High-level martial arts: Long spear with black flames to suppress demons.

Xu Mingjing never expected that he would actually be in the Atlantic Ocean, on a small island near the Bermuda Islands.

The distance from Shanghai to here is almost half a world away.

Xu Mingjing did not leave the island immediately, but walked along the hillside to the other side, intending to see what else was in this place. The person who brought him here must have more to do with it.

The island is small, but the forest is very dense. The shrubs are taller than a person's shoulder, the vines are wrapped around the tree trunks, and the ground is covered with a thick layer of fallen leaves that slightly collapses when you step on it, revealing the damp, decaying soil underneath.

He released his divine sense, scanning the forest inch by inch. Soon, several overly regular outlines caught his attention.

Those straight lines are hidden behind trees and bushes, some of them broken, but traces of human arrangement can still be seen.

Xu Mingjing walked in that direction, parting the branches and leaves blocking his way, and soon a village almost swallowed up by the forest appeared before him.

The village consisted of only a few dozen houses, most of which had collapsed roofs. Tilted wooden pillars stood between the crumbling walls, and vines climbed through the window frames and covered half of the crossbeams. The roads connecting the houses were covered with fallen leaves and mud, with only a few large, badly worn stones occasionally visible.

There used to be an open space in the center of the village, but now there are several thick trees growing there. The roots of the trees have penetrated into the cracks in the rocks, breaking the ground into pieces. Some roots have even penetrated through the houses next to them and stretched out from the other side of the walls.

This place has clearly been abandoned for a long time.

Xu Mingjing paused at the village entrance for a while, his gaze sweeping over the dilapidated houses, his brows gradually furrowing.

That's not quite right. This area is humid and rainy, and frequently eroded by sea winds. If the houses, like the surrounding old trees, had stood here for a long time, ordinary wood should have rotted much more thoroughly.

But many things in front of me still retain their original shapes.

The door frame, the window frame, the half-beam hanging on the wall, and even a wooden door. The lower half of the door was hollowed out by worms, but the upper half was still hanging on the hinge, making a slight friction sound when the wind blew.

Xu Mingjing approached and touched the door frame. The surface wood chips immediately crumbled and fell along his fingertips. The inside was equally rotten; a light press would cause it to dent. It was indeed just ordinary wood, not some spiritual material that could last for a thousand years.

Just as he was about to stop, a faint wisp of spiritual energy flowed from deep within the wood.

His movements suddenly stopped. The force was so weak that it was almost indistinguishable. If it hadn't been so close and he hadn't accidentally damaged the surface, he probably would have missed it.

Xu Mingjing pressed down on the door frame again, his divine sense slowly probing in along the wood grain.

Deep within the decaying wood, several fine, almost imperceptible spiritual patterns were hidden, with spiritual energy flowing within them. It was this spiritual energy that prevented the village from completely decaying.

To his great surprise, he was very familiar with the spiritual energy inside. Although it had been worn away by time, he could still recognize it.

When his master regulated his meridians back then, this was the power he felt.

Xu Mingjing hadn't thought about the scene when he first met his master for a long time.

The man always wore a faded Taoist robe, with an old gourd hanging from his waist. His hair was casually tied up, and he spoke slowly. No matter how impatient the man was during his practice, the man never seemed to be in a hurry. He would always tell him to sit down first, calm his breathing, and try again.

My master's surname is Zhang, his given name is Huaizhen, and his Taoist name is Xuanheng.

Zhang Huaizhen once told him that he had cultivated in Longhu Mountain in his early years, and later left the mountain to travel alone. His master knew about talismans and thunder magic, but the Yin-Yang method he passed on to him was said to have been pieced together little by little from fragments collected from various places.

Xu Mingjing never doubted it.

What remains in the cave is the deduction of this technique from its crude to its complete form, and in this village that has been abandoned for who knows how long, the power laid down by the master himself still remains.

How many years has Master been "organizing"?

What does this village have to do with him?

Xu Mingjing withdrew his hand and walked to another wooden house next to him. This time, he did not touch the fragile surface again, but directly probed the depths of the pillar with his divine sense.

The same spirit patterns are all the work of one person.

He went to the third and fourth houses, checking each one along the village road where the road surface was no longer visible.

Almost all the houses that had not yet completely collapsed retained similar power. They were not independent of each other, but rather extended underground along the pillars, bases, and foundations, connecting with the spiritual runes beneath other houses.

The entire village was shrouded in this magic.

However, due to the passage of time, some nodes have been damaged, and the power has become extremely weak, so the house is still slowly decaying and cannot be truly preserved.

Even so, the remaining spells did not stop.

The villagers are long gone, the courtyards are overgrown with weeds, and even the roads are almost gone, but that force is still repairing the doors, windows, and beams again and again, as if it is unwilling to let this place turn into complete ruins.

Xu Mingjing finally stopped in the center of the village. He suddenly realized that he knew very little about his master.

He knew Zhang Huaizhen's name and Xuanheng Daoist's Daoist title, and had also heard the other party's account of his origins. But thinking deeper, he had never seriously asked his master how old he was, where he had been before taking him as a disciple, or why he knew those techniques that far exceeded the common understanding of the Eighth Realm.

Perhaps you asked, but the question was simply brushed aside with a casual remark like, "You'll understand once you've seen enough of the world."

Xu Mingjing looked down at his fingertips, where a bit of wood still clung to the door frame.

He stared at it for a long time, and a strange chill gradually rose in his heart. What exactly did his master do here back then?

.......

Inside the Ancient Demon King's Court, Shen Chang'an and the other two returned to the small courtyard along the long corridor. Murong Yan parted ways at the fork in the road and went back to his room first.

Shen Chang'an then walked to the other side, arrived at his residence, pushed open the door and went in, and Du Yue followed him in.

He looked at the girl beside him with a puzzled expression: "What's wrong? Is there something else?"

Du Yue nodded, pulled out a chair and sat down: "There are two things I need to tell you."

Shen Chang'an sat down opposite her and casually poured two glasses of water: "Go ahead and speak."

"In the palace, I saw some memories left behind by the demon emperors of the past, including the former royal court and a huge phoenix tree. It was as if I had become one of them, and I could see what they saw back then."

Shen Chang'an's expression became more serious: "And then, is there anything special about it?"

"Yes, besides those memories, I also saw someone."

"Who?"

"It's the one who took you to heaven in the Dead Zone that day."