Zhang Yuanqing had never imagined that the "Dodder Garden" requiring swift passage and the immobile "thick mist" would activate simultaneously. It seemed the goddess of fortune had sensed the threat from the Master of the Stop-Killing Palace and quietly retaliated. Without hesitation, he opened his inventory and donned two pairs of sky-blue gloves. "Woooh~" The wind surged outward from him, spreading in all directions, carrying the thick mist in a steady, surging flow. For a long time, the powerful gusts bent tree trunks and swept away vast amounts of mist, yet more mist continually replenished, as if it would never cease. After several seconds, Zhang Yuanqing halted, his expression growing serious. The gloves specifically designed to counteract mist had failed—a phenomenon he had never encountered before, indicating that the mist was of an exceptionally high grade, surpassing even the limits of divine-tier equipment. Damn it! Trapped in the mist, unable to speak or move, he felt like a statue. With the Dodder Garden's threat looming, what could he do? What could he do? His mind raced with urgency. As the wind subsided and the mist settled, flowing gently like a quiet stream, drifting softly like a silk ribbon. The surroundings grew utterly still, visibility reduced to less than one meter. Zhang Yuanqing could no longer see Lady Yin Yao or Master Zhi Sha. Everything around him was a vast, undulating white fog. He dared not call out to either of them, nor could he use the Night-Wanderer's unique method of "speaking," since in the thick mist, speech itself was impossible—what the employee handbook referred to as "inability to speak" likely meant no form of communication at all. Only the literal act of speaking would have been sufficient, which only truly reflected the elegance expected of a master-tier rule-based artifact. In the profound silence, he observed a disturbance forming in the dense fog ahead—a strange, towering silhouette gradually emerging, seeming to approach him without a single sound. As the figure drew nearer, Zhang Yuanqing's view grew sharper... it was a giant, three meters tall, with three heads and eight arms. He was bare-chested, with sinewy muscles that looked like they belonged in a comic book—his skin a pale, grayish hue, as if carved from granite. Yet strangely, his giant eyes were black and hollow, with blood flowing like tears down his cheeks, as though the eyeballs had been forcibly removed. Dark red wounds marked his neck, shoulders, and the roots of his thighs, as though the body had been torn apart and then reassembled. Far, far ancient war god?! That was the first thought that surged into Zhang Yuanqing’s mind—three heads and eight arms were the hallmark of ancient war gods. It made perfect sense now—why the mist had formed, and why the Wind-Wielder gloves could not disperse it. It was hard to say whether the ancient giant was still alive. In fact, it might not even be a corpse—since it moved silently, Zhang Yuanqing suspected the mist itself had coalesced into a form. Had the war god’s unyielding spirit or enduring determination transformed into mist? Yet he sensed no presence of a spiritual essence. Zhang Yuanqing grew even more cautious, holding his breath. Even if the other was a spirit of resentment, he wouldn't dare to engage in a fight. He had long passed the stage where he simply carried his hands in his pockets, unaware of what a rival was. How could a young, agile flying stick possibly match up against an ancient, sturdy sausage-like figure? The ancient war god, with three heads and eight arms, advanced step by step, gradually closing in on Zhang Yuanqing. When the distance between them reached three meters, it seemed to sense something—suddenly, it halted. Zhang Yuanqing's heart nearly stopped, then began to race uncontrollably, his blood pressure soaring. He remained absolutely still. Without having read the employee handbook, encountering dense fog, and seeing the war god's unwavering determination, his natural reaction would have been to flee. But once he began to move, he would inevitably be caught by the persistent presences within the fog—his path would be sealed. A dead end. The mist flowed quietly and still, the ancient war god standing motionless, and Zhang Yuanqing dared not move either. After a few seconds of stillness, the war god suddenly let "%￥#? This sounds like a dialect—strange in pronunciation, almost as hard to understand as the dialect of Jiangnan Leather City... Zhang Yuanqing didn't catch it. Finally, after a deep, resonant roar, the ancient war god stepped silently past Zhang Yuanqing and continued on his way. Exhale... Zhang Yuanqing slowly released a breath. Suddenly, a faint, eerie call came from the garden: "Zhang Yuanqing~" The voice sounded like a cat trying to cry out sharply—under the quiet night, it was both terrifying and uncanny, sending a chill down one's spine. Zhang Yuanqing's hairs stood on end. Staying too long in the Tu Si Garden had triggered the crisis of this area. "Zhang Yuanqing, Zhang Yuanqing~" The voice kept calling, growing more urgent and sharp as he didn't respond. Just this level? Simply calling my name—it seems to be the voice inside my heart. Zhang Yuanqing mused. Though he instinctively turned his head upon hearing the call, as a Saint, he found it easy to suppress such natural impulses. “Zhang Yuanqing…” The voice from the garden grew urgent, reaching his ears: “Don’t you want to know what your father has truly left behind in your soul?” …Zhang Yuanqing nearly turned, but managed to hold himself back. “Don’t you want to know the truth behind the fall of the Xiao Yao Organization?” “Don’t you want to know whether Zhang Zizhen is alive or dead?” “Don’t you want to know whether the Magus is alive or dead?” “Look at me! Look at me!” Zhang Yuanqing’s expression grew stiff. Amidst the relentless questions, a powerful yearning overpowered his instincts, overwhelming his reason. Slowly, his head turned toward the speaker. These were the very questions he had longed to answer—especially the fate of the Magus, which had become a persistent nightmare, troubling him constantly. It was only at this moment that he fully understood the source of the “Tu Si Garden’s” power. —Inner demons! The professional title for a Master-level Illusionist: Inner Demons, also known as the Void-Walkers. The former is the ancient designation. The core skill of Xinmo is simply named "Xinmo," an enhanced version of emotional manipulation. As Fu Qingyang's level increases, he leverages his authority to share with Xinmo a wealth of master-level intelligence—among which is the intelligence concerning Xinmo himself. In ancient legends, Daoist practitioners must pass through the Heavenly Trial to ascend to immortality, and during this trial, there exists a "Heart-Monster Trial." In reality, this is a distortion and oversimplification of the true nature of heart-monsters. Everyone harbors a heart-monster—unwilling memories or past events. Some can cut through it with a sword, while others never manage to cross the threshold. For those who fail to cross, encountering a "heart-monster" means certain doom. Zhang Yuanqing is currently being infiltrated by such a heart-monster. He may not yet understand the precise method of the heart-monster's killing, but he knows that as long as he turns his head, the heart-monster will inevitably claim his life. As Zhang slowly turns his head, the dense mist stirs, and the ancient war god, whose presence had been gradually retreating, suddenly halts, turns his head back Zhang Yuanqing's forehead was beaded with cold sweat. He couldn't turn back, couldn't turn back—he kept mentally urging himself, yet his fading reason could no longer overcome his instinct; he was still slowly turning. At the very moment when the mist vine appeared in his peripheral vision, Zhang Yuanqing finally stopped. His pupils turned molten gold, and golden light shimmered from the pores of his skin. At the crucial moment, he activated the *Pure Yang Washing Body Record!* Symbolizing the purest and most potent force in the world, it subdued his inner demons, and reason reclaimed its high ground. The ancient war god, who had remained silent in the mist, finally received no response and resumed his steps, moving away. "Zhang Yuanqing, Zhang Yuanqing—" The thin, eerie voice continued calling, luring him on. Though still alluring, it no longer held him completely powerless. Soon, the thick mist around him began to dissipate, and the dark night sky reappeared, along with the red-draped chief, Yin Yao, the Lady of Jingyao, and the Blood Rose. "Let's go!" Zhang Yuanqing shouted. The two of them swiftly passed through the Winding Vine Garden and stopped at a junction. Zhang Yuan, breathless, said, "I almost died—almost died…" At that moment, he noticed that Lady Yin Yao and the Master of Zhishake were quietly observing the soil, their expressions unusually calm, as if their recent ordeal had been nothing more than a leisurely experience. "You two..." Zhang Yuan was astonished, "are you too calm?" I had long since forsaken my wealth, status, and prestige, roaming the lands of the realm, achieving a clear mind and severing my attachments. "Oh, a clear mind?!" Zhang Yuanqing silently grumbled. "Look at your body—how often do you get furious with me? Last time, when I was in the underground hall of Qin Feng Academy and touched your bear, you gave me a big belly-ful of complaints! He then turned to the Master of Zhishi Palace, who had suffered the tragedy of her family's extinction and should, therefore, be beset by inner turmoil. The Master of Zhishi Palace smiled lightly. "I can even hypnotize myself to forget my grievances." "Me, the weakest of all?!" Zhang Yuanqing found it hard to accept. ... At the Rice Dumpling Market, in the Silver Tower Building. At night, a streak of green light sped toward the building and landed on the rooftop, transforming into a graceful, petite Teddy dog. The Dog Elder gazed deeply around the rooftop, finally settling on the piece of paper pressed beneath a stone. A corner of the paper fluttered in the wind. With a gentle lift of her paw, the stone rolled aside and the paper rose on its own Upon closer inspection, the paper read: "I've been noticed. Please meet me at the 'Herb Garden to Sanmi Study House.'" Trapped?! The Dog Elder felt a sudden chill, instantly realizing he had fallen victim to a feint designed to draw him away. But the very next moment, the handwriting on the paper caught his attention. He examined it carefully, searching his distant, somewhat blurred memories for a matching sample, and murmured, "It's truly Zi's handwriting..." After a moment's reflection, the Dog Elder shimmered into a green glow and vanished, heading toward the famed residence of a historically renowned critic. This rule feels more like a reminder, like a signpost standing by a reservoir, reading: "No swimming," "No fishing." The "no swimming" rule is to prevent drowning; the "no fishing" one is simpler and more straightforward. But what does it mean when this monkey doesn't speak? What if it does speak? The two companions, carrying their questions, chose to continue along the left path. After a high-speed dash of two minutes, they came upon a garden enclosed by iron fencing, featuring ponds, artificial hills, and lush greenery, all silent and still under the night sky, with not a single monkey in sight. "No monkeys—let's move!" Zhang Yuanqing felt a little relieved and urged his companions to speed up. They ran furiously along the not particularly wide concrete road, soon circling half of the monkey garden, when suddenly, out of the darkness ahead, a staff member in a blue uniform stepped forward, wearing a baseball cap with a long brim that shaded his eyes and half his face. He walked through the night as if a spirit from midnight. "He doesn't have his badge..." The leading officer, Zheng Sha Gongzhu, suddenly stopped, lowering her voice. No badge... Zhang Yuanqing instantly recalled Clause 11 of the employee handbook: If his badge is missing, please immediately... run. "Hurry, hide!" Zheng Sha Gongzhu quickly scanned the surroundings, then led the way into the roadside shrubs. After a series of rustling sounds, both of them and the two bodies concealed themselves, peering through the gaps in the foliage to observe the outside activity. The staff member in the blue uniform seemed either unaware of them or deliberately ignored them, moving with a mechanical, stiff gait, stepping steadily forward. Passing by the shrubs where the group had taken shelter, he continued on toward the distant darkness. As he passed by the group, Zhang Yuanqing focused intently and was astonished to notice that the blue-uniformed staff member now had patches of dark, spreading across his back. The blue uniform was gradually turning into black. Was the black uniform transforming from the blue one? "Look at his posture—it seems as though he's drifting in a dream." The Master of Zhishi Palace had also noticed this phenomenon and softly remarked, "So it is with the King as well. He is completely unaware that something has gone wrong and has now become a black-robed, uniformed employee." "No, no, no," Zhang Yuanqing shook his head vigorously. "The black-robed, uniformed employees aren't that strange. We've seen them at the periphery. The King must have transformed into some other kind of monster." The Master of Zhishi Palace turned her head to listen. "At the periphery, the rules are only a few and quite simple. Can the employees there possibly match the standards of those in the core region? The King, for some reason, hasn't been pushed out of the core area—wouldn't that result in a violent confrontation with the blue-robed staff?" Princess Yin Yao also actively contributed her thoughts: "Thankfully, we managed to escape in time. Otherwise, we too would have been violently eliminated, or we would have drawn the attention of the other blue-robed staff and the white lions, thereby bringing them all into play." Zhang Yuanqing thought about it and found it reasonable, nodding in agreement, while raising another question: "But it's quite strange—why has the blue uniform turned into a black one? What's the underlying logic? Is it the spirit of the artifact playing a game? Is it simply the spirit's sense of taste?" He had encountered several rule-based artifacts, where rules were essentially just another way of expressing abilities. For instance, the endless pursuit, becoming pregnant upon hearing weeping, or withstanding any form of attack. Once these abilities were given a sense of compulsion, they became rules. The rules of the zoo left him deeply puzzled. If the thick fog and the parasol garden could still be understood, then the idea of gathering the spirits who died within the zoo to serve as employees—then assigning those employees to patrol—was something he couldn't comprehend. Though he remained puzzled, he couldn't afford to delay action. Zhang Yuanqing leapt out of the shrubbery, ready to continue with his companions, when suddenly a spark of inspiration struck him, as though he were being watched. Following this sensation, he turned his head toward the monkey garden. By the pond, on the artificial hill, a monkey sat quietly—there had been no sign of one when they first entered the bushes. This was a particularly large monkey, its seated height surpassing one point five meters. Its face bore the features of a thunder god, with slightly protruding brow bones, dark-brown fur, and eyes that gleamed with a crystalline brightness in the dark, tinged with a subtle crimson hue.