He Yuzhu returns in Siheyuan

Seeing that its goal had been achieved, the monkey demon's eyes lit up instantly. It quickly took the jade box, weighed it in its hand, and even opened the lid to smell it, confirming that everything was genuine. A satisfied expression appeared on its face. It bowed its paw to Long Jiao, its tone becoming more respectful: "Lady Long Jiao is indeed straightforward! Rest assured, my subordinates will keep a close watch on the eastern canyon. If any human cultivators dare to step inside again, I guarantee I will notify you immediately, and we will not allow them to approach the cave even a step closer!"

Long Jiao simply nodded, remaining silent as the light from her dragon horns gradually faded. She turned and entered the cave, gazing at her brother's sleeping figure. The wound on his chest still heaved slightly. She knew that further words were futile; only by quickly regaining her strength could she truly control the situation. She sat cross-legged beside Long Tian, ​​closed her eyes, and began to circulate her inner energy. The sparse spiritual energy around her slowly gathered, like a stream flowing into the sea, gradually nourishing her depleted spiritual power.

Outside the cave, the monkey demon and tiger demon led their lesser demons away, their footsteps fading into the distance. Beneath the temporary calm, an undercurrent of crisis was brewing—the human race's formation was still tightening, the demon race's patience was running out, and the dragon race's hopes rested entirely on whether Long Tian could awaken soon. The mountain wind swept through the cave entrance, making a mournful sound, as if sighing for this uncertain fate.

Wang Ran paced back and forth outside the makeshift canvas tent, the iron soles of his military boots grinding against the pebbles, the sound sharp and jarring in the silent mountain valley. His brow was furrowed, his knuckles white from gripping the fabric, and he frequently glanced towards the misty forest—a forest that seemed to have been smeared with thick ink, the fog so dense that not even a sliver of sunlight could penetrate. His heart felt like it was being branded with a red-hot iron, making him restless: the second team had been inside for three whole days, and not a single message, not even a carrier pigeon, had returned—something that had never happened before.

He wasn't sure about the strength of the others, but he had personally witnessed the abilities of the purple-robed and black-robed cultivators leading the group. The purple-robed cultivator's spiritual energy barrier could withstand a full-force attack from a Golden Core cultivator; last time in the secret realm, it had even managed to block the tail sweep of a thousand-year-old dragon. The black-robed cultivator's poison techniques were even more insidious; his "Bone-Corroding Powder," upon touching even a speck of flesh, could sever a person's meridians, turning them into a pool of blood. These two, working together, should be able to hold their own against even a Transformation-stage demon for a while. How come there hasn't been a single word from them? Could it be… they've really perished inside?

Wang Ran's gaze swept over the third team waiting not far away. The thirty-odd young men were all tall and straight, their blue sect robes fluttering in the wind, their swords gleaming coldly at their waists. They were all elites carefully selected from various sects, the least skilled among them already at the late Foundation Establishment stage. They were already fully prepared, their hands on their sword hilts exuding eagerness—before setting off, the sect leaders had all declared that whoever could obtain the Dragon Pearl would be directly promoted to true disciples upon their return, enjoying the most generous resources and bestowed with the finest cultivation techniques. This was an incredible opportunity they had never dared to dream of before, so they were all rubbing their hands together, their eyes burning with desire, wishing they could immediately rush into the forest and snatch the Dragon Pearl.

In the eyes of these arrogant sect disciples, the two groups that had entered earlier were simply useless—a bunch of people who couldn't even penetrate the fog, how dare they compete with them for opportunities? A few impatient ones had already begun to complain in low voices, resenting Wang Ran's delay in giving the order and hindering their chance to make a name for themselves. Their voices were not loud, but they deliberately let him hear them.

Sure enough, after waiting for another two hours, as the sun climbed directly overhead, a foul wind suddenly swept out of the forest, carrying a heavy stench of blood and making the tent flap loudly. Immediately afterward, a wolf demon with a blue face and fangs emerged, dragging a blood-soaked sack. The sack was heavy, dripping with dark red blood, leaving a long trail of blood on the ground. The wolf demon threw the sack down in front of Wang Ran with a "thud," grinned, revealing its sharp fangs, let out a mocking growl, and then disappeared into the mist.

The burlap sack was opened, revealing its contents: several broken swords, their blades still stained with bits of flesh; half a blood-stained Taoist robe, the sect's insignia embroidered on it soaked through with blood; and several tokens representing their identities, their spiritual energy dimmed, which were the personal belongings of the second team of cultivators.

Wang Ran glanced at them, and his face instantly darkened, as if covered in frost. The spiritual energy fluctuations on these things had completely dissipated; even the last trace of spiritual light had been extinguished. Clearly, their master had long since vanished, leaving no chance for reincarnation. The second team was completely wiped out.

"Cough, cough..." A series of hoarse coughs rang out, and the old man who had been sitting in the shadows of the tent slowly stood up. He wore a faded gray robe with frayed cuffs, and leaned on a dragon-headed cane, its shaft mottled. He seemed frail and old, each step he took trembling, yet his eyes were sharp as an eagle's, sweeping over Wang Ran with a chilling pressure. "Tell me, what exactly happened?" His voice was not loud, like autumn wind sweeping through withered leaves, yet it carried an undeniable authority. "Now both teams are dead inside, and this is how you handle things?"

Wang Ran bowed hastily, cold sweat trickling down his face, forcing a stiff smile: "My lord, please calm your anger. Although two teams have been lost, the third team is ready. These are all top disciples from the sect, far surpassing the first two teams in strength, and they will surely..."

"Useless!" The old man slammed his cane down, the dragon head on the tip creating a shallow dent in the hard ground. His voice suddenly rose, "Do you think the demons inside are like cabbages in a field, to be cut down at will? Who knows how many powerful demons are hiding inside? Do you think you can kill them all?" His gaze was like a knife, piercing Wang Ran with disappointment. "Can't you negotiate? First, probe their strengths, offer them some benefits to keep them calm, and only make your move after you've figured out the dragons' true strength and where the dragon pearl is hidden. Don't you understand this basic principle? Are you only satisfied when you've lost everything?"

Wang Ran was so scolded that sweat beaded on his forehead and his back was soaked. He hadn't really considered negotiations—in his view, the demon race were nothing but bloodthirsty beasts, wild and untamed, how could they be worthy of negotiating with humans? But the old man was a supervisor sent from above, and it was said that he had fought alongside the Immortal Venerable. How could he dare to contradict him? He could only hurriedly reply, "Your Excellency is right, I was rash. I will arrange the negotiations immediately and will never be careless again."

The old man said nothing more, simply sitting back down in the shadows, closing his eyes to rest, as if his anger had never surfaced. In his view, these young people were simply impatient, losing their composure at the slightest setback, their eyes only on fighting, lacking any sense of balance, and destined for failure.