With three superpowers at his fingertips, he could dominate the 1970s.

I need to go out this afternoon.

First, one person should go out and scout the area. The route from East B to East J, the environment around the Fukuda family mansion, and whether there are any unusual energy fluctuations—these things can't be determined just by looking at the information; we have to go and explore in person.

She called out in her mind, "Seventeen."

[Yes, host.]

"Get ready to get to work in a bit."

【receive! 】

Jiang Zhiyu changed her clothes and checked herself one last time in front of the mirror.

Wearing a dark navy blue stand-up collar school uniform, black-rimmed glasses, her hair pulled back into a low bun, and a pair of worn-out leather shoes, this was the outfit of a Japanese female student that Seventeen had scanned. She copied the outfit from head to toe, looking like a local student.

"Seventeen, take me to East J. Find a quiet alley with few people."

【receive. 】

A glimmer of light flashed through my mind, and the scenery before my eyes changed.

When she stood still again, Jiang Zhiyu was already standing in the shadows of a back alley in Dongj.

The air smelled different—cleaner and colder, with an indescribable tension, as if the whole city was on edge.

"Seventeen, retrieve the location of the Fukuda residence and give me directions."

[Okay, host. Turn left ahead, go straight for 600 meters, then turn right. The target is about one kilometer to the northeast.]

She pulled her hat brim down and walked slowly down the street.

The Fukuda family mansion is not located in the bustling city center, but occupies a piece of land halfway up a hill in the east of the city, which is completely surrounded by high walls and black pine trees.

From the outside, you can only see a corner of the eaves and a few neatly trimmed ancient pines, quiet and peaceful, like an old-fashioned courtyard that is undisturbed by the world.

Jiang Zhiyu did not approach.

She found a teahouse two streets away, sat down, and ordered a pot of sencha. The window seat offered a perfect view of the mansion.

While pretending to drink tea, he slowly spread his mental energy.

Like an invisible net, it silently extends outward from where she is—sweeping across streets, over walls, through courtyards, probing inward layer by layer.

The first thing we perceive is the outer perimeter.

There was a group of three sentries on each of the four sides of the mansion, positioned at the corners of the walls and deep in the pine forest. They were well hidden, their breathing long and even, clearly indicating that they were highly trained individuals, not ordinary bodyguards.

Further inside, there were two guards at both the front and back gates, their waists bulging with weapons.

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Inside the courtyard, even more people were hiding in the shadows on both sides of the covered walkway. Some were squatting on the crossbeams under the eaves, while others huddled in the crevices of the artificial rocks, clinging to the walls like geckos, motionless.

ninja.

Jiang Zhiyu silently counted.

There were twelve sentries on the outer perimeter, four on the main guard posts, and ninjas in the inner courtyard... at least twenty people, not counting those inside the main building of the mansion. Throughout the entire Fukuda mansion, the number of people she could detect in the shadows was nearly forty.

"That's quite a lot," she muttered to herself.

But that's about it.

No matter how much a ninja trains, they are still just ordinary mortals with no spiritual energy fluctuations or signs of special abilities. In her presence, they are no different from decorations.

"[Host, better safe than sorry.]" Seventeen reminded him in his mind. "[Even if there are capable people, they can't possibly release energy fluctuations that you can sense all the time.]"

"You're right." Jiang Zhiyu picked up her teacup, took a sip, and frowned slightly. It tasted awful.

She probed her mental energy even deeper.

A faint aura lingered in several rooms in the core area of ​​the mansion, like the embers left by some kind of ritual—faint, almost imperceptible, like the ash from burnt incense that hadn't cooled down completely.

Beichen Yin-Yang Bureau.

The school of thought mentioned by Zhuge Liang.

Jiang Zhiyu lingered on these points for a while, but did not detect any energy fluctuations from living people.

"Host, I've scanned something interesting." Seventeen's voice suddenly carried a hint of sarcasm.

[The magic of the Hokushin Onmyodo... well, how should I put it? They learned it from us, but only superficially, and then added all sorts of random things of their own.]

"for example?"

For example—they used our funeral rites at their wedding.

Jiang Zhiyu almost choked on the tea in her mouth.

[Furthermore, their "purification" ritual is basically a simplified version of our exorcism, but the order is completely reversed. Exorcism involves purifying first, then sealing; they do it the other way around—sealing first, then purifying—essentially locking themselves in a room and facing the spirit directly.]

"..."

[What else could it be but sorcery? If legitimate skills are misused, isn't that just a cult?]

Jiang Zhiyu didn't reply, but the corner of her mouth did twitch.

She put down her teacup and used her mental energy to scan the layout of the entire mansion again, memorizing the structure of the main house, the location of the secret rooms, the depth of the underground space, and the location of the central study.

"Let's wander around for a bit first, and go inside when it gets late," Jiang Zhiyu decided in her mind.

It's late afternoon, and there are many people coming and going. Although she doesn't care about those ninjas, there's no need to alert them. She'll wait until midnight when there are the fewest people around, then sneak in alone, take what she needs, and retrieve the information she wants, all without anyone noticing.

She got up, paid the bill, and strolled leisurely toward the shopping street.

What Jiang Zhiyu didn't know was that, deep in the mountains, in the main hall of the Beichen Yin-Yang Bureau, a blood sacrifice had just ended.

Dark red stains remained on the altar, and a few unburnt candles flickered in the draft. Several elderly men from the Yin-Yang Bureau knelt below, their faces solemn, and none of them spoke.

The results of the grand sacrifice are in.

The Fukuda family will suffer a great calamity, and so will they. Someone is coming, and they are not friendly.

That's all.

Further down the line, it's impossible to calculate anything. The future that can be glimpsed through sacrifice is inherently vague, and the more specific the details, the harder it is to see clearly, especially when it involves the identity of the person coming from. It's like looking through a veil, impossible to see clearly no matter what.

The news reached the back room.

A woman suddenly stood up.

She was about forty-five or forty-six years old, dressed in the formal kimono of the female members of the Onmyōryō (Bureau of Yin and Yang), her hair styled in a high bun, with regular features and an innate air of pride in her eyes. She was the eldest daughter of the current generation of the Hokushin Onmyōryō.

"A terrible calamity?" Her voice was very low, each word like it was chilled to the bone.

Can you figure out which faction it is?

"...I can't figure it out." The old man who delivered the message lowered his head.

Haruko Kurokawa's fingernails dug into her palm.

She turned and strode toward the back of the mansion, through the corridors, down the stone steps, and all the way to the deepest part—the dungeon.

When she pushed the iron gate open, the hinges made a piercing screech.

There were no lights in the dungeon, only a sliver of pale light filtering in from a small vent high in the wall. The air was thick with the smell of dampness and mold, mixed with a deeper, indistinct odor that was either medicine or rotten wood.

In the corner, a person leans against the wall.

Calling it a "person" is an understatement; it's more like a breathing skeleton. Its beard and hair are gray, its cheekbones are high, its eyes are sunken, and its clothes are so tattered that their original color is unrecognizable. Iron rings are bound to its wrists and ankles, connected to thick chains and nailed to the wall.

He heard footsteps and slowly raised his eyelids.

Those eyes were cloudy and devoid of any light, but a flicker of fire still lingered in their depths as they stubbornly stared at the person before them.

Haruko Kurokawa stood in front of him, looking down at him.

"The results of the sacrifice are in,"

Her voice trembled, it was hard to tell whether it was from anger or fear:

"A calamity is coming. The Fukuda family will suffer a great calamity. Tell me, who will it be?"

Xu Yunzi looked at her.

Looked for a long time.

Then he closed his eyes.

He didn't say a word.

"Say something!"

Haruko Kurokawa crouched down, grabbed his collar, and slammed the back of his head against the wall with a thud.

"You surely know, you can calculate anything. For the sake of the child, tell me, who is that person!"

The iron chains rattled.

Xu Yunzi was pulled forward by her, and the iron ring rubbed against the old wound on his wrist, causing dark blood to seep out.

He didn't even frown; he simply reopened his eyes and glanced at her.

A very calm glance.

It's like looking at a complete stranger.

Haruko Kurokawa loosened her grip.

She stood up, took two steps back, her chest heaving violently. Blood seeped from the marks her fingernails had dug into her palms, but she was completely unaware.

"You think you can get away with it by not talking?"

Her voice became shrill.

"If you don't tell, you'll be the same when those people arrive—"

She paused.

Same for what? Same for dying?

He was already a dying man.

Haruko Kurokawa glared at him resentfully, but ultimately said nothing more.

She turned and walked quickly out of the dungeon, the hem of her kimono dragging on the ground with a rustling sound.

The iron gate slammed shut behind her.

The dungeon returned to deathly silence.

Xu Yunzi leaned against the wall, his head bowed, the iron chains hanging silently at his sides.

Someone is coming.

He pondered those four words over and over in his mind.

Thirty years have passed.

For thirty years, he said nothing, never mentioned any magic, never revealed anyone's name, and never gave them anything useful.

He's been able to hold on until today because of this tenacity.

But the words "someone is coming" stirred something in his heart.

He didn't know who was coming. But the very fact that "someone" was coming meant that there were still people on the other side, who hadn't forgotten, and who were still searching. Could it be him?