Jieyou twirled the two bamboo tokens between her fingers, running her thumb over the bold character "Xian" carved on each. She picked and chose for a second, slipping the one with clear lines and a perfect condition into her pocket, then tossed the other aside carelessly. It clanged to the ground, rolled a few times, and came to a stop in the corner—no big deal.

  When she glanced down at the two assassins again, they were already completely silent, their chests not rising an inch, eyes wide open. They’d breathed their last, not even a trace of struggle left on their faces.

  Staring at the cold corpses, she suddenly smacked her forehead, stamping her foot in frustration, her voice dripping with regret: "Ugh, are you kidding me?! I totally forgot to leave one alive! I should’ve grilled them—who they work for, how many more goons are hiding, where their lair is… Now they’re both dead, and I’ve got zero clues! What a mess!"

  Annoyed, she kicked each corpse lightly—more to vent than to hurt—and muttered, "Serves you right for sneaking up on me, you idiots." After those two kicks, her irritation finally died down a little.

  Next time! Next time she’d definitely remember to keep one alive, no more acting on impulse. She mentally made a note, engraving it in her mind so she wouldn’t forget again.

  But then she shrugged it off. Why bother figuring everything out anyway? In this six realms, all those who can predict the future, who claim to see everything, end up miserable and exhausted, like they’ve got nothing to live for. Better to go with the flow, take it one step at a time—it’s way more fun that way, and way less stressful.

  Jieyou leaned against a pillar, consoling herself, when her eyes accidentally caught sight of the single-lens mirror shard on the ground—must’ve fallen off the female demon during the fight. She bent down to pick it up, wiped the dust off the lens, and propped it on her eye, just like the demon had done earlier.

  In the next second, her face paled, and she stumbled back in shock, nearly slamming into the pillar behind her. Her eyes widened in terror—this was not what she expected.

  Through the lens, the warm, cozy inn was gone.

  What lay before her was a desolate, open-air cemetery.

  The neat tables and chairs in the lobby had turned into broken, weathered tombstones, their inscriptions faded and unreadable, worn down by years of wind and rain. The leftover food and wine on the ground? Just piles of white bones—some broken, some still clinging to tattered cloth. And the center of the "inn"? Not an empty space, but a huge grave pit, its walls steep, filled with layers of bones. A half-broken tombstone stood beside the pit, covered in moss, silent for who knows how many years, exuding a bone-chilling cold.

  Just then, the illusion array in the sky suddenly shifted. The gray clouds churned violently, as if a fierce wind was raging inside them, with faint lightning flickering and distant thunder rumbling, sending chills down her spine.

  A devastating pressure crashed down from the sky, so heavy it took her breath away—like some terrifying attack was charging up. That power was a hundred times stronger than the phoenix tornado she’d faced before, a world of difference. If it erupted, the entire illusion would be torn to pieces, and she might not make it out alive.

  What now? Jieyou frowned, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way out.

  Meanwhile, in a cave on the other side, the two kidnappers—Qiu Fuchun and Han Jiuqiu—were dragging their feet, writing a divorce letter as the hostage lady had suggested. They carefully added her personal token—a small jade hairpin—and prepared to send someone to deliver the letter and token to her family, to negotiate the ransom.

  Before they could send anyone off, the hostage lady refused to let go, clinging to Qiu Fuchun’s sleeve and insisting on adding a line to the letter to "express her mood." Han Jiuqiu sighed and nodded patiently, and Qiu Fuchun handed her the paper, letting her add whatever she wanted.

  The lady dipped her brush in ink and scribbled wildly on the delicate sea shark skin paper, soaked in candle wax: "Father, I’ve finally been kidnapped! Super excited—you guys talk nicely with them, I’m doing great here. Love, Caocao."

  Han Jiuqiu leaned over to read it, his eyes fixated on the last two characters, "Caocao," and his mouth twitched. Was "Caocao" a lazy way of saying she wrote it in a hurry, or was that actually the lady’s name? He was totally confused.

  Qiu Fuchun, though, didn’t think it was weird at all. He folded the letter carefully, tucking it into his arms like it was a precious treasure, afraid to crease it. Watching his honest, straightforward look, Han Jiuqiu suddenly had a change of heart. "I’ll deliver the letter," he said.

  He really couldn’t trust this North Yue spy—he looked upright and noble, but he was full of tricks. If Qiu Fuchun messed around on the way, leaked their location, or colluded with the lady’s family, their entire kidnapping plan would go up in smoke.

  Qiu Fuchun had been worried about going into the city to negotiate ransom with his scary-looking face, so when he heard Han Jiuqiu’s offer, he jumped at the chance, nodding eagerly without the slightest hesitation.

  So they swapped roles: Qiu Fuchun stayed in the cave to watch the hostage, making sure she didn’t escape. Han Jiuqiu put on his mask and went into the city alone to deliver the letter.

  Everything was set, and it all seemed to be going smoothly—no mistakes, no hitches. Perfect, right?

  Wrong. Of course something went wrong.

  Han Jiuqiu put on his prepared mask, channeled his spiritual power, and leaped over the city wall of Pisha City in a few light jumps, landing quietly in an alley inside the city.

  But when he walked out of the alley and stood on the bustling, crowded street, he froze. He’d scouted the area last night, memorizing the exact location of the lady’s family mansion. But now, the streets and buildings in front of him looked completely unfamiliar—no familiar landmarks, no sense of direction, not even a vague idea of where to go.

  "Crap." Han Jiuqiu’s heart sank, a bad feeling creeping over him. "This is a disaster. What do I do now?"

  Go back to the cave and ask Qiu Fuchun for help? He’d never hear the end of it—Qiu Fuchun would laugh at him for days. He was from the North Yue Zhao Palace, for goodness’ sake, and now he couldn’t even deliver a letter without getting lost. What a pathetic kidnapper he was!

  Worse, this whole thing was tied to the secret power struggle between the court and the North Yue Zhao Palace. Even though they were both part of the Xuanlong martial camp, their political environments, beliefs, and methods were worlds apart. He, Han Jiuqiu, could afford to lose face—but the North Yue Zhao Palace couldn’t!

  Han Jiuqiu squeezed his mask in frustration, wandering aimlessly through the streets of Pisha City for half a day. The more he walked, the more anxious he got, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

  It was true what they said—Pisha City was incredibly wealthy. Everywhere he looked, there were magnificent buildings with golden roofs, golden-painted doors and windows, and even golden door knockers. The sun shone on them, glinting so brightly it hurt his eyes. The streets were neatly planned, lined with shops, and filled with people—total prosperity.

  He was walking restlessly, not knowing where to turn, when a cheerful voice called out from behind him: "Hey,贵客 (VIP)! Enjoying your stroll? I take it you’ve got the money sorted out?"

  Han Jiuqiu spun around—and there stood Bruce’s lackey, the one he’d seen before.

  The lackey hurried over, wearing a sycophantic smile, his tone warm and friendly: "Did Brother Qiu Fuchun go back to get the ransom? Was the trip quick? If not, no worries! It’s boring wandering alone—let me keep you company, and I’ll treat you to lunch, as a local’s courtesy!"

  Han Jiuqiu suddenly realized he’d been in the city for half a day—the sun was high in the sky, way past lunchtime, and his stomach was growling loudly.

  He knew that in the Southern Dynasty, lunch was all about ceremony and show—exquisite dishes, fancy presentation, more about saving face than filling your stomach. A single meal would cost a fortune.

  The thought made his heart skip a beat, reminding him of his last trip to Pisha City—he’d paid a ridiculous amount just for a few caterpillar fungi. Now he felt guilty. He was broke, flat-out penniless—otherwise, he wouldn’t have resorted to kidnapping in the first place!

  He patted his pockets instinctively. All he had was the letter to deliver, the lady’s jade hairpin, and the mask in his hand to hide his identity. No other valuables at all.

  Looking down at the mask, he noticed something—at night, it looked menacing, with glowing eyes and a creepy vibe. But in the daytime, it was actually kind of cute, exquisitely made with clear carvings. It was from a famous old workshop in Pisha City.

  The lackey had sharp eyes, recognizing the mask right away. His smile got even bigger: "Wow, you did your homework! This is a ‘Ghost Face Sheng’ mask—our pride here in Pisha City! Top-notch craftsmanship, unique design, not just anyone can get their hands on one!"

  Han Jiuqiu forced a smile and nodded, thinking to himself—you think you recognize it? The owner of the "Ghost Face Sheng" workshop recognizes it even better. After all, he’d "borrowed" this mask from the workshop years ago… and never returned it.