One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Chairman Zhao waved his hand, a hint of weariness on his face. The movement was very light, as if his arm was a little heavy and difficult to lift. After all, he was an old man; although he was highly skilled, there were too many things to worry about in this position.

"Further arrangements will be announced after the meeting of the ten elders."

Everyone stood up and left the meeting room.

The hallway lights were dimmer than those in the conference room, a warm yellow that felt comfortable on the face. The leather shoes clicked silently on the carpet, leaving only a faint, lingering sandalwood scent in the air.

No one spoke. Perhaps the meeting was too information-heavy to process all at once; or perhaps they were simply too tired to even speak.

When I stepped out of the building, the sun was shining brightly outside.

It's not the kind of pleasant feeling of blazing sun, but the kind of pleasant feeling of early winter—the sun isn't harsh, and it feels warm and cozy on your skin. The sky is light blue, with a few white clouds drifting lazily by. A gentle breeze is blowing, neither too hot nor too cold on your face, like a caress.

This stood in stark contrast to the hellish scene of the underground base. There was no sunlight, no wind, only a dark red, pulsating light and the stench of decay. The sky there would never brighten.

Everyone felt as if they had been transported to another world.

Zhang Chulan stood on the steps, squinting at the sun for a long while before looking down. He blinked, his eyelashes still glistening with the fine sweat he had produced in the conference room.

"Phew—it's finally temporarily over."

I let out a long sigh. As I exhaled, I could feel some of the pressure in my chest being released, like a box that had been stuffed too full finally having its lid closed.

He stretched. This time, he didn't aggravate his wound—he had learned his lesson, moving slowly, raising his arm slowly above his head and then slowly lowering it.

"Right now, all I want is to find a place, take a good shower, eat a nice meal, and then sleep for three days and three nights!"

When he said "three days and three nights," his voice carried an almost pious longing. Three days and three nights, seventy-two hours, four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes—he had never so longed for a period of time where nothing happened.

"I second that!"

Wang Zhenqiu immediately raised his hand. He raised his hand very quickly, not at all like someone who was injured. But halfway up, he hissed – the wound on his left arm was being pulled – and he lowered it again.

"I know a hot pot restaurant nearby that's incredibly authentic! Want to go together? It's on me! Let's celebrate our narrow escape!"

"Sure! Qiu'er's treating, I have to go!"

Zhang Chulan's eyes lit up. Not because of his gluttony, but because of the word "celebration." Celebrating being alive. Celebrating being able to eat hot pot. Celebrating not being in that hellish place, but here, in the sunshine, in the breeze.

"Amitabha Buddha... This humble Taoist also wishes to eat something hot to warm himself up."

Even Daoist Wang Ye rarely showed a greedy expression. He wasn't usually fond of food, but during those days in the underground base, he had been eating compressed biscuits and energy bars—cold, hard, and tasteless. Now, he dreamed of having a bowl of hot soup.

Zhang Lingyu remained silent, but also offered no objection. He stood there, hands tucked into his sleeves, staring blankly at the distant sky, lost in thought. Zhang Chulan noticed, however, that when the words "hot pot" were mentioned, his Adam's apple bobbed slightly. He swallowed.

That's considered an implicit agreement.

Feng Baobao then looked at Zhang Chulan: "Hot pot lamb? Is it delicious? How does it compare to regular hot pot?"

"Everything is delicious! Bao'er, you can eat as much as you want!"

Zhang Chulan quickly replied. He knew that Feng Baobao's definition of "delicious" was very simple—as long as the portion was generous, anything would taste good.

"Then... Brother Lingfeng, Sister Chenduo, and Xiaoyun, why don't you come along too?"

Chen Duo looked at Nie Lingfeng and asked softly.

Her voice was soft, as if she didn't want to disturb anyone. Actually, she was quite tired herself; she'd been away from the base for two days and hadn't had a proper rest. But she longed to be with everyone. It was a strange feeling—she used to dislike crowded places and being with others. But after everything she'd been through, she suddenly felt more at ease when she was with everyone.

Nie Lingfeng glanced at Xiaoyun, who was looking somewhat sleepy in his arms. Xiaoyun's eyes were half-open, her eyelids drooping, her small mouth slightly parted, and her breathing shallow. Her little hands were still clutching Nie Lingfeng's collar, not letting go.

He glanced again at Chen Duo's expectant eyes. That expectation was unlike her usual self—she rarely expressed expectation, always adopting an "anything is fine" attitude towards everything. But at this moment, there was a light in her eyes.

Nie Lingfeng shook his head slightly: "You guys go ahead. Xiaoyun needs to rest, and I also need to find a place to recuperate. Chen Duo, you're tired too. Come back with me first to settle Xiaoyun in, and then you can get some rest as well."

His tone wasn't one of refusal, but rather an arrangement. It wasn't "no," but "next time."

Upon hearing this, Chen Duo, though somewhat disappointed, obediently nodded: "Okay."

Her regret lasted only a second before she felt relieved. Because she knew Nie Lingfeng was right. Xiaoyun needed rest, Nie Lingfeng needed to recover, and she needed to take care of them. These were the more important things.

"Brother Nie, Chen Duo, you two get some rest. We'll come visit you and Xiaoyun later!"

Zhang Chulan didn't press the matter. He knew Nie Lingfeng's personality; he meant what he said. Besides, Nie Lingfeng really needed to recover from his injuries.

The group then parted ways.

Zhang Chulan, Wang Zhenqiu, Wang Ye, Zhang Lingyu, and Feng Baobao walked arm in arm—except for Zhang Lingyu. Zhang Lingyu was at the very back, keeping about three steps behind them, neither too close nor too far. He didn't refuse to walk with them, but his personality simply didn't allow him to put his arm around others.

They excitedly headed towards the legendary hot pot restaurant.

Nie Lingfeng, carrying Xiaoyun and accompanied by Chen Duo, was taken to a company sanatorium located in the suburbs, a quiet and secure place, by a vehicle arranged by the company.

The car was a black SUV with dark tinted windows, obscuring the interior from the outside. The driver was a silent middle-aged man who didn't say a word the entire time, only nodding slightly when Nie Lingfeng got in, and then not looking in the rearview mirror again.

Nie Lingfeng and Chen Duo sat in the back. Xiao Yun was already asleep, breathing evenly, her little face buried in Nie Lingfeng's arm. Chen Duo sat beside her, her head resting against the car window, her eyes half-closed. Her fingers were still unconsciously twitching, a habitual gesture she made when controlling Gu worms; even now, without Gu worms to control, her hands couldn't stay still.

Outside the car window, the city scenery receded. Skyscrapers, bustling traffic, pedestrians walking on the sidewalks—some on their phones, some looking at their devices, some waiting for the traffic lights to change. No one knew that among these people were two who had just returned from hell.

The sanatorium was in the suburbs, almost an hour's drive away. After exiting the highway, the buildings on both sides of the road became fewer and fewer, and the trees became more and more numerous. The air also became fresher, and you could smell the scent of pine trees and earth.

The car stopped in front of an iron gate. The gate opened automatically, revealing a large courtyard planted with various trees, including pine, ginkgo, and several low shrubs whose names I didn't know. In the middle of the courtyard stood a three-story white building that looked quite ordinary, but two uniformed security guards sat in the guard booth at the entrance, their waists bulging, clearly carrying guns.

The car stopped in front of the small building. The driver got out, opened the door for them, then stepped aside and bowed slightly, indicating that they had arrived.

Nie Lingfeng carried Xiaoyun out of the car, with Chen Duo following behind him. A middle-aged woman in a white coat and glasses came out to greet them, introducing herself as the head of the sanatorium, surnamed Zhou, and telling them to let them know if they needed anything.

The room is on the second floor, facing south, and has excellent natural light. There are two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchenette, and a bathroom with a bathtub. The furniture in the room is solid wood in warm colors, and the curtains are off-white. Sunlight filters through, bathing the entire room in a soft golden hue.

Chen Duo carefully put away the things she had brought—actually, it wasn't much, just a few changes of clothes and her medicine box. She had sewn the medicine box herself; it was a dark blue cloth bag with many small compartments, each containing a different small porcelain bottle. She placed the medicine box on the bedside table, opened it to look inside, and then closed it again.

Nie Lingfeng placed Xiaoyun on the bed in the bedroom and covered her with a blanket. Xiaoyun rolled over on the bed, her little hands flailing in the air as if trying to grasp something. Chen Duo walked over and placed her fingers into Xiaoyun's little hand. Xiaoyun's fingers immediately clenched, and she stopped moving, her expression becoming peaceful.

Nie Lingfeng stood by the window, looking out at the courtyard. There was a large ginkgo tree in the courtyard, its leaves already yellow, shimmering golden in the sunlight. When the wind blew, a few leaves drifted down, swirling in the air.

He stood there for a long time.

No one knows what he's thinking.

The next day, in the evening.

Inside a traditional courtyard house in Beijing that is not open to the public.

This courtyard house is located deep in a hutong within the Second Ring Road. From the outside, it looks no different from the surrounding residences—gray brick walls, black tiles, and a vermilion gate with two copper door knockers that have been worn smooth by countless touches.

But if you get closer, you'll notice something different. Beneath the tiles on the wall, there's a ring of fine, almost invisible copper wire—a magical array loop. Tiny runes are engraved on the door frame, covered in vermilion paint, practically invisible unless you look very closely. The two young men in black Zhongshan suits standing in the doorway seem to be chatting casually, but their posture betrays their identities—feet shoulder-width apart, weight slightly lowered, hands hanging naturally at their sides—a posture ready to launch an attack at any moment.

A secret meeting concerning the future of the supernatural world is taking place here.

The spacious and elegant main hall was brightly lit. The ceiling of the main hall was much higher than that of ordinary rooms, about four or five meters high, giving it a sense of openness. Hanging from the ceiling was an old-fashioned palace lantern with a silk shade painted with landscapes, flowers and birds. The light shining through the silk was soft and warm.

Beside a huge round table made of huanghuali wood sat ten elderly or middle-aged men, each with a different aura, yet all possessing a profound and dignified presence, their eyes gleaming with sharp insight.

The round tabletop was polished so smooth it reflected one's image. In the center of the table sat a set of blue-and-white porcelain teaware, steam still rising from the teapot, clearly freshly brewed. Beside it, in a small purple clay cup, the tea was amber in color, clear and bright.