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"A person?!" Fang Qingyu’s eyes narrowed.

This answer was somewhat unexpected.

The Celestial Punishment Association operated in secrecy, with twisted and sinister methods. He had always thought that behind it lay some kind of warped Evil God worship or forbidden knowledge.

Pointing to a person?

What did that mean...

A living source.

A deified cult leader, or a special vessel.

"Yes, a person."

Yan Lin nodded firmly, her tone decisive. "Although we still can’t determine exactly who it is or where they’re hiding, this direction is absolutely correct."

"Some extremely secret prayer fragments inside the Celestial Punishment Association and remnants of erased records all point to this core piece of information! All their rituals, modifications, control... the ultimate source of their Power and the core of their worship very likely are all bound to this person."

"Good."

"If there’s any news, notify me immediately."

Fang Qingyu stood up, ready to leave.

This area was all under Yan Lin’s charge.

He didn’t intend to intervene.

"Wait."

As he turned, Yan Lin called out to him again. The eyes under the silver mask were full of curiosity. "Hey, you haven’t made it clear yet. That old captain upstairs—why did you decide to get rid of him? You have to satisfy my curiosity at least a little, right?"

Fang Qingyu’s steps halted. His back was to Yan Lin; he didn’t turn around.

He merely lifted his hand and waved casually, tossing out a sentence in a flat tone:

"Him? Most likely one of the Celestial Punishment Association."

With that, he didn’t linger, striding straight out through the villa’s front door.

Watching Fang Qingyu’s back disappear at the doorway, Yan Lin folded her arms.

A faint curve rose on the red lips beneath the silver mask, and she murmured softly to herself:

"Not too stupid after all. At least he didn’t get completely tangled up in that old fox’s tragic performance."

Fang Qingyu pulled open the car door and slid back into the driver’s seat.

On the passenger side.

Jiang Wei seemed to have just finished the last stroke.

She let out a long breath, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. Her delicate little face carried the ease of completing a major task, and a hint of small, proud satisfaction.

She carefully straightened the few sheets of paper in her hands, full of neat, graceful handwriting.

Then, like claiming credit, she passed them to Fang Qingyu with a touch of excited bounce.

"Here, it’s done. This is the subsequent content of the Wuxiang Heart Sutra." Her eyes sparkled. "Even though trying to condense the Spirit Platform at Tier Three is almost impossible, the Heart Sutra cultivation can’t be skipped from now on, not even for a single day. From beginning to end, the Heart Sutra runs through a Martial Artist’s entire path of cultivation."

Looking at the girl’s eyes, filled with pure joy and expectation, a warmth surged up in Fang Qingyu’s heart.

He smiled as he took the ink-scented pages, and with a natural movement reached out to ruffle Jiang Wei’s soft, silk-like crimson hair. His voice was gentle:

"Alright. Got it."

Jiang Wei seemed to enjoy this casual, intimate gesture from Fang Qingyu as well.

Like a cat being stroked the right way, her clear red eyes narrowed slightly.

There was no resistance at all—instead, a small, quiet contentment.

Fang Qingyu placed the sheets on the center console in front of the gear shift.

He started the car, smoothly pulling out of the villa district, heading toward the Cyan Dragon Gang headquarters.

...

At the same time.

City Center of Injustice.

Underground beneath the Celestial Punishment Association headquarters.

A figure in a scarlet robe stood silently beneath a massive black Cross, hood lowered, hands crossed over his chest, as if bowing his head in silent prayer.

Suddenly, the red-robed figure snapped his head up.

He exhaled a long breath.

Then he slowly turned his body, his gaze cutting through the dim yellow light.

It landed precisely at the edge of the shadows.

There, a figure wrapped entirely in a loose black robe stood quietly.

And in front of the black-robed figure was a wheelchair; on the wheelchair sat another person, their form completely covered by a black robe, utterly motionless.

The red-robed man’s gaze drifted slowly between the wheelchair and the person in it.

From under his hood came a low, satisfied chuckle, shattering the deathly silence:

"That big meal yesterday—did you eat your fill?"

The standing black-robed figure bent slightly, posture reverent, but his voice was unnaturally calm, even carrying an inhuman indifference. "I did. It’s just... time is really running out..."

His words seemed to hint at something, carrying a sense of urgency.

At this, the red-robed man’s low laughter cut off abruptly.

He slowly turned his head back.

Once more he looked toward the Cross.

His voice returned to calm:

"Don’t rush..."

"It’s almost time."

"The fish... has already taken the bait."