"Did this guy really get hauled off by a ghost wedding procession? Was that procession from before a reflection of Xiahou Aotian's psychological shadow, sent specifically to pick him up?"
Standing before the mural, Zhang Yuanqing clicked his tongue in wonder.
The most terrifying and unshakeable illusions were always woven from the deepest fears buried in a target's heart.
Could Xiahou Aotian, with his bushy eyebrows and big eyes, actually harbor a psychological trauma about ghost weddings?
No, it wasn't necessarily ghost weddings—it could be an unhappy marriage, or a wife as terrifying as a specter.
Could it be that his parents had an unhappy marriage, casting a shadow over him since childhood?
As his mind wandered, the mural changed. Two paper effigies stepped forward, pressing down on the groom's head to force him through the wedding bows.
Another paper doll approached and pushed down on the bride's shoulders, making her bend forward in a bow.
Suddenly, the head beneath the bride's veil tumbled off. It rolled along the floor with a hollow rumble until it stopped right in front of the groom. The head was heavily decomposed; even thick coats of white powder couldn't mask the festering flesh.
The bride's eyes were ghastly white pupils, staring fixedly at the groom as two trails of black bloody tears streamed from her eye sockets.
In the mural, the groom was so terrified that his eyes rolled back, his body trembling like a sieve.
*Not good, he's about to be frightened out of his wits!* Seeing this, Zhang Yuanqing quickly raised his brush and painted streaks of lightning into the mural.
Silver-white lightning crackled with destructive power, instantly vaporizing the wraiths and evil spirits in the hall. Only the terror-stricken groom remained, looking about in panic, having no idea what had just occurred.
Suddenly, the main hall doors swung open. A troupe of paper dolls clad in blood-red festive robes escorted the bride back inside.
The bride's embroidered shoes didn't touch the ground; she was floating.
The wedding ceremony resumed from the beginning.
"Brute force won't rescue Xiahou Aotian. At best, it can only alleviate his fear at critical moments..." Zhang Yuanqing stroked his chin, lost in thought.
If the illusion was allowed to proceed, Xiahou Aotian would either be scared to death by his own inner dread or perish at the hands of the ghost bride.
That was how illusions worked: though entirely fake, they were just as fatal.
Using a target's inner fear to weave an illusion and silently slaughter them within it was an Illusionist's favorite trick.
At a time like this, expecting Xiahou Aotian to overcome his trauma and conquer his fear on his own was impossible. If the things one dreaded deep inside were so easily conquered, they wouldn't have become psychological scars in the first place.
A thought struck Zhang Yuanqing. Drawing on his experience with the previous mural, he used the brush to sketch a minimalist stick figure—a groom.
The stick figure melted into the mural, transforming into a groom clad in wedding robes.
Since he couldn't interrupt it, he would let a fake groom take Xiahou Aotian's place to complete the wedding.
Yet the moment the replacement groom appeared, the paper dolls in the hall kept their bodies perfectly still while their necks snapped ninety degrees with a rigid twist. Blank, sinister faces turned in unison toward the false groom.
The false groom's body warped and distorted, abruptly turning into a paper doll that silently joined the ranks.
"He refuses to let a fake groom take his place? Even if it's a ghost bride, he won't allow a 'supporting character' to possess her? What kind of overpowered-protagonist ego is this!" As a top-tier Illusionist, Zhang Yuanqing deduced Xiahou Aotian's mental shifts and couldn't resist mocking him.
The essence of weaving illusions was actually to cater to the target.
Know the target, understand the target, and then kill the target.
Anything completely out of character for the target would ultimately end in failure, even if forcibly introduced.
The mural was spun from Xiahou Aotian's inner fears. As the one trying to break the deadlock, Zhang Yuanqing had to contend not only with the illusion itself, but also with Xiahou Aotian's bizarre mindset.
In the mural, the bride's head rolled off once more, tumbling before Xiahou Aotian.
Zhang Yuanqing hurriedly swept his brush over the bride's head, conjuring a veil to cover the gruesome face before the groom could see it.
He had erased the most horrific scene for him.
"I can't let him stay immersed in this ghost wedding illusion. I'll fight fear with fear. If I remember right, Xiahou Aotian mentioned taking out a loan from his clan for materials he couldn't pay back in a hundred years." Changing his approach, Zhang Yuanqing set his brush to the mural once again.
He finished another stick figure, which morphed into the likeness of the Xiahou Clan Leader inside the painting.
Satisfied, he lifted the brush and watched how the mural unfolded.
In the hall, the Xiahou Clan Leader pulled an account book from his robes and shouted:
"Xiahou Aotian, you haven't paid off the money you borrowed from the clan! Who gave you permission to get married? Until your debt is cleared, don't even think about taking a wife or having children in this lifetime! Be a good little beast of burden for the Xiahou family!"
Upon hearing this, the groom, whose face had been filled with terror, suddenly went ashen. He stopped resisting the marriage altogether and proceeded to perform the bow to the elders alongside the ghost bride.
*Uh... did I just completely crush his will to live?* Zhang Yuanqing felt a wave of embarrassment.
"Now that's troublesome!"
Breaking illusions was technical work, much like a swordsman's technique. A swordsman who practiced diligently was always stronger than an average one.
The Spirit Realm bestowed only fundamental talents, securing the baseline; how high one's ceiling reached depended on individual cultivation.
Zhang Yuanqing was, after all, a latecomer to this path. It had only been three or four months since he obtained the Illusion God's Heart. In terms of pure technique, he lagged behind veteran Nihility Masters.
Naturally, given enough trial and error, breaking the illusion wouldn't be difficult. But if he wasted too much time on Xiahou Aotian, he couldn't guarantee the safety of the others.
Yet if he chose to save the others first, Xiahou Aotian—possessing the weakest spirit body—would almost certainly face a grim fate.
Zhang Yuanqing pondered for a few seconds before hitting upon an idea. Opening his mouth, he exhaled a stream of lunar yin energy.
Her body coalescing from black smoke with only her head appearing corporeal, Sixth Elder emerged and bowed respectfully:
"Master!"
Zhang Yuanqing gave a dignified nod and pointed toward the mural before them.
"My teammate is trapped in an illusion. The entity that wove it possesses an extremely high status, and I cannot forcibly drag him out. I need your assistance in breaking it."
The lovely Sixth Elder frowned. "Master, you wield supreme authority. If even you cannot break it, what hope do I have?"
Zhang Yuanqing maintained his majestic posture. "I merely wish to hear your thoughts."
Sixth Elder understood at once.
Her master had hit a technical snag and required her expertise.
She immediately turned her gaze toward the mural.
By now, Xiahou Aotian had finished the wedding bows and was being led toward the rear courtyard by the paper dolls.
The courtyard was desolate, holding an old grave and a newly dug one.
The new grave had just been excavated. Beside it sat an open black coffin, completely empty. Clearly, this coffin was prepared for Xiahou Aotian.
Seeing this, Sixth Elder asked in surprise, "Why isn't he resisting?"
How could someone be so docile in an illusion woven from his deepest fears, allowing the paper dolls to do as they pleased?
Zhang Yuanqing kept a straight face. "Don't mind those details."
Not daring to press further, Sixth Elder spoke rapidly:
"His spirit body is deeply ensnared in the illusion, wholly convinced that he is being haunted by evil spirits. In such circumstances, you need to provide suggestions within the illusion to awaken his sense of self."
Zhang Yuanqing pressed, "How do I awaken his sense of self?"
Sixth Elder explained:
"An illusion is like a vivid dream. A dreamer's thoughts are singularly focused; they won't stop to consider how powerful they truly are, or that mere evil spirits could never harm them.
"Therefore, we must remind him of who he is and how strong he really is. Once his self-awareness revives, the illusion will collapse on its own.
"As for how to plant those suggestions, it must be tailored to his personality, habits, and preferences."
*The Clan Leader I conjured earlier called out 'Xiahou Aotian,' but it did nothing! And I don't know his real name either...*
If his commonly used Spirit Realm ID didn't work, real-world relationships and personal details were even less likely to wake him.
*Tailored to his preferences, habits, and personality?* Zhang Yuanqing's thoughts raced, and he decided to take a gamble.
Raising his brush, he painted sheets of joss paper onto the wall, sending them fluttering across the desolate courtyard. They drifted down through the air, settling onto the ground, into the coffin, and over Xiahou Aotian and the paper dolls.
Each sheet of paper money bore lines of text.
By this point, Xiahou Aotian was already lying in the coffin. A paper doll raised a wooden mallet and a wooden stake, driving it through his abdomen to pin him firmly to the wood.
Agony twisted Xiahou Aotian's face. He struggled desperately to break free, but the paper dolls pinned him down with iron grips.
A flurry of paper money drifted down onto his face, bearing the words:
*I am Xiahou Aotian; I shall sweep aside all foes in this world.*
In the mural, his expression visibly froze into a daze.
More and more sheets drifted down, each inscribed with a line:
*Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west—never bully the young and poor!*
*Had heaven not birthed me, Xiahou Aotian, Scholars throughout the ages would be like an endless night!*
*Xiahou Aotian: Return of the Dragon King!*
*How the Protagonist Was Made!*
*Even Demigod Ancestors Shall Bow to Me!*
*Cards on the table: I am Xiahou Aotian!*
Xiahou Aotian stared blankly at the sheets of paper money, tumbling into confusion, bewilderment, and contemplation.
Just as the paper dolls finished pinning down his limbs and prepared to drive the final wooden stake through his chest, all the confusion and bewilderment vanished from Xiahou Aotian's eyes.
The mark of an alchemy furnace surfaced on his brow, and brilliant flames erupted from his eyes.
The surrounding paper dolls were instantly ignited. A wave of tri-colored flame swept outward, setting the coffin, the wasteland, the graves, and the old estate ablaze.
Raging flames consumed the mural.
Immediately after, ripples spread like water, and Xiahou Aotian stepped out from the wall. Chest puffed out and chin held high, he gazed around with overbearing arrogance, radiating the imperial presence of a sovereign.
Zhang Yuanqing breathed a sigh of relief. When it came to appealing to his personality, this had been the only trick he could muster.
He had reminded the chuunibyou, conceited Xiahou Aotian that he was the protagonist. And as the protagonist, why would he ever fear a mere ghost wedding?
Had this failed, Zhang Yuanqing would have had to risk partially unsealing the Illusion God's Heart to forcefully tear the illusion open. But had he done that, the most terrifying entity in the instance might have ended up being him rather than the boss.
"Oho, you actually broke out before me? Well, that makes sense—you possess dual professions as a Day Wanderer and a Nihility Master, after all." Xiahou Aotian lifted his chin. "As for me, though I may not specialize in illusions, I am the protagonist! What could a paltry illusion hope to do to me?"
Zhang Yuanqing said flatly, "'I am Xiahou Aotian; I shall sweep aside all foes in this world,' was it?"
Xiahou Aotian froze.
Zhang Yuanqing glanced at him and added, "'Had heaven not birthed me, Xiahou Aotian, Scholars throughout the ages would be like an endless night.'"
His previous swagger completely drained away, Xiahou Aotian stammered with uncertainty, "H-How did you know that?"
The corners of Zhang Yuanqing's lips curled up. "I conjured them to save your life!"
"Then the Clan Leader in the illusion...?"
"I conjured him too. I originally hoped that crushing debt would wake you up to reality, but who knew someone would just give up on living instead?" Zhang Yuanqing's smile widened. "Oh, and I forgot to mention—you were the first to fall into an illusion because your cultivation is the weakest."
Xiahou Aotian stared at him with a frozen expression, standing stiffly in place. After a few seconds, he cast aside his proud protagonist posture and forced an awkward, pained smile.
"It's all thanks to you. Even the protagonist needs a supporting character's utmost support at times. Um... could we maybe keep this between us?"
Zhang Yuanqing scrutinized him and teased, "First, tell me why you're so terrified of marriage deep down. Shouldn't a protagonist have three wives and four concubines?"
Xiahou Aotian's expression morphed into a spectacular display of humiliation, feeling as though his deepest secrets had been laid bare.
He was even being blackmailed!
Zhang Yuanqing didn't press the matter, intentionally leaving it unsaid. Changing the subject, he said, "Let's go check on the others. They should hold out longer than you, but we can't afford any more delay."
Holding up the golden flame in his palm, he walked along the wall.
Looking as though he had swallowed a lemon, Xiahou Aotian muttered under his breath, "Damn it, Yuanshi Tianzun got to laugh at me! He even blackmailed me..."
From the black iron thumb ring on his left hand came a psychic ripple from the Qin dynasty fangshi: *What on earth gave you the delusion that you weren't already a laughingstock?*
"..."
Xiahou Aotian didn't bother arguing with him and hurried to catch up.
The two stopped before the third mural. It depicted a pitch-black night in a prosperous suburban neighborhood where billowing smoke and flames surged into the sky, reducing luxurious villas to rubble.
A gang of red-eyed, heavily muscled thugs rampaged everywhere. Beneath their butcher knives, vibrant lives fell one after another into pools of blood.
Within the ruins of a collapsed building, a little girl curled up, shivering under the cover of the debris, her small face streaked with tears.
Before long, a burly bald man spotted her. Malice gleamed in his crimson eyes as a savage grin spread across his face.
Terrified, the little girl scrambled to run, the brute giving chase right behind her.
She managed to evade him, hiding away in another patch of rubble.
"Is this the scene of the Chu family's extermination?" Xiahou Aotian was aware of the Palace Master of Halting Slaughter's background; back then, Xiahou Chi had traveled all the way to Songhai attempting to kill her to avenge his son.
Zhang Yuanqing sighed. The massacre of the Chu family was his aunt's greatest nightmare.
It had left an indelible scar upon her young heart. Even as she lived in terror of it, she had always felt that she should have perished alongside her clan back then.
She was trapped by her own obsession and fear.
If this continued, once the exhaustion and despair in her heart accumulated to a certain point and she lost her will to survive, the little girl in the illusion would be caught and slain.
"She'll be caught sooner or later," Xiahou Aotian remarked.
With his previous two successes, Zhang Yuanqing quickly devised a way to break the illusion. Raising his brush, he sketched a carelessly drawn stick figure onto the mural.
The stick figure sank into the painting, transforming into the likeness of Yuanshi Tianzun.
He walked into the ruins, crouched before the little girl, and spoke softly:
"I'm here to take you away."
The little girl lifted her tear-streaked face, staring at him in a daze.
"Mm!" she choked out, nodding.
Zhang Yuanqing took her hand, leading her out of the ruins as they strolled through the battlefield of fire and smoke.
Red-eyed brutes lunged toward them in waves, but before they could even get close, bolts of lightning blasted them into charred cinders.
Leading the little girl, Zhang Yuanqing strode outward from within the mural. As they drew closer, the look in the girl's eyes grew steadily calmer and more profound.
Ripples swept across the stone surface. The Yuanshi Tianzun inside the painting vanished, and out stepped the Palace Master of Halting Slaughter, dressed in her red gown and silver mask.
Because Xiahou Aotian was present, she merely cast a gentle glance at Zhang Yuanqing without saying anything.
Under normal circumstances, she would have seized the chance to act coquettishly, demanding kisses and hugs.
By now, the three had reached the corner of the wall. With no more murals on this side, they turned around, walked past the pedestal, and headed to the other side.
They stopped before the fourth mural. The palette here was dreary and devoid of color. A lone, Western-style two-story house stood isolated, surrounded by excavated ground, collapsed walls, and heaps of bricks.
A large excavator was parked in front of the house.
Inside were a family of three—a young couple and a young boy whose facial features bore a slight resemblance to the Demon Eye Heavenly King.
The excavator's treads rolled forward, and its bucket smashed through the wall, obliterating the load-bearing pillars. The small house began to collapse in violent tremors.
Inside, the family of three huddled together in an embrace.
Zhang Yuanqing hurriedly swept his brush across the scene, wiping the house away to forcefully break the sequence.
A few seconds later, the house reappeared, replaying the previous scene from the start.
"So Demon Eye's parents died in a forced demolition. No wonder he despises bullies so much," Xiahou Aotian observed.
Turning to Zhang Yuanqing, he asked, "How do we save this one?"
"Demon Eye's situation is somewhat similar to the Palace Master's; both long to perish alongside their parents." Zhang Yuanqing pondered for a few seconds, then repeated his trick, sketching another stick figure.
The figure took on his appearance and entered the house.
"Demon Eye Heavenly King, come with me to cleanse the world! Don't waste your time here!" the stick-figure Zhang Yuanqing yelled.
The young boy merely gave him a dull glance and burrowed deeper into his mother's arms, showing no reaction whatsoever.
*Even that didn't work?* Zhang Yuanqing frowned.
"Not even that woke him up?" Xiahou Aotian marveled. Cleansing the world was Demon Eye's lifelong obsession.
After thinking for a moment, Zhang Yuanqing said, "What the Demon Eye Heavenly King has wanted most in his life isn't actually to cleanse the world, but justice—justice, justice, and more f***ing justice. It was only because he couldn't get it that he chose to cleanse the world."
Drawing inspiration from the Palace Master's illusion, he decided to attempt a route of redemption.
Zhang Yuanqing sketched a law-enforcement squad into the mural, having them stop the demolition right in front of the family of three.
Yet to his disappointment, the Demon Eye Heavenly King remained just as before, huddled in his mother's arms and clutching her clothes without any reaction.
*He doesn't even want justice?* Zhang Yuanqing was baffled at first, but then came to an understanding.
Deep down, the Demon Eye Heavenly King harbored no faith in law enforcement, nor in official authorities.
Just as Xiahou Aotian's subconscious would never allow a supporting character to lay hands on his ghost bride.
Zhang Yuanqing had no choice but to defuse crises in the mural while racking his brains for solutions. With Xiahou Aotian and the Palace Master offering suggestions from the sidelines, they made several attempts in a row, yet none succeeded in pulling Demon Eye out.
"The guy truly is a fanatic with a severe self-destructive streak. He refuses to accept redemption," Xiahou Aotian evaluated.
"A stubborn, foul stone from a cesspool," the Palace Master remarked with a frown.
Just as they hit a dead end, Sixth Elder, who had been lingering beside Zhang Yuanqing, spoke softly:
"Master, however strong Demon Eye's obsession to cleanse the world may be, the agony this memory brought him is just as profound. Free professions differ from Orderly ones; the Demon Eye Heavenly King neither needs redemption nor accepts it.
"If he could accept redemption so easily, he would have made peace with the world long ago."
It struck Zhang Yuanqing like a revelation. "Right. What I need to do is awaken his self-awareness, not offer redemption."
With a clear direction, he raised the brush, tapped the young boy, and dragged him outward.
The boy was pulled out of the house into the open.
The excavator roared to life, hoisting its bucket and smashing the house to bits, burying the young couple beneath the rubble.
The boy stared blankly at the scene, all expression draining from his face.
After an unknown length of time, the boy turned and walked deeper into the mural. His lonely figure resembled an abandoned pup.
As the boy receded into the distance, the mural faded away.
Zhang Yuanqing sighed. "Awakening Demon Eye's self-awareness was actually quite simple—all it took was letting him watch his parents die before his eyes."
That was how the Demon Eye Heavenly King had been born back then.
The moment the house collapsed, that little boy had died.
The one who survived was the Demon Eye Heavenly King, his heart ablaze with the wild fires of vengeance.
Ripples swept across the stone surface, and the Demon Eye Heavenly King, sporting his athletic headband, stepped out from the wall. He glanced around at everyone, finally resting his gaze on Zhang Yuanqing. The corner of his mouth curved up. "Well done."
For the first time, Zhang Yuanqing glimpsed the deep-seated agony and sorrow buried behind those smiling eyes.
He didn't reply to Demon Eye, merely saying, "Let's go. Time to rescue Money Prince."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Fu Qingyang's cool voice drifted over from nearby: "I am already out."
The golden flame in Zhang Yuanqing's palm flared up with a soft roar, illuminating a white-clad figure a dozen paces away. Strikingly handsome and standing tall and straight, it was indeed Fu Qingyang.
"Boss, you're out?" Zhang Yuanqing said in delight.
Xiahou Aotian scrutinized Money Prince from top to bottom, asking with reluctance, "How did you get out?"
Money Prince remained expressionless and said indifferently, "It was merely an illusion. Nothing difficult."
*Nothing difficult?* Xiahou Aotian thought to himself. *If you keep acting so smug, I'm really going to get mad.*
Fu Qingyang glanced at him, his tone tranquil.
"I have nothing to fear. Even if I did, I already cut it down in reality."
Xiahou Aotian was instantly choked into silence.
*Like the peers in the Fu family you cut down one by one back then?* Zhang Yuanqing thought.
Among his teammates, Money Prince was the one he worried about least.
Fu Qingyang was a man who never compromised—not with enemies, and certainly not with himself. If forced to choose between death and flight, he would swing his sword at the enemy without hesitation.
Just like the time he had chased down and hacked at the peers of his clan, hurling a wooden sword at the elders who intervened to demand his punishment, asking if they had a death wish.
There were no psychological shadows in Money Prince's life, because every single shadow had been slaughtered to extinction by his own hand.
Afterward, the group arrived before the final mural. The scene depicted an ancient, decrepit woman lying frail and withered on a bed, as though she might draw her last breath at any moment.
The old woman struggled to maintain consciousness, terrified of letting herself "fall asleep."
"Who's that? Commandery Princess Yinyao?" Xiahou Aotian barely recognized her.
While everyone else's illusions had been full of perilous twists and turns, hers consisted merely of a single room and a single bed—nothing more.
"My good-for-nothing delinquent senior sister..." Zhang Yuanqing explained helplessly, "What Commandery Princess Yinyao fears most is dying of old age. In her pursuit of longevity, she stole Lady Sandao's sarcophagus and used secret arts to refine herself into a yin corpse, slumbering within the coffin."
*If I painted Lady Sandao right now, the Princess would probably die of fright on the spot!* he thought.
"In a certain sense, she's quite similar to Xiahou Aotian," the Palace Master mocked playfully.
After observing for a moment, Fu Qingyang said, "Her fear is very simple—she merely dreads death. You only need to give her a hint to make her remember that she is already a yin corpse."
*Just like dropping hints for Xiahou Aotian!* Zhang Yuanqing raised his brush and sketched three items into the mural: the Ghost Mirror, the Yin Jade Doll, and the Blood Rouge.
The three items clattered onto the old woman's bed, catching her attention.
The old woman craned her neck, straining to look at the three objects. Then, she froze in bewilderment.
After holding that baffled, craned-neck posture for a long time, she seemed to remember that she had long since become a yin corpse. With an agility no elderly woman ought to possess, she threw off the blanket and sprang to her feet.
The mural automatically dimmed, and Commandery Princess Yinyao stepped out.
Everyone let out a sigh of relief.
Just then, ink-wash figures began emerging across the walls, gripping swords in various stances, reminiscent of sword manuals found in wuxia novels.
After only a few glances, Zhang Yuanqing and the others felt a stinging pain in their eyes as hot tears welled up, forcing them to lower their heads.
Only Fu Qingyang kept his head raised, gazing at the sword manual covering the walls as he said, "Exquisite sword techniques. Whoever inscribed this manual infused their own will into it, and after so many years, it has yet to dissipate."
Keeping his head down, Zhang Yuanqing came to a sudden realization.
"No wonder the murals were contaminated. I knew ordinary murals wouldn't possess such extraordinary properties, even if nourished by yin energy."
Fu Qingyang said, "Yuanshi, walk me around the perimeter."
Zhang Yuanqing gave a slight nod.
The two walked side by side around the walls, Fu Qingyang observing as he spoke: "Mastering these sword techniques will serve me well up through Level 8 at least."
"Boss, aren't you completely devoted to raw slashes, scorning formal sword arts?" Zhang Yuanqing asked.
Fu Qingyang replied in a low voice, "My slashes have hit a bottleneck. The new sword intent I comprehended requires burning my life force, so I cannot use it unless absolutely necessary. To take another step forward, I must broaden my horizons and blend diverse styles into a single crucible."
As a Level 8 Dominator, Fu Qingyang committed the entire wall of sword techniques firmly to memory after a single viewing.
The group departed Zhengqi Hall and headed toward the final tier of the South Courtyard.
*Hopefully we can find the White Emperor Crown on the final tier!* Zhang Yuanqing prayed silently, then said aloud, "Given the instance's difficulty, we might encounter a Level 9 Dominator on the final tier."
Fu Qingyang shook his head. "The difficulty of the Fallen Monarch instance was abnormal; it cannot be used as a standard benchmark."
He refused to believe they could be unlucky enough to run into another Spirit Realm bug.
As they spoke, Xiahou Aotian retrieved his drones to conduct his routine reconnaissance.
Amidst the buzzing of propellers, the drone swarm passed through the invisible membrane and entered the final tier.
Three seconds later, Xiahou Aotian opened his eyes, his face grave.
"The drones were destroyed. I saw ghost lanterns—green ghost lanterns, everywhere..."
Aside from that, he had gathered no other clues.
"The drones were destroyed in an instant. I couldn't see the attacker," Xiahou Aotian said helplessly.
Attacked the moment they entered? Without even a chance to scout?
The others exchanged glances, their already somber expressions growing even more solemn.
Zhang Yuanqing brought out Little Red Riding Hood and shook out a yin corpse.
"Let me try. A yin corpse has a higher survival rate than drones; maybe I'll be able to see the enemy."
He steered the yin corpse through the invisible membrane.
About half a minute later, Zhang Yuanqing's head jerked backward violently as though struck head-on with a club. The eyeballs in his sockets burst, and two streams of crimson blood poured down.
Chapter 902