Zhang Yuanqing is a member of the Dark Night Rose, and if he kills him to ask for information, the progress in capturing Black Unusual will accelerate… Zhang Yuanqing felt a surge of joy. Black Unusual has been hard to find—Li Dongze is even more anxious than Fu Qingyang. "But why does he have to kill me just now? At this critical moment, killing me would only create complications," Zhang Yuanqing couldn't understand. "He has his own reasons for doing so. I'll wait until I kill him and then ask the spirit to learn what happened," said Fu Qingyang as he opened the wine cabinet, took out red wine and highballs, and added: "Shall we have a drink?" Now I finally know what Li Dongze's habits are—how they learned them… Zhang Yuanqing shook his head. "Is there any Cola available?" Fu Qingyang placed back one highball and said calmly: "Then you'll have to wait until everything is settled before buying it yourself." He sipped his slightly sour wine, his expression serene—so composed that it seemed as if he were going to a resort rather than about to be killed. Only someone from a long-established noble family could cultivate such quiet grace, and Zhang Yuanqing simply couldn’t match it. He was now completely preoccupied with how he would make the Hundred-man Commander perish gracefully, what information the other might already possess about the Dark Night Rose, and what risks he himself would bear should their plan fail. During the journey, they didn't speak much. Fu Qingyang held his glass of wine in one hand, gazing out at the night sky, occasionally sipping from it. Zhang Yuanqing lowered the backrest of his seat and lay down to sleep lightly, restoring his energy and focus. About twenty minutes later, Fu Qingyang set down his glass—almost simultaneously, the business vehicle began to slow. Zhang Yuanqing immediately opened his eyes, rose and looked out the window. The car had pulled up in front of a prestigious residential complex—elegant and modern, with black-brick buildings arranged neatly. In front of the entrance stood a grand plaza, at its center was a fountain pool—a layout so refined that it appeared to be that of an upscale hotel. How wealthy! The housing prices here must be over 150,000 yuan… Zhang Yuanqing thought with admiration. "Comrade Hundred-man Commander," Zhang Yuanqing said, "should we just enter like this? Won’t that alert them? Shouldn't we make some preliminary arrangements?" Fu Qingyang replied calmly: "Pang Wuyi has dispatched a ghost spirit to kill you and is now waiting at home for news. Until the spirit returns, patience will be our most reliable strategy. Our late-night visit aims precisely to catch them off guard—any excessive planning might instead draw their attention." Though his tone was cold, Fu Qingyang remained patient in explaining this point to his trusted subordinate. Then he shifted smoothly: "But we must still carry out some necessary reconnaissance, just in case there are members of the Dark Night Rose around who could disrupt our plans." How exactly? Zhang Yuanqing was curious. Fu Qingyang raised his right hand, pointing with a fingertip like a sword at his brow. In that moment, Zhang Yuanqing saw a faint white ripple emanate from Fu Qingyang’s brow and spread outward in ripples—like waves diffusing across water. As the ripple expanded further, the light grew dimmer until it became imperceptible. After about ten seconds, Fu Qingyang opened his eyes and said: "There is no hidden presence nearby." Seeing his subordinate dumbfounded, Fu Qingyang smiled lightly: "Don't be surprised—this is exactly what a scout does!" Zhang Yuanqing thought to himself: This is truly a real eye. Compared to Li Dongze, he’s merely an imitation. After speaking, Fu Qingyang opened the car door and walked toward the entrance booth at the gate. He looked steadily at the guard and said simply: "Open the door." In such a community of affluent residents, access requires passing through a card swipe system. The guard was taken aback by the young man’s poised appearance—dressed in a crisp white suit, with a neat short braid, elegant and strikingly handsome. His gaze was deep and calm, as if he were an emperor or a noble above all others. He politely asked: "Which household are you from?" Fu Qingyang replied calmly: "Open the door—don’t waste my time." Unexpectedly, the guard felt a deep sense of reverence and humility, and opened the access system with great deference. Fu Qingyang nodded slightly, walked through the iron gate into the complex. Seeing this, Zhang Yuanqing hurried to follow—but was stopped by the guard: "Wait! Which household are you from?" Remembering the scene just now, Zhang Yuanqing composed himself, gazing steadily and calmly, imitating Fu Qingyang’s regal demeanor with a quiet, dignified tone: "Open the door—don’t waste my time." The guard studied him several times before growing impatient and waving him off: "Go on, go on!" "...Well," Zhang Yuanqing felt a slight embarrassment. He had to resort to his magical charm to divert the elderly man and slipped quietly into the complex unnoticed. It’s not that I lack presence compared to Fu Qingyang—it’s just that different professions bring different abilities. He simply cannot achieve this kind of charm with me… he silently maintained his composure. Hurrying to catch up with Fu Qingyang, Zhang Yuanqing murmured: "Comrade Hundred-man Commander, why didn’t you climb over the wall? Entering through the main gate leaves traces." The figure in a white suit walked steadily forward, saying calmly: "Don't forget your own status—we are the official representatives." Fair enough—if Li Dongze were here, he’d surely say: "Climbing over is not elegant enough!" Zhang Yuanqing thought with mild criticism. ... On the west wing, 21st floor, a large flat. In the living room, Pang Wuyi—the man with a square face wearing a judo suit—sat silently and formally at the bar counter, his palms resting on a glass wine cup. At the marble counter in front of him stood a bottle of whiskey and an old-fashioned smartphone, worn but functional. Pang Wuyi was waiting for the spirit within the smartphone to return. It was now 2 a.m.—the spirit had not yet returned—which meant the target had not been eliminated. But Pang Wuyi wasn’t worried. He didn’t believe Yuan Shi Tian Zun could escape the pursuit of ghost spirits, as Night Wandering Deity lacked the ability to operate within dreams—once entering the dream realm, he would surely perish. Since acquiring this Prop, Pang Wuyi had used it to kill several inconvenient adversaries and never failed. This was an indispensable murder tool—a silent killer that left no trace whatsoever. Even a vigilant scout couldn’t uncover any clues. The only flaw of the Prop was its ineffectiveness against Sages—when used ten times, the spirit would begin to pursue the host in dreams. For Pang Wuyi, a Sage-level being, this could only create minor inconveniences. "When Yuan Shi Tian Zun dies, Fu Qingyang will undoubtedly be furious—but he won’t suspect me. Still, this person is sharp—over the next three days, I must remain alert…" Pang Wuyi finished his glass of wine and at that moment a vivid image flashed through his mind: Fu Qingyang in white, leading a young, handsome man to the front door of the apartment building. This was a scene transmitted from the potted plant he had arranged outside—Sage-level Wood Demon could send signals to nearby plants, turning them into living eyes for him. Yuan Shi Tian Zun hasn’t died? He’s actually come personally? That couldn't be! Pang Wuyi's eyes narrowed in surprise; astonishment surged through him. Without hesitation, he made his decision—leave immediately. He would first depart from this location, inform the on-site contact—"Person" representing the Dao of Justice—then report to higher authorities and await further instructions. In short, he could no longer remain here—he must at least secure or dispose of the murder Prop. With that decision in place, Pang Wuyi hurried toward the balcony, preparing to jump out through the window. "Tap… tap…" The lock on the security door melted into molten iron and dripped steadily. The door opened—Fu Qingyang entered. "Don’t go," Fu Qingyang said calmly as he watched Pang Wuyi heading toward the balcony. Pang Wuyi, without turning around, flung a cluster of spores into the air—these spores expanded in response to the wind and transformed into clusters resembling small octopuses, their tentacles swirling and encircling Fu Qingyang and Zhang Yuanqing. Zhang Yuanqing leapt aside as the "octopus" plants shot toward him. He hadn’t expected such swift action—the fight began immediately, with hardly any conversation exchanged. Fu Qingyang didn't retreat—though he moved through the sea of plant tendrils, it seemed as if he had calculated their movements in advance. His pace appeared leisurely yet he precisely avoided every plant reaching toward him. At the same time, Fu Qingyang lifted his right hand and produced a deep green small flag from his sleeve—he curved his fingers and snapped the flag into motion. "Zhū!" The flag drove straight into the tiles of the balcony, forming a shimmering, translucent screen that rose to create an enclosure—trapping Pang Wuyi in place on the balcony. "Hmph!" Pang Wuyi's body suddenly swelled—like a balloon inflated with air—growing to three meters tall, his muscles tightening and becoming as firm and strong as vines. He pounded hard on the screen, sending shimmering fragments of light cascading into the living room. By this time, Fu Qingyang had reached the balcony entrance and grabbed from the storage area an old bronze sword covered in rust. Pang Wuyi’s eyes flashed with apprehension—he breathed out a gray mist. Within that mist floated countless spores invisible to the naked eye—these spores possessed powerful invasive capabilities. Once they contacted living organisms, they would surge rapidly and eventually drain their vitality completely. The mist surged forward—despite the scout’s early warning signals, it could not be avoided by any means. Yet Fu Qingyang didn’t step back—his left hand grasped a white flag, embroidered with a majestic white tiger. "Hoar!" A phantom roar echoed throughout the room, dispersing the mist. Fu Qingyang stepped forward and raised the bronze sword high above his head. Pang Wuyi’s broad form suddenly trembled—he found it difficult to coordinate his limbs: his left foot wanted to step left, his right foot wished to move right, yet his upper body had its own intentions. Finally, he summoned a set of vine armor that enveloped the entire height of his three-meter frame. Fu Qingyang then swung down with one sword stroke. At once, the armor split open—his flesh and organs separated—and the giant figure was severed into two halves, with internal organs falling in cascades and deep red blood spreading across the balcony tiles. Watching this unfold behind him, Zhang Yuanqing was both stunned and delighted—all sorts of thoughts racing through his mind: "Is he dead? A Sage is truly gone…" "Why didn’t he dodge? This strike seemed quite ordinary—was it really difficult to avoid?" Fu Qingyang returned the bronze sword and flag, then turned calmly: "Come now—ask the spirit!" "Good. Good," Zhang Yuanqing said, gathering his scattered thoughts and walking swiftly toward him.