What should I do if my pet loves watching anime?

At the foot of Mount Taibai, in the Hot Spring Valley campsite.

When the two elders returned, Elder Hong patted Grandma Hong's hand.

"Old woman, go brew a pot of tea, we have guests."

Grandma Hong understood immediately and kept her distance from Old Man Hong.

Old Hong walked to the edge of the campsite, facing the pitch-black forest where only the outlines were vaguely visible. His voice was not loud, but it clearly pierced through the night wind, carrying a calm and steady quality that came with experience:

"Friend, you must be exhausted after following me all this way."

"It's chilly in the mountain wind, want to come out and have some hot tea?"

The sound echoed through the valley, only to be swallowed up by the wind.

No response.

It was as if everything that had just happened was just Old Hong's illusion.

But Old Hong didn't move; he remained standing there, like a rooted rock.

He is waiting.

A few breaths later.

Behind the camp, in the thickest fog and shadow where moonlight could barely penetrate, the air seemed to distort slightly.

Like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating invisible ripples.

Immediately afterwards, a figure seemed to emerge from the darkness itself, silently taking a step forward and moving from absolute darkness to the edge of the faint glow of the campfire embers.

He wore black casual clothes, was tall and slender, and stood without deliberately upright posture, yet with a unique rhythm that was relaxed yet unyielding.

The thin scar at the corner of his left eye looked like a faded ink stain in the dim light.

It was Zhao Wumian.

His face remained expressionless, and he looked calmly at Elder Hong, nodding slightly: "Excuse me, Senior Hong."

The voice was not loud, but clear and steady, without any embarrassment or fluctuation of being exposed.

Old Hong turned around and, by the starlight and the flickering fire, carefully examined Zhao Wumian for a few moments.

He vaguely remembered the name.

A few months ago, the search for a missing person in the Misty Forest caused quite a stir in Linhai City, even alarming the Alliance's top leadership and prompting the mobilization of emergency response teams and drones.

"Special Investigation Department, Zhao Wumian?" Old Hong spoke slowly, his tone revealing neither joy nor anger.

"Yes," Zhao Wumian readily admitted. "Please forgive me for disturbing you so late at night, senior."

Old Hong waved his hand, walked back to the fire, poked at the ashes with a twig to reveal the dark red embers underneath, and added a few more dry, thin pieces of firewood.

The flames quickly licked back up, dispelling the chill in the small area.

"Sit down." Old Hong pointed to a simple stool made from a log stump across from him.

Zhao Wumian didn't stand on ceremony. He walked over and sat down, his movements natural, as if he had always been a member of this camp.

"Did you come for that kid?" Old Hong asked bluntly.

"Yes," Zhao Wumian replied succinctly. "He is my student."

"snort."

Old Hong snorted, picked up his pipe again, and this time took out a small leather pouch from his pocket and slowly stuffed it with tobacco.

"Your teaching style is quite unique."

Let him struggle and fight in the mountains with the old man, while I watch from the shadows.

"What, are you afraid this old man will corrupt him? Or do you not trust my abilities?"

These words were barbed, reflecting the instinctive aversion of old-school trainers like Mr. Hong to this kind of "secret spying."

Zhao Wumian seemed unconcerned, his tone indifferent: "Elder Hong is joking. Your abilities and character are recorded in the Alliance archives, and I have heard of them as well, so naturally I trust you."

This trip was for two reasons: firstly, it was my duty to have a comprehensive understanding of the students' progress and status; secondly…

He paused, his gaze falling on the leaping flames: "I also want to see with my own eyes what kind of brilliance this rough gem can radiate after being polished by a master craftsman like you."

Flattery will get you everywhere.

This polite flattery softened the lines on Old Hong's face slightly.

He struck a match, lit his pipe, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled the pungent smoke that swirled in his lungs.

"This lad has a good foundation and a resilient character," Old Hong commented, his tone carrying the approval of a senior to a junior. "Your judgment is sound."

"It's all thanks to your excellent teaching, senior." Zhao Wumian bowed slightly.

The subtle tension between the two eased slightly after these few words about Gu Beiri.

After a moment of silence, the only sounds were the crackling of the burning firewood and the soft hissing of Old Hong as he smoked.

"Speak,"

Old Hong exhaled a smoke ring, his gaze sharpening again as he looked at Zhao Wumian.

"I've followed you all this way, not just to praise your students or to see if this old man is hiding anything from you."

"The Special Investigations Division's time is precious, so just say what you need."

Zhao Wumian raised his head and met Elder Hong's gaze.

The campfire flickered in his deep black eyes, casting a faint glow.

"Since you've asked, senior, I won't beat around the bush."

His voice remained steady, but his speaking speed slowed slightly, and each word was clear and forceful.

"Besides observing Gu Beiri, I do have another matter I'd like to discuss with you, senior."

"Oh?" Old Hong raised an eyebrow, waiting for what was to come.

"The league is currently preparing to restart a special project that has been shelved for a long time."

Zhao Wumian lowered his voice even further, as if afraid of disturbing the night in the mountains and forests.

"This project requires the recruitment of a group of specialized consultants."

Old Hong paused slightly as he smoked.

"consultant?"

He repeated it, his tone inquisitive.

"What kind of project would need an old guy like me, long retired and waiting to die in the mountains, as a consultant?"

"Not an ordinary consultant." Zhao Wumian shook his head, his eyes serious. "He is a consultant for the 'Deep Blue Project'."

The moment the words "Deep Blue Project" were uttered.

"Clatter".

The old pipe in Old Hong's hand, the wooden pipe that had been with him for countless years and had been polished to a shine by his touch, slipped from his fingers and fell onto the gravel ground at his feet with a crisp clatter.

A few sparks flew out of the pipe and were quickly extinguished.

Old Hong froze.

The wrinkles on his face seemed to freeze at that moment, and his cloudy eyes suddenly contracted, his pupils shrinking to the size of pinpoints in the firelight.

Those eyes, which had weathered countless storms and were usually calm and collected, were now churning with extremely complex emotions—shock, disbelief, reminiscence, vigilance, and a long-buried, suddenly stirred thrill.

Time seemed to stand still for a few seconds.

The mountain breeze seemed to understand and hold its breath.

Only the campfire continued to burn obliviously, emitting a monotonous sound.

Old Hong slowly, very slowly, lowered his head and looked at the pipe on the ground that had been with him for most of his life, as if he were seeing it for the first time.

He didn't pick it up immediately, but remained in that stiff position, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, uttering a dry, almost inaudible syllable:

"...What?"

His voice was hoarse, completely lacking its previous composure.

Zhao Wumian took in Hong Lao's reaction, but his face remained expressionless as he quietly watched him and waited.

He knew what those four words meant to the old man before him.

That was more than just a dusty code name in the league's archives.

That was the key word for the old man in front of me: deeply involved in the first half of his golden years, which changed the trajectory of his life and ultimately led him to choose to stay away from the league and live in seclusion in the mountains.