It was late at night, half past eleven. Two shadowy figures appeared at the entrance of a residential complex in Shākǒu District. “This place looks run-down,” said Kòu Běiyuè, peering into the building, “yet you're certain that Kong Liangping lives here? He’s the head of public security—how could he settle in such a humble neighborhood?” “Young people these days aren’t as picky!” Zhang Yuānqīng sneered. “Look at this complex—it seems worn on the outside, but its security is actually quite strict. Officials tend to prefer living here precisely for that reason. Upmarket apartments and luxury communities are more popular among the affluent.” Shākǒu District isn’t far from Kāngyáng District, so after meeting up, they had enjoyed a bowl of noodles and then taken a cab over—totaling one hour and thirty minutes. The noodles were paid for by Zhang Yuānqīng, as was the taxi fare. Upon inquiry, it turned out that Kòu Běiyuè only had a few hundred yuan in her wallet—every single cent used up on accommodation. Thus, under conditions where neither theft nor robbery could be carried out, individuals without financial means simply couldn’t earn money—even if they became Realm Walkers. “We’ll climb over the wall,” Kòu Běiyuè suggested, directing her gaze toward the high-voltage pulse barrier fencing. “No,” Zhang Yuānqīng said with a firm stride, “that would be too unrefined. Follow me.” Kòu Běiyuè watched his retreating silhouette and finally took a step to follow. Zhang Yuānqīng reached the gate booth window, tapped once—then the elderly man seated indoors raised his head at the sight of the young person standing there. Immediately, his eyes lost focus; he sat motionless, stunned. Zhang Yuānqīng made a gesture to Kòu Běiyuè with an expression of “come with me,” and stepped forward first into the complex. The art of mesmerizing someone has grown ever more natural in his hands. Together, they moved through the building, locating Kong Liangping’s residence at Building No. 3. Then, using agile movements, they ascended to the second floor and entered the premises. At Room 202, Zhang Yuānqīng gently tapped on the security door with his fingertips. “Dong… dong…” He continued tapping for some time—then footsteps echoed from within, growing closer as someone moved toward the entrance. “Who is it?” A middle-aged woman’s voice emerged, peering through the glass eye at the two visitors outside. “We’re the property management!” “What can I do for you?” “This is about your car—it was scratched while parked downstairs. The owner is waiting below—could you please go down and check?” Zhang Yuānqīng improvised fluently. “What?” Hearing that her vehicle had been damaged, the woman’s initial wariness melted completely—she promptly opened the door, ready to descend and demand compensation. But as soon as she did, she stood frozen, motionless, her mind now trapped in an unending corridor—the classic phenomenon of “ghost wall effect.” Zhang Yuānqīng passed through her body into the living room, while Kòu Běiyuè followed closely behind. What they first saw was a luxuriously furnished living area—furniture and appliances all indicating high-end quality. It was hard to imagine someone would spend such substantial funds on an apartment complex that appears so dated. This kind of elegance typically fits better in upscale communities, villas, or large-apartment units. Moving past the living room, a bedroom and bathroom were on the left corridor; the master suite lay on the right. The door to the master suite was slightly open—light streamed out. A middle-aged man with a well-defined hairline lay resting on his side. Upon hearing footsteps, he opened his eyes and asked: “Who is it? It’s late at night—what business brings you here?” Seeing two unfamiliar visitors enter, he instantly sat up, wary and alert, instinctively scanning the hands and waist of each “intruder” for weapons. Zhang Yuānqīng paid no attention to this—he turned toward Kòu Běiyuè and saw her face now darkened with anger; her breath was shallow and rapid, her eyes filled with contempt and resentment. The silence of the two “thieves” seemed to have given Kong Liangping confidence. He removed his blanket, stepped out of bed, and shouted: “Two common scoundrels! Do you even know who I am? The head of public security? You dare to intrude on my home—do you expect to spend your entire life behind bars? Who are you working for?” He spoke with strong conviction; his expression was resolute—not hesitant or fearful as one would normally expect. He picked up his phone and then pulled a staff from the balcony inside, aiming it fiercely at Zhang Yuānqīng’s head. Zhang Yuānqīng lifted his foot and kicked directly into the man’s abdomen. With Kong Liangping weighing close to two hundred pounds, he flew backward—his staff slipped from his grasp—and landed rolling twice before clutching his stomach, gasping with pain but unable to emit a cry of agony. “By the gods, I’m going to slaughter him!” Kòu Běiyuè drew out her military spike, her face pale, and stepped forward. Zhang Yuānqīng used one hand to push her back and advanced—grabbing hold of Kong Liangping’s hair, then slapped him twice with two sharp palm strikes. The thick flesh on his cheeks swelled instantly. Kong Liangping finally managed to catch his breath, loudly wailing as if trying to draw attention from neighbors. As a head of public security, his awareness and judgment were far beyond ordinary standards. Zhang Yuānqīng held the man’s hair down—then with a firm downward press, “thump”—a deep, resonant sound followed; the cry ceased abruptly. Blood sprayed from his nostrils, and droplets gushed from his mouth. His nasal bone fractured—and several teeth fell out. Zhang Yuānqīng chuckled coldly: “Now try another one!” Kong Liangping could no longer speak, only trembling in fear: “You… you want money? You’ve taken everything—anything you see, just take it…” “We don’t need money,” Zhang Yuānqīng replied. “We merely wish to ask a few questions.” “What kind of questions?” His blood now had seeped into his mouth, yet he dared not wipe it away. “Do you remember Kou Yushī?” Zhang Yuānqīng asked. Kong Liangping was momentarily stunned—then after a few seconds, recalled the name: “You… who are you? This case—I handled it. The girl was truly unfortunate—the brother treated her like a beast…” Before he could finish speaking, Kòu Běiyuè roared as though a lion in full flame: “Shut your mouth! You’re the real beasts!” Zhang Yuānqīng extended his hand to stop her. “This one is a seasoned player—don’t compare him so much. Just follow the plan.” Kòu Běiyuè took a deep breath, calming her rising anger and kneeling down, pressing firmly on Kong Liangping’s neck while her eyes glowed with a vivid red symbol. To fully mesmerize someone at the Elevated Stage, it typically takes a significant duration of time. The most effective method—forceful interrogation until he confesses—is the fastest; however, Zhang Yuānqīng, despite having killed before, couldn’t bear to subject people to such treatment—he carried psychological barriers. While Kòu Běiyuè worked on mesmerizing Kong Liangping, Zhang Yuānqīng stepped out of the master bedroom and returned the stunned middle-aged woman to the living room—then took a position in the dimly lit corridor, listening for any sign of disturbance from neighbors—such as an alarm or notice of unusual activity. Fortunately, the sound level in Kong Liangping’s apartment was not loud or sustained—the same floor residents did not notice anything out of the ordinary. Zhang Yuānqīng returned silently to the living room, closed the security door, and opened his attributes panel—then muttered under his breath: “Damn!” Two points deducted from moral standing—this was a significant loss. He would need to donate some funds through Guan Ya to charitable institutions tomorrow in order to recover those lost points. He sat on the sofa in the living room, waiting patiently for about half an hour. Then Kòu Běiyuè’s voice came from within: “All set.” Zhang Yuānqīng rose immediately and went into the bedroom—there, Kong Liangping dressed in his pajamas sat by the bed, a tissue pressed against his nose, looking uneasy and polite—like an undergraduate student who had made a mistake. “With my mesmerizing technique,” Kòu Běiyuè lowered her voice, “he’s now cooperative—he’ll answer any questions asked. This effect will last for twelve hours.” Did the principle of “confessing for leniency and resisting for severity” require such mesmerizing power as well? Zhang Yuānqīng thought internally, observing Kong Liangping’s anxious demeanor. “What illegal acts did you commit during your tenure as head of department?” he asked. Kong Liangping confessed with deep remorse—listing instances of accepting bribes, extorting families of detained individuals, maintaining inappropriate relationships with female subordinates, and even indulging in prostitution. Zhang Yuānqīng thought to himself: “If the King of Mystical Sight were to learn about this—he’d strip you bare.” “What exactly happened regarding Kou Yushī’s case?” Zhang Yuānqīng asked. “This was an order from above,” Kong Liangping explained, “to assist in handling this matter—fabricate evidence and blame it on Kou Yushī’s brother. I merely carried out the instructions. In return, they promised to promote me to head of department.” “Who exactly is ‘above’?” “The Special Department and Lu Director,” Kong Liangping responded. Zhang Yuānqīng understood—the “Special Department” referred specifically to the Five Elements Alliance. The public security officers were aware of its existence, though most didn’t know that its staff possessed extraordinary abilities—even if they did, confidentiality agreements had been signed to limit such information from spreading widely. While it could not completely eliminate rumors, it significantly curtailed their dissemination. Certainly, senior officials within the Public Security Bureau were well aware of Realm Walkers—the heads of departments, for instance. Some wealthy business owners and high-ranking figures held a strong belief in feng shui and fortune-telling—particularly revering certain “outsider sages”—and these traditions originated precisely here. Zhang Yuānqīng glanced at Kòu Běiyuè and then asked: “What compelled the Special Department to eliminate Kou Yushī?” Kong Liangping hesitated—the matter seemed deeply concealed—then, after several seconds of struggle, his will was overwhelmed by the mesmerizing influence, and he explained truthfully: “Because that woman was one of the birds raised in the Copper Roost Pavilion.” What did he mean? Zhang Yuānqīng and Kòu Běiyuè looked utterly puzzled. The former didn’t understand what “Copper Roost Pavilion” symbolized—while the latter had never heard of such a place at all. Kong Liangping elaborated: “The Copper Roost Pavilion is the term we use in our circle—it’s located on Xīnyuán Road No. 38, slightly off the main area of Shākǒu District. I only learned about it recently—previously, I had no access to this information at all. The person behind the scenes is referred to as Wu Guan—the real name is Wu Xingye—who operates several companies in Songhai with assets estimated in hundreds of billions. Wu was once a self-made entrepreneur—he built his fortune through unconventional methods—later, he launched a multi-level marketing scheme. The teams not only collected funds from him but also specifically targeted beautiful women arriving from outside regions to lure them into the Pavilion for training and conditioning—transforming them into compliant companions, suitable for entertainment with distinguished guests. The Lu family and the senior officers of the Special Department are among her regular visitors—and there are many others like them.” Zhang Yuānqīng felt his temples tense with growing agitation. Kòu Běiyuè’s chest rose and fell as she gripped her military spike, her hands’ backs bulging with veins—pressing words from between her teeth: “My sister resigned to start a business with her hometown friends—and was lured into this place. I kept neglecting her—all the while, she had been worrying about my future, concerned for financial stability… She stayed there for one month—I can’t even imagine what she endured…” Zhang Yuānqīng took a deep breath: “How long has the Copper Roost Pavilion existed?” Kong Liangping thought for a moment and replied: “For about ten years now.” “And no one has investigated it?” Zhang Yuāнqīng asked. “There have been occasional escapees,” Kong Liangping said, “but they were quickly suppressed—afterward, those who managed to flee were returned, subjected to several days of intense treatment—the physical pressure and emotional trauma made them compliant. Once they saw others fail in escaping, few dared to resist anymore. They simply remained patient, serving the guests of Wu Guan well—not lacking food or clothing—after all, at least that was better than being killed.” A place where pleasure and indulgence flowed freely—a sanctuary where the elite's private desires were fulfilled. It made perfect sense why Chìyuè Ān had resorted to murder—to eliminate evidence of such an extensive network involving prominent figures. Zhang Yuānqīng, suppressing his rising anger, asked: “Do you know Wu Guan’s address?” “I don’t,” Kong Liangping replied. “But he spends most of his time at the Pavilion—about three to four days per week. Since there are many guests of high status visiting daily, he accompanies them for card games, loses money, and then selects young, attractive women to attend to.” “Do you have a photograph of him?” Zhang Yuānqīng asked. “No,” Kong Liangping said. “He’s quite reserved—doesn’t like taking photographs. I can describe his appearance: approximately 1.8 meters tall, in his forties, with a full beard on the right side and a mole on his right cheek.” Zhang Yuāнqīng carefully noted this information—then turned to Kòu Běiyuè: “Let’s knock him out. We’ll visit the Copper Roost Pavilion soon.” “I want to kill him,” Kòu Běiyuè said. Zhang Yuāнqīng replied firmly: “No—we cannot afford to lose him as a key witness.” Kòu Běiyuè stated, one word at a time: “I don’t need a witness—I need blood for my debt.” With that, she turned to Zhang Yuāнqīng and said: “You… go outside for a moment…” In her eyes, there was anger—pain—and a quiet plea. Zhang Yuanqing opened his mouth, but didn’t speak further. He stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him. … The night was deep, exactly at Twelve O’Clock. Zhang Yuanqing bought a pack of cigarettes at the 24-hour convenience store. The two of them walked slowly along the quiet, empty street, each person taking a slow draw and exhaling a steady stream of smoke. Zhang Yuanqing had rarely felt such a sudden urge—to just light up a cigarette—as he did now. “Kill him,” Zhang Yuanqing said, blowing out a puff of air that hadn’t made it through his lungs at all, “and after sunrise, the matter will be impossible to conceal. We won’t have much time left.” Kou Beiyue responded with renewed energy, her expression no longer heavy. She said: “We’ll head straight to the Copper Rooster Pavilion and settle the Wu Lord there—then rescue the woman inside.” “Stupid!” Zhang Yuanqing scoffed. “By killing him, you'll only see the red moon bowing in gratitude. What we really need to do is unseat one of the organization’s officials. Oh, if it were just that one person—it would be manageable. But this incident has serious implications and involves so many people.” “We don’t even know how many such officials there are beyond Chi Yue An. With official Pilgrims involved, things will become complicated indeed.” Kou Beiyue paused thoughtfully. “Then what about filing a formal complaint?” “What kind of complaint?” Zhang Yuanqing pondered. “If we want to follow the proper channels, we need solid evidence—ideally, at least partial control over it—for the council elders to take action.” “As for others,” he added, “don’t forget that some influential figures with wealth and power are also involved. They aren’t under the purview of the Five Elements Alliance. You wouldn’t believe how much the leadership above resents when the Five Elements Alliance steps in too deeply into secular affairs.” “Moreover,” Zhang Yuanqing continued, “such matters require real names to be reported. If anonymous, they’re typically suppressed—especially because so many people are implicated. But if we file a real-name complaint, it means exposing ourselves directly, which is deeply unfavorable for us.” Kou Beiyue looked unconcerned. “We’ll just go right now and gather evidence at the Copper Rooster Pavilion. What’s there to fear? Dead men tell no tales. I’ve been fighting my way through the Instance all this time—my head has already been hanging off my neck long before now…” Only then did he realize, looking at Zhang Yuanqing, “Then you might as well step aside. After all, I’m already ruined—at home, my parents won’t recognize me anymore; Xiao Yuan has also turned her back on me. Once I die, it’ll be the end of everything.” Zhang Yuanqing looked back at him. “If it were me two months ago, I’d have backed down—prioritizing personal safety. But now… as a member of the Orderly Profession, you know that even an Evil Organization champion knows how to uphold justice. If I retreat now, how can I face up to my monthly salary of fifty thousand?” “Besides,” he offered with an utterly self-assured smile, “I’ve developed extraordinary abilities—what’s keeping me from doing something about all these mundane burdens and behaving like mere beasts among such people?”