Old Chen did not move.From the moment his solitary eye had fixed upon the memory core hanging from Xiao Lan's neck, his entire body had become如同 a statue carved from stone and metal. Only his mechanical arm pulsed with dim red light, beating in rhythm with something unseen—perhaps his own heartbeat, or perhaps a resonance with the ancient object before him."Come, sit," he finally said, his voice returning to its flat tone, as if the moment of tenderness moments ago had never occurred. He gestured toward the simple wooden chairs before his table. "We have much to discuss. And our time is limited."Lin Feng, Xiao Lan, and Yue Ling seated themselves upon chairs that felt warm—not from temperature, but from the energy permeating them. Lin Feng's Deconstruction Eye detected that these chairs were simple artifacts, designed to stabilize their occupants' Qi flow, aiding concentration and energy recovery.Old Chen did not sit. He stood behind his table,

Behind a glass table cluttered with dusty artifacts, Old Chen labored like an alchemist concocting the world's most precious elixir. His mechanical fingers moved with precision impossible for ordinary human hands, dancing across the surface of Xiao Lan's memory core as it rested upon a black silk cushion. The Spectrum Analyzer—that strange crystalline lens within an intricately carved metal frame—hovered directly above the crystal, emitting blue light pulsing in rhythm with Lin Feng's heartbeat. "First layer... identity patterns... matched," Old Chen murmured, his solitary eye fixed upon the crystal screen behind his table. That screen displayed streams of ancient symbols flickering rapidly. "Second layer... bloodline verification... confirmed. Now... the third layer..." Xiao Lan held her breath. Her hands, gripping the edge of her robes, had turned white from tension. Beside her, Yue Ling—or Shadow Fox, as Lin Feng stil

The drainage outlet expelled them into a brightly lit world, and for a moment, Lin Feng felt like a fish cast upon dry land.The morning sun stung his eyes, which had grown accustomed to the darkness of the underground passageways. Fresh air—relatively fresh, at least compared to the foul stench of the sewers—filled his lungs. He blinked several times, allowing his Deconstruction Eye to adjust to the drastic change in light.Around them, a small river flowed slowly, its waters murky yet not as foul as what lay within. The riverbanks were overgrown with wild bushes and several shady trees. In the distance, the walls of Vermilion Bird City rose high, trapping them outside—or perhaps liberating them, depending on one's perspective.Yue Ling coughed violently, expelling filthy water from her lungs. Her white robes had now transformed into a grayish-brown hue, caked with mud and moss. Her cracked silver fox mask still adhered to her face, though it now appeared

mThe night wind whispered through the crevices of the Silver Moon Temple's stones, carrying with it the scent of ancient incense and dust that had settled over centuries. Lin Feng stood at the edge of the partially collapsed roof, gazing at the silhouette of the woman wearing the silver fox mask who stood five meters before him. Below them, the lights of Vermilion Bird City flickered like a sea of fireflies trapped within darkness. Far in the distance, to the east, the crimson glow of the Crimson Scratch remained visible despite being veiled by the night mist—like a wound upon the world's face that would not heal."You brought me here to talk," Lin Feng said, his voice flat yet vigilant. His Deconstruction Eye worked silently, scanning every corner of the ruins, every shadow that might conceal a threat. "Now speak."The woman before him—whom they had known as Shadow Fox, a cunning and opportunistic independent treasure hunter—remained silent for a moment. Her finge

The carriage was small, simple, and unremarkable—precisely what they required.Its wheels were constructed from aged teak wood, darkened by time yet remaining sturdy. The roof consisted of woven bamboo coated with oiled cloth, sufficient protection against light rain but inadequate for storms. Two thick-furred draft horses—a crossbreed between ordinary horses and mountain yaks—proceeded at a slow yet steady pace, displaying absolutely no interest in the peculiar passengers behind them.Most importantly, not a single symbol or engraving indicated ownership by any group or sect. This carriage was merely one among hundreds of rental vehicles entering and departing Vermilion Bird City daily, transporting small-scale merchants, farmers, or ordinary wanderers.The driver was an elderly woman with a face as wrinkled as an apple stored for too long. Her hair, completely white, was tied simply at the back of her head. Her eyes appeared languid, almost always half-c