He Yuzhu returns in Siheyuan

Meanwhile, Wang Ran had already led the cultivators back to the camp. The campfire crackled, illuminating his cold, handsome profile. He glanced at the group of cultivators sitting cross-legged before him; each of them exuded a calm aura, yet their eyes betrayed their weariness. "Alright," Wang Ran said, his voice clear and strong, "No need for duty tonight. Everyone, proceed with your cultivation as planned and recharge your energy."

Wang Ran paused, then tapped the token at his waist lightly with his fingertips: "As for the list of those to monitor the demons' movements, I will give it to you at dawn tomorrow. Remember, you are only allowed to observe, not to act rashly. If there is any unusual activity, send a message back immediately."

The cultivators responded in unison, "Yes!" Their voices echoed against the valley walls, reverberating like thunder, carrying an undeniable air of menace. Wang Ran gazed at the flickering campfire in the camp, its flames greedily licking the firewood, crackling and reflecting flickering light in his eyes. His brows furrowed involuntarily, his knuckles tracing the jade pendant at his waist—the demonic barrier was more troublesome than anticipated. The restrictions it had erected couldn't be easily broken even by the special array-breaking talismans he had brought; the talismans turned to ashes after emitting only a wisp of smoke. Meanwhile, the demons were making frequent disturbances at Black Wind Pass. Of the three cultivators sent to scout last night, only one returned covered in blood; the other two didn't even leave a trace. The surviving one was delirious, repeatedly calling out "ink-like fog" and "shadows that grab people," clearly indicating that the demonic energy there was so dense it was impenetrable, and the danger far exceeded expectations. This game of chess is probably more intricate than he initially thought; one wrong step could lead to utter ruin.

The cultivators dared not slacken in the slightest, each standing ramrod straight, their backs soaked with cold sweat. After all, everyone remembered that last month, during the siege of the demon remnants in the Misty Forest, seven skilled fighters had died, including two cultivators capable of wielding third-tier talismans—the backbone of the team. In the end, not even their bodies were brought back intact; only a few blood-stained robes and broken magical artifacts were found. Surviving was already a stroke of luck; who would dare disobey orders?

Wang Ran stood for a moment in the open space outside the camp, his gaze sweeping over the boulders and bushes where the sentries were hidden. Confirming their positions were properly arranged, he added, "Send a message every two hours; don't miss the slightest anomaly," before turning to walk towards his tent. This matter needed to be reported to his superiors immediately—although he was the squad leader in charge of this area, holding the lives of dozens of men in his hands, in the eyes of the truly powerful figures, he was nothing more than a pawn to be discarded at any time. With a flick of their finger, his position could be jeopardized, and he might even end up like Captain Li, who was recently transferred to the front lines, never to return home.

He called to his two most trusted and trusted monks: "You two stay here and keep an eye on the camp. No one is allowed to leave their posts without permission, especially keep an eye on the newcomers. Don't let them cause any trouble." With that, he took off the sword from his waist—the scabbard was inlaid with a gem that could warn of evil spirits—and handed it to them along with the three protective talismans he kept close to his body. "I can go alone. Too many people will only attract attention."

The cultivators knew this was the rule—the higher the level of confidential information being reported, the less likely they were to bring guards, for fear of leaks. The two quickly bowed and replied, "Rest assured, Captain, we will guard the camp well and ensure no one moves without permission!"

Wang Ran drove a worn-out military jeep, the wheels creaking and groaning as they rolled over the gravel mountain road, sounding as if it might fall apart at any moment. The shadows of the trees outside the window rushed past, blurring into a dark green mass, but his mind was in turmoil. The regional official He Yuzhu had encountered last time, two ranks higher than him, had been dismissed for "abuse of power" simply because he had used too many people during his unauthorized investigation of He Yuzhu and hadn't thoroughly investigated the man's background. He'd heard the official had been transferred directly to the northernmost front lines, facing off against the demon vanguard in the freezing cold of minus thirty or forty degrees Celsius—the mere sight of guards could freeze one's ears off. He feared he'd never set foot back in the Central Plains in his lifetime. Although he'd later vaguely heard that someone had protected him, giving him a position as a supplies officer on the front lines, sparing him direct combat, the hardships of that place—the open-air conditions, the lack of food and clothing—were not something an ordinary person could endure.

The car finally stopped outside an inconspicuous courtyard with blue bricks on the outskirts of the city. The courtyard wall was covered with dark green ivy, almost obscuring half of it. The door was a simple elm wood door, with most of the paint peeling off, looking no different from an ordinary family's house. But as soon as Wang Ran got out of the car, two people jumped out from behind the door with a "whoosh." They were dressed in black, like two shadows, and wore ferocious bronze masks on their faces, revealing only a pair of cold, gleaming eyes. The short blades in their hands gleamed with a cold, poisonous light, pointing directly at his throat: "Identity documents."

This wasn't Wang Ran's first time here, but each time he couldn't help but feel his heart race and his back tighten. He quickly pulled out a palm-sized wooden plaque from his pocket, engraved with intricate cloud patterns, with a vermilion "令" (command) character embossed in the center, its edges gleaming faintly with a spiritual light. This was his identification, soaked in his own blood for forty-nine days; it couldn't be forged, and if it were counterfeited, the wooden plaque would shatter on its own.

The masked person took the wooden plaque, carefully tracing its patterns with their fingertips. They then examined it against the sunlight to confirm that the spiritual energy fluctuations hidden within the cinnabar of the character "令" were genuine before handing it back. Their voice, muffled and emotionless, came through the mask: "Do you have any weapons on you?"

"No." Wang Ran shook his head, subconsciously straightening his back to make it easier for the other person to see.

Even so, the other party still conducted a routine search. Their fingertips traced his clothes, cuffs, and even tapped the soles of his boots to confirm there were no hidden weapons or talismans. They even checked his hair before stopping. One of them turned and disappeared into the shadows behind the door, his footsteps as light as a cat's, as if he had never been there. The other made a "follow me" gesture, his voice as cold as ice, devoid of any warmth: "Remember to follow my footsteps closely, not a single step can be wrong. The paths in this courtyard are carefully chosen. If you wander off and make a mistake, fall into an illusionary formation, or get injured by a trap, I will not be responsible."

Wang Ran dared not utter a word. He could only lower his head and follow closely behind, his eyes fixed on the other's heels. The bluestone path beneath his feet looked smooth, but he always felt a sense of unease under his feet, as if he were walking on a thin layer of ice. He could vaguely hear a buzzing sound coming from the ground, the resonance of spiritual energy from the array in operation. He knew that this courtyard was set up with a nine-bend maze array. One wrong step could lead to falling into an illusion, at best being trapped for three days and three nights, at worst suffering mental damage and going insane.

After passing through two moon gates and around a clump of neatly trimmed bamboo, the man led him to a side room, raised his hand and pushed open the door: "Go in and wait." After saying that, he stood guard at the door, his back straight, like a door god, his eyes scanning the surroundings, not even letting a sparrow fly by go unnoticed.