Yet, Lord Seventh was not angry. As though he was used to being cut off, he continued, "To achieve the equilibrium you desire, there are many conditions that have to be fulfilled, and it is terribly difficult to achieve this. Firstly, both sides have to be equally matched. There cannot be a stronger or weaker side, otherwise, the stronger party will devour the weaker one. Being equally matched alone won't do either--there is a possibility that two equally-matched sides will struggle to the death to produce a victor. There still has to be a few natural, or man-made barricades that must not be crossed. Both parties will be afraid to strike out, as they are wary of destroying everything else but the rat that is their target. Both parties have their considerations, and refuse to be the instigators...ordinarily, in order for such a perfect and elegant equilibrium to happen, various coincidences have to occur in tandem--in other words, the heavens have constructed it. If it is a product of human hands, they need to advance with exceedingly cautious steps, laying down their pieces with care. One wrong step, and they’ll lose the whole game. However, it is extraordinarily easy to ruin the situation.”

As he spoke, he reached out to whisk one of the chopsticks away. The other chopstick fell accordingly and crashed right onto a plate of pastries, producing thin hairline cracks.

Lord Seventh smiled and said, “It only needs to be like this--remove one of the boards, and the situation in equilibrium is instantly dashed. But...why remove this board?”

The Great Shaman asked curiously, “What is it that you have spotted this time?”

Lord Seventh picked up the tea bowl, dipped his head and took a sip, then shook his head and smiled. “Reveal that, I cannot.”

Chapter 63: The Eve Of

A startling bolt of lightning cleaved apart the night sky of early summer at the tail end of spring. The dusk was moonless and starless.

The icy rain fell, rinsing the world in bloom clean on a late spring’s night.

The roof of the decrepit room in the inn was leaking. There was only a smidgen of light in the room; a man in red was toying with the glowing candlewick with his fingers, his expression one of deadly frost.

He was none other than Sun Ding.

A sudden breeze swept in through the window, and the flame trembled slightly. Sun Ding’s gaze focused. He raised his head to look at the Poisonous Scorpion in black who had come in through the window, silently waiting for the news that he brought him.