The day of the purification ritual was overcast. Thick layers of black clouds rolled across the sky as if a downpour could start at any moment.

The mountains and meadows seemed filtered by the gloomy weather, appearing dull and lifeless, lacking their usual vibrancy.

The light was dim, and many island residents attending the ritual carried lanterns.

The area around the sinkhole was a flat meadow. Both residents and celebrities waited on the grass, while cameras hovered above the sinkhole.

“Hope it doesn’t rain…” Xuan Caiyan worriedly looked at the sky. “It’s been sunny the past couple of days. Why is it overcast today?”

“So annoying.” Luo Feiang nervously fiddled with his sleeves. “Not sure if it can continue if it rains…”

“A light rain shouldn’t matter,” Fei Zhehan muttered, “but heavy rain might force us to pause the ritual, hide in the surrounding woods, and resume once it stops?”

The previously harmonious comment section had started to take on a strange tone.

【Don’t shamans check the weather first? This guy seems unprofessional!】

【Auspicious days are important in superstition, right? This gloomy weather seems amateurish.】

【To do this properly, at least the atmosphere should be right. Now it looks more like a horror movie than a divine ritual.】

【Witchcraft sounds creepy anyway; this atmosphere is actually perfect.】

【Hiring a washed-up former idol to entertain the gods? Maybe even the gods don’t want to see the ugly. That’s why all the clouds.】

【Why so sarcastic in the comments today? Don’t like it, don’t watch.】

【Seriously, it was so good the past few days, why are the haters back?】

【We’re not haters. Just saying—most of the celebrities here are unknown to us. We just want to see why this kind of superstition still exists.】

【I suggest the production cancel the filming and not publicize it.】

【If a scenic spot uses superstitious rituals as a selling point, development should also be reconsidered.】

Even loyal viewers began to worry.

【Maybe… we should cancel it. The weather is terrifying; I feel like we’ve angered the gods.】

【Could a storm really come? The forecast for Naxia Bay Island has been sunny. Did someone do something forbidden?】

【Maybe we should just forget it. Outsiders participating feels weird. Can they pull back in time?】

Comments streamed in as the director’s phone kept ringing.

“What are you doing now?!” The sponsor demanded. “We barely controlled the public opinion with that poisonous herb last time. Now you’re openly doing superstition.”

“Don’t do it, bro. Our brand is under huge pressure too!”

“No matter what, I can’t help you this time. Whether it’s a live accident or not, we’ll withdraw funding.”

As soon as that call ended, the boss of Huiyao Entertainment called: “The weather’s bad today. Why not change this to an indoor gathering? Sing, dance, enjoy with the locals—positive energy. Why insist on this high-risk ritual?!”

“Cancel it. Cancel it now!”

The director, silently enduring the scolding, gathered everyone except Xie Jixing and briefly explained the current public opinion situation.

“In general, the current media trend is unfavorable. We monitored the comments and found substantial opposition. Continuing the live broadcast is very risky.”

“So I want to ask you all—do you still want to proceed?”

The celebrities paused briefly. Surprisingly, the first to speak was Fei Zhehan.

“I’m older, so I’ll go first. Among us, I’m in the most awkward position. Advancing further is difficult, always at risk of being replaced by the younger ones, with a family to support…”

“The word ‘unemployed’ haunts me daily. Previously, I avoided any risks and never dared to act on personality or spontaneity…”

“But this time, I want to act on impulse. I always told my two mischievous sons to give their all first, then consider the outcome. But I never followed my own advice.”

“These past two days, I truly gave my all. So no matter the result, I’m willing to broadcast it. Consider it a lesson for my sons.”

He then gestured to the camera, “Sons, Dad did it this time.”

“I agree to broadcast. Which top star doesn’t have haters?” Luo Feiang shrugged. “I’ve already got plenty of criticism. One more won’t matter.”

“After all,” he leaned into the camera, adjusted his bangs, raised an eyebrow, “the face is the empire.”

“Of course we’ll broadcast! We’ve been preparing for days.” Xuan Caiyan adjusted the flower in her hair and waved her finger near her chin. “Today, I even brought Ms. Great Witch’s nail art. Sparkly and pretty, right?”

“Broadcast!” Meng Zezhou also agreed. “At least it won’t be worse than having someone photoshopped into a breakup memorial before.”

The director then looked at Qian Shuyun, who effectively had veto power.

He asked him, “What’s your opinion?”

The director thought briefly: “I want to continue the live broadcast. Not to ride the trending topic or for publicity, but because everyone has been striving toward the same goal these past days.”

“I don’t want to give up halfway.”

“It would be easy to cancel, blaming bad weather or unstable signals. But I want to see the ritual broadcast through to the end.”

For the past few days, celebrities who were normally surrounded by assistants went out early, returned late, traversing mountains and seas. Their feet were blistered, and at night they treated them with herbs from Wu Muhan. By morning, they would go out with smiles and energy.

The production staff caught the spirit as well. After several days of running with them, they understood the islanders’ struggles more deeply, hoping the show could help. Their efforts also brought fresh energy to the island.

Many conservative elders, after interacting with the celebrities, began to reconsider their rigid beliefs and were willing to try new things. To retreat now would be a huge waste.

“Then get ready. Bring over the professional cameras too—the ceremony is about to begin.” Qian Shuyun hesitated for a moment, then reached out and patted the director on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle the follow-up issues with you.”

The director, who had just been patted, didn’t show any fear or irritation. Instead, he excitedly went to adjust the newly added equipment.

Qian Shuyun looked straight into the camera lens and realized that after these past few days with Xie Jixing, his symptoms had lessened considerably.

Now, in front of a GoPro, he felt almost no abnormal sensations at all.

The ultra-high-definition professional camera, which had been stored away after its first recording, was brought out again. As the jib swept across the panoramic view, when the lens focused on Qian Shuyun, he didn’t feel the slightest headache.

The clouds at the horizon thickened, and the forest light grew dimmer, leaving only the tiny points of light held by the islanders to illuminate the scene.

“Rōng!”

A sound like thunder rolled across the sky, shaking the entire landscape.

Its tone was deep and heavy, yet as it spread, it felt like a brave cavalry charging, long spears raised, attacking the dark clouds on the horizon.

Everyone, both on-site and in the livestream, fell silent.

The islanders closest to the sinkhole were the first to regain their composure. They put down what they were holding, prostrated themselves on the ground, and bowed toward the sinkhole.

Xuan Caiyan reached out and touched, realizing that the sound had involuntarily brought tears to her eyes. They streamed down to her chin before she fully registered what had happened, and she joined the islanders in their gesture of respect.

The heavy clouds at the horizon seemed to crack open under the sound, and a beam of sunlight broke through, like a natural spotlight shining directly over the sinkhole.

For a long while, the livestream comments were silent, until someone finally typed:

【What’s happening? Was that thunder?】

【Not thunder, it’s a drum!】

The professional camera focused on the sinkhole. Xie Jixing was still wearing the outfit from the Hundred-Family Banquet that day. The difference now was the black gauze over his eyes, embroidered with a pattern of two intertwined snakes in red and green.

Amid the gloomy tones, the little snakes over his eyes, the red mole under his eye, and the faint curve of his lips stood out vividly.

In front of him lay a circular drum about a meter in diameter, also decorated with a double-snake pattern. Perhaps due to years of repeated striking, the design was worn and hard to distinguish.

No one knew how long this drum had existed—it was a drum born deep in the passage of time.

Xie Jixing clenched his fists, the lines of his arms full of power, and struck the drum with speed and weight. Though his appearance was delicate and refined, his aura was like a force able to rival ten thousand.

“Rōng!”

The deep, resonant drumbeats seemed to carry the frost and wind of time itself, profoundly moving the soul.

“Rōng!”

Another strike. The cracks in the clouds widened with each beat, letting more sunlight through, cascading down like a warm, immense hand upon the sinkhole.

With the drumming, the two small snakes on Wu Muhan began to move.

Her outfit today was quite elaborate: a short sleeveless vest with a cutout at the waist, all decorated with silver tassels. Her long skirt resembled a traditional Chinese “horse-face skirt,” with tiny silver bells stitched along the hem.

Most striking was the high priestess crown—two silver spiritual snakes holding pearls in their mouths intertwined to form the crown’s main structure, with a row of silver tassels hanging down just enough to cover her eyes.

The high priestess’s figure swayed like a water plant in a lake, bending with the ripples, yet firmly rooted in the ground—no wave could sweep her away.

The intense drumbeats combined with her powerful, flowing movements captured every eye.

Even through a screen, one could feel the awe for nature and the inexplicable shock from deep within.

All previous discussions, criticisms, or attacks seemed irrelevant. No one thought to argue or debate—they were fully absorbed in this offering to the mountains, the seas, and the gods.

The drumbeats grew faster, and Wu Muhan spun rapidly. The silver bells on her skirt collided with the silver tassels on her vest, creating layered, crisp sounds that blended with the deep drums.

Graceful movements soared and plunged with speed.

In the petrified giant snake’s eyes, tiny golden sparks flickered faintly.

As the sparks grew and converged at the snake’s mouth, the drumming abruptly stopped, and Wu Muhan’s spinning halted.

The giant snake suddenly spewed golden light like flames, and the two small snakes on Wu Muhan lifted their upper bodies, mouths wide, sending out forked tongues toward the camera.

The clouds had almost completely dispersed, the sky brightened, and the golden light from the snake mouths merged with the sunlight, shining on the kneeling islanders outside the sinkhole.

The purification ceremony had ended.