to tremble. Beneath Pangu's feet, the Great Earth heaved and swayed like a colossal beast turning in its sleep. He had to press his feet down harder to stabilize the ground. Every tremor drained a fraction of his strength, and the cadence of the tremors kept rising.

Pangu sent his Spirit-Consciousness deep into the earth to investigate. He found the turbid qi coalescing into pockets underground — like volcanoes gathering pressure before eruption. If all these pockets burst at once, the earth's structure could suffer irreversible damage.

He had to act. He decided to channel some of the turbid qi to safe areas on the surface, releasing it slowly through controlled venting rather than letting it erupt violently below. He carved several tunnels deep in the earth, allowing the turbid qi to rise gradually along these passages. On the surface, it formed a few small hills.

Turbid qi stirred, the Earth Veins trembled. By guiding rather than suppressing, Pangu averted a potential catastrophe. But he knew this only treated the symptoms, not the root cause. The turbid qi accumulating in the depths kept growing and would one day exceed his ability to control it.

The Earth Veins shuddered. Pangu looked down at his feet — the turbid qi that had once been quiet now churned in the deep, like a giant beast trapped underground rolling over. The vibrations traveled from his soles through his calves, thighs, and spine, finally reaching the crown of his head. The entire Great Earth trembled, as if some immense force was trying to heave up the earth's keel from below. The tremors rose from the deepest strata, passing through thick layers, through the deposition zone of Turbid Qi, through the solidifying bedrock. By the time they reached Pangu's feet, they had weakened considerably — but still he could feel every one. Each tremor came with a low murmur: pressure waves released as the deep earth's energy vented. Pangu drove his feet deeper into the ground, using his soles to sense the source of those vibrations — the turbid qi layers near the earth's bottom that had not yet fully stabilized.

Pangu's attention had been fixed on the chaotic death-qi beyond the Celestial Dome's boundary when the first tremor beneath his feet pulled him back to the earth. It was no ordinary quaking — it came from extreme depths, retaining astonishing energy even after passing through thick strata. His feet adjusted their stance in the instant of the tremor: toes digging deeper into the ground, knees bending slightly to absorb the shock. His body reacted on instinct, but his mind was split in that moment — half above, tracking Chaos's encroachment; half below, sensing the earth's disturbance. That splitting itself was draining him.

He extended his Spirit-Consciousness deep into the earth. In the vision of his Spirit-Consciousness, the earth was no longer a solid monolith but a composite of many layers: the surface was stable bedrock; the middle layer was semi-liquid rock still solidifying; and the deepest part, near the earth's bottom, held the remnant turbid qi not yet fully transformed by the clear-turbid cycle. Those remnants were churning — like a pot of thick soup set to boil, bubbles rising from the bottom and bursting through the rock layers, releasing energy. Each burst made the earth tremble. And the bubbles kept multiplying without pause.

Pangu opened his feet's perceptive capacity to the maximum. His soles had merged with the earth — through the meridians extending downward from them, he could sense the minute changes in every layer of the deep. The surface bedrock remained stable, but cracks had already appeared in the middle layer — cracks that widened with every tremor, from hair-thin to finger-wide, from a single fissure to many. If the number and width of the cracks reached a critical threshold, the entire earth's structure would deform irreversibly.

He resolved to act at once. His right hand slowly withdrew from its position supporting the Celestial Dome — a dangerous move, for pulling back one hand meant the entire weight of the heavens would transfer in a heartbeat to his left hand and shoulder. His left shoulder emitted a great protest at that instant, bone and muscle hitting their limit together. But he had no time to wait for acclimation. With his right hand freed, he thrust it downward — through air, through surface, through bedrock — straight into the churning turbid qi zone deep in the earth.

When his hand touched the turbid qi layer, he felt a searing heat. Under pressure, the turbid qi had grown extremely unstable — like boiling magma, ready to erupt at any moment. The moment his fingers touched its surface, the skin on his fingertips burned — the incompletely purified corrosive parts in the turbid qi were eating into his Dao Body. He gritted his teeth and did not pull back. Instead, he channeled Primordial Source power to his fingertips, forming a protective film of light over them, and began guiding the turbid qi.

It was no simple process — the turbid qi fought back violently under his power, like a beast struggling with its throat pinned. As his fingers moved through it, he met extreme resistance — every inch of progress cost vast amounts of Primordial Source. Such a drain would have meant little under normal conditions, but in his current state of severe depletion, each thread of lost Primordial Source felt like a drop of blood drawn from his body. Once the channels took shape, the turbid qi found an exit and began moving slowly upward along them. Pangu continued guiding it, and at the surface outlet, he used his power to compress the escaping turbid qi into a stable form. That form rose higher and became a conical hill. Inside the hill, the turbid qi still churned, but with an exit, its energy dispersed and no longer concentrated at a single point underground.

Pangu released his fingers and wiped the rolling sweat from his forehead. Before him, three newborn hills had lifted from the earth like three enormous grave mounds. Their surfaces were still scorching, giving off a pungent sulfurous odor. Pangu knew this was not the end — these hills were only temporary vents. As long as turbid qi kept generating below, they would keep growing.

He returned his right hand to the base of the Celestial Dome and adjusted his posture so that both shoulders shared the weight again. The fingertips of his right hand still throbbed — the burned skin was healing, but slowly. He looked at his fingers, then at the three hills before him, then raised his gaze to the zone beyond the Celestial Dome's boundary where chaotic death-qi was massing. Chaos encroaching from above, turbid qi churning from below, and he stood between them — a wedge squeezed by two forces at once. He had no direction to choose: up was Chaos, down was turbid qi. He could only stand his ground, using his body as a buffer between them.

The trembling of the Earth Veins had not fully stopped — only shifted from violent jolts to a deeper, more sustained hum. That hum was like a warning, reminding him that much still remained unresolved beneath the earth. Pangu drove his feet's meridians deeper still, anchoring himself more firmly to the earth. He could feel the turbid qi below the hills flowing slowly through the channels — like blood through veins. He closed his eyes and felt that slow flow. At least in this moment, it was still under control. As for what the next moment would bring — he had no answer. He only knew he would never stop trying.

Pangu sank more of his strength into the ground. He needed to suppress the turbid qi without compromising the Celestial Dome's stability. It was a delicate balance — too much force would damage the foundation, too little could not hold down the churning turbid qi. Through practice, he found the critical point: using thirty percent of the force that pressed the Celestial Dome downward to counter the turbid qi, leaving the other seventy percent to sustain his support. This was —