What's most feared in high-difficulty raids? Not necessarily powerful enemies, but unknown mechanics. Just like this situation now. Often, once you fully understand the raid's mechanics, the only remaining challenge is the strong enemies—then it's simply a matter of tackling them. The Yao Guang statue wields the Divine Blade of Severing Immortals, powerful enough to instantly kill any one of them, yet still falls victim to the blade. With the team's current strength, even facing a Level 9 Master, they can hold their ground and fight back. However, if the mechanics remain unclear, the team may be picked off one by one, ultimately leading to total defeat. Zhang Yuanqing currently doesn't even know who his enemies are, nor does he understand why his teammates have suddenly vanished—confused and at a loss, unsure of where to direct his efforts. He forces himself to remain calm: "Given their levels, they have sufficient strength to handle the crisis. In the short term, there should be no immediate danger. As long as we clarify the mechanics of this stage, things will begin to turn around." Zhang Yuanqing thought quickly: "We must have triggered the副本mechanism, which caused our sudden disappearance. Xiaohou Aotian vanished when he passed through the wedding procession for the afterlife, while the others disappeared after separating from me. Perhaps it wasn't them who vanished—it might have been me. My scouting shadow corpse also vanished unexpectedly, yet the shadow corpse didn't see the wedding procession. Therefore, the wedding procession itself did not trigger the 'disappearance' mechanism." Zhang Yuanqing, carrying the devouring celestial beast that had been fed and no longer threatened to reverse its hold on the host, walked toward the golden-roofed pavilion nearby. The residential areas had already been inspected; now he set out to explore the pavilion. Although it might trigger crises within, and with him alone, the journey would be perilous, it was the only way to swiftly locate and rescue his teammates. Thick black smoke drifted toward him, obscuring his vision and sensory perception. Proceeding cautiously in the dark, he walked about fifteen steps before suddenly hearing a call from behind: "Yuanzi, why are you here?" It was Chen Shu's voice. The next moment, someone grabbed his arm from behind, shouting angrily, "You've been hiding here again!" Zhang Yuanqing felt a surge of alertness, instinctively turning around and swinging his fist. As he turned, the environment shrouded in black smoke transformed into a summer dusk—sunset glowing in the west, with fiery clouds stretching across half the sky, magnificent and awe-inspiring. He sat under a locust tree outside the village, delivering a punch to Chen Shu's abdomen. Chen Shu, looking ten years younger, furrowed her brows and slapped Zhang Yuanqing to the ground with a sharp backhand, exclaiming in irritation, "You won't listen to me speak calmly—do you have to resort to physical contact before you realize you're afraid?" Zhang Yuanqing's face burned hot. He stared in disbelief at his slender, delicate fist, then glanced around at himself—wearing a white T-shirt, a pale yellow shorts, and a double-star running shoe with rubber soles. How could he be here... His mind was in a whirl, unable to think clearly, as if he had just woken up from a drunken state. Chen Shu's scolding echoed in his ears, "I'm moving to the Songhai city center tomorrow to start work. If you don't want to stay with your grandparents, then you'll have to stay here alone. I'm leaving today—there's no point in bothering with you anymore." With that, she turned and walked away. After taking only a dozen steps, seeing Zhang Yuanqing still hadn't caught up, she grew furious, Zhang Yuanqing remembered—after his father’s passing, Chen Shu had intended to leave the town and return to Songhai to work and live there. But he didn’t want to go. He had grown up in the town, with his childhood friends and familiar neighbors, and with the big hawthorn tree that his father often took him to sit under in summer. This place was filled with his father’s presence. Zhang Yuanqing burst into tears, struggling fiercely despite his mother’s efforts to calm him. At that moment, his heart began to pound wildly—stronger with each beat—his chest rising and falling in rhythm. As he had been weeping uncontrollably, he suddenly stopped, his pupils dilating, his mind going blank and still. A few seconds later, his eyes regained their depth, calmness, and intelligence, clear and wise. Ah, Chen Shu had always been so difficult in her illusions too… Zhang Yuanqing gently waved his hand, and Chen Shu, Wan Xia, the hawthorn tree, and the village all faded away, returning to the swirling black mist of the Nanyuan of Shu Mountain. He had just been pulled into the illusion—originating from within himself, a memory Fortunately, the Phantom God's heart was particularly special, offering him a "reminder," combined with the daily traveler deity's innate traits, enabling him to swiftly break free from the illusion. "So it seems others must have also entered the realm of the illusion—after all, when consciousness is drawn into the realm, the physical bodies should remain in place." Yet Zhang Yuanqing did not see any signs of his teammates. At that moment, the golden-dome pavilion stood less than ten meters away, visible only as a blurred outline within the black smoke. He raised his hand, summoning a golden orb to glow in the center of his palm; the clear sunlight, like a torch, swiftly pushed back the surrounding haze. While it didn't match the grand atmospheric effect of the combined techniques of the Sky-Eating Beast, the Rising Sun, and the Flame God of Valor, it was sufficient to illuminate the scene. With the golden light, Zhang Yuanqing focused his attention and observed carefully. Beneath the eaves of the golden-dome pavilion, a scroll hung proudly, elegantly inscribed in clear regular script: "The Hall of Righteousness!" Zhang Yuancheng donned a purple-and-gold armor, wearing a golden dragon shield on his right arm and raising a golden flame in his left. He stepped over the high threshold and entered the hall. The hall's size and layout were identical to that of the Yao Guang Hall. On a lofty platform stood a graceful man with flowing white hair, dressed in a flowing robe and carrying a sword. The black smoke in the hall was so dense that even the golden flame appeared veiled by a layer of dark drapery, diffused and hazy, illuminating only a range of less than ten meters. At a pillar adorned with wooden plaques, Zhang Yuancheng read the biography of this elder from the Shu Mountain sect. This man, He Xiaoyu, a senior monk from the Jin Dynasty, had left the mountain at a young age to wander the world. Over the following decades, he remained a renowned hero in the realm, gaining respect from both the white and black pathways. Even the imperial court invited him as a sword master for three years to teach the princes how to wield the sword. Later in life, he returned to the mountain monastery, where he passed away in due course. Indeed, the village dog has achieved the highest rank abroad, bringing honor to the family. So they've built a hall in his honor. "Nothing extraordinary really—when one passes away naturally, their spirit has already dispersed. It's unlikely that they'd deteriorate into a vengeful spirit like the Master of Yau Guang. Hmm, perhaps some other malevolent entity has taken root within the statue?" Zhang Yuanqing's flame swiftly shifted, coalescing into a long spear, which he hurled forcefully at the statue. After experiencing that vision, Zhang Yuanqing felt confident. Illusions were his forte; no matter how formidable the inner demons, the void-walkers, or the spirits skilled in enchantments, he remained unafraid. "Boom!" The statue shattered into fragments within the golden spear, with no unusual occurrences during the process. Indeed, the crisis had nothing to do with the statue itself—its origin lay elsewhere! Zhang Yuanqing reignited his golden flame and began searching throughout the hall. He first inspected the base, touched the broken pieces of the statue, confirmed that everything was sound, then stepped away from the base and walked toward the left side of the Hall of Positive Qi. Golden flames danced, their glow filtering through the black smoke and softly casting a hazy image upon the wall. Zhang Yuanqing glanced casually at the wall, only for his gaze to freeze instantly. There, a mural depicted a scene in a once-thriving but now abandoned yìzhuāng—during a night of fierce wind and storm—where a series of decaying coffins opened, revealing zombies clad in tattered garments and with rotted faces, surrounding a young swordsman. Beneath the swordsman, several zombies lay fallen, their heads severed. Among them, one coffin—exactly the one that had gone missing—was unmistakably his own, the shadow of his deceased spirit. The shadow corpses were only partially controlled by his spiritual essence, hence they vanished the fastest. Xue Hou Ao Tian, being a scholar with the weakest spiritual strength, was the first to go missing from the group. Zhang Yuanqing himself, possessing the most powerful and resilient spiritual essence and being a Void-being, encountered the illusion the latest and finally saw Chen Shu. Originally, he too would have been drawn into the mural, but due to the special nature of the Divine Spirit Heart, he promptly realized and awoke from the illusion. "That's why I haven't been attacked so far—there will be no further attacks. My standing in the realm of illusions has surpassed the limits of this quest's framework; the mural can no longer draw me into it." "The Zhengzhi Hall likely originally had murals that evolved into illusions under the nourishment of yin energy... However, ordinary murals, even with yin energy, would not develop such divine qualities. The murals in the hall must have been inherently exceptional. Now, with the illusion activated, we can no longer see their original forms." Standing before the mural, Zhang Yuanqing extended his palm and reached into the wall, attempting to grasp his shadow corpse out. His palm touched the mural, and ripples spread across the wall. Half of his palm sank in, only to become stuck. A powerful force blocked his advance. In the realm of illusion, observers seeking to unravel a spell have two methods: either to forcibly break it with the strength of a superior rank, or to become part of the spell itself, weaving it into their own, thereby using illusion to dissolve illusion. Zhang Yuanqing exhaled, "It can't overcome me, and I can't contain it—then we must rely on illusion to break illusion." He opened his inventory, retrieved the brush used to sketch spiritual scrolls, and drew upon the spiritual energy of the Heart of the Divine Spirit. On the mural, he traced a bow shaft that slightly bent. The arrow merged into the mural, becoming part of it, and struck the young swordsman right through the heart. The young swordsman collapsed into a pool of blood. Yet at that very moment, the decaying gate of the estate was violently thrown open, and two young heroes burst in, joining the battle against the zombies. "For every swordsman I kill, another one appears," he said. Then the entanglement would go on forever... Zhang Yuanqing paused for a few seconds, changed his approach, and with his pen sketched a series of crude lightning bolts. Instantly, thunder rolled across the Yizhuang, silver flashes bursting from the sky, striking the zombies and turning the fierce spirits into cinders. The dynamic mural froze in this scene, remaining motionless for a long time. Then, the mural dissolved, and Zhang Yuanqing's shadow body—complete with head and torso—rolled out from the wall, his consciousness returning to his physical form. Having初步 grasped the mechanism of the mural's operation, Zhang Yuanqing held the golden flame and walked along the wall, soon spotting a second mural. This was an ancient, solemn manor hung with white lanterns. In the grand hall, crimson drapes hung low, and white candles burned with a sickly green flame. Two rows of paper figures, their cheeks painted and expressions dull, stood in place. On the upper level, two more paper figures sat—dressed as a wealthy merchant and a noble lady—each with a lifeless, vacant expression. Inside the hall, the bridegroom and bride were kneeling. The bride was veiled in red, her face hidden, though her pale hands with blackened nails were visible from within her sleeves. The bridegroom looked pale with fear, beads of cold sweat glistening on his forehead; though dressed in his wedding attire, he appeared as though he were about to cry. His appearance bore a striking resemblance to Xiahou Aotian.