I am a full-level celestial master, you let me enter the strange talk of rules?

The melancholy and eerie man was dumbfounded. When Zhang Yangqing first said that sentence, he thought he was just showing off, but he didn't expect that it could actually be changed.

He looked down at his hands, then at the armor in the picture, and remained silent for a long while.

Summoning this armor was already close to his limit.

His energy and mental strength were almost completely drained the moment the armor was completed; if another component were added, he might have fainted on the spot.

The melancholy and eerie realization dawned on him: it wasn't that Zhang Yangqing's design was bad, but that he felt he lacked the ability to create it.

Damn it, am I just too weak? How come this guy is so powerful?

The two continued exploring the ninth floor, where the corridors were narrower, the lighting was dimmer, and the doors on both sides were more numerous than those below.

Some doors were closed, some were ajar, and dim light shone through the cracks.

The air was filled with the mixed smells of smoke, alcohol, oil, rust, and sweat.

Actually, the Chosen Ones weren't too alarmed by this smell, because it had a 'human' feel to it; the eerie smell was nothing like this.

But then they became cautious, because in the world of ghost stories, many humans are more difficult to deal with than the supernatural.

Zhang Yangqing and Youyu Weiwei stopped in their tracks as they passed a room.

The door wasn't closed properly, leaving a crack about the width of a finger.

Several people in work uniforms were talking inside. Their voices weren't loud, but they could be heard clearly in the quiet corridor.

They were saying "take care of so-and-so" several times, in a very calm tone.

Zhang Yangqing peeked through the crack in the door and saw several people gathered around a table.

Some were cleaning their guns, wiping them inch by inch with cotton cloth, cleaning the barrel and then the chamber, and finally the trigger.

Some were wiping their knives with handkerchiefs; the blades gleamed coldly under the light, and the handkerchiefs slid from the base of the knife to the tip.

Just as Zhang Yangqing and Youyu were observing strangely, eyes shone out from inside, and they were discovered.

The person in charge inside looked up, his gaze passing through the crack in the door and landing on Zhang Yangqing's face.

He stopped moving, his hand, which was wiping the gun, hovered in mid-air before slowly lowering it.

The others in the room also stopped. The person wiping the knife folded the handkerchief and placed it on the table, concealing the knife in their sleeve.

The leader stood up, walked to the door, and opened it.

He looked like an ordinary middle-aged man, around fifty years old, with half black and half white hair, neatly combed.

He was wearing a dark gray jacket over a black turtleneck sweater, dark trousers, and polished leather shoes.

She is of average height and build, neither too tall nor too short, neither too fat nor too thin, and would definitely not attract attention in a crowd.

He had a smile on his face, but there was no murderous intent or even any emotion in his eyes.

But Zhang Yangqing knew that this kind of cleanliness was the most dangerous.

That's what top assassins feel like, and these guys all look like assassins.

The middle-aged man spoke up, his voice low but steady: "What are you two doing here?"

Feeling a little flustered by the strange, melancholic stare, he could sense the man's power.

These people are definitely more difficult to deal with than the supernatural ones.

There are patterns to be found in the bizarre, and human weaknesses can be exploited, but these professional killers have none.

They are just tools, they will hit you wherever they are pointed at, and they will not stop until you are dead.

Zhang Yangqing casually said, "Ignore the mistress's orders. Just pretend you didn't see me, understand?"

One sentence froze the smile on the leader's face.

His eyes narrowed for a moment, then opened again, his gaze lingering on Zhang Yangqing's face for a few seconds, as if judging the truth of his words.

Then he nodded, took a step back, and waved his hand, signaling his men to go back.

He turned and went into the room, closing the door behind him.

The moment the door closed, he acted as if he hadn't seen anything and didn't even ask a single question.

He couldn't question that person, nor did he dare to. Zhang Yangqing understood the stakes involved.

These people are likely henchmen of some young master or lady; if you don't join their camp, or stand against them, you're doomed.

But there is a special person here, the matriarch, who has the highest authority in this building.

As long as these people mistakenly believe that he is the mistress's man, they will not dare to make a move.

It's not that I don't want to, it's that I don't dare.

They couldn't afford to offend the mistress's people.

Zhang Yangqing wasn't gambling; he was just saying this based on the information he had at the moment.

According to Zhang Yangqing's understanding, this ninth floor is likely the gathering place for the subordinates of the various factions.

While the chosen ones come here to observe, they need to grasp the strength of the various factions.

These people are not servants, but henchmen, death squads, and guys who do the dirty work for their masters.

Since that's the case, and all those observations were correct, Zhang Yangqing and the melancholy stranger continued forward.

Passing through another room, the door was open, and the room was filled with smoke that made it hard to open one's eyes.

Seven or eight people sat around a square table; some were smoking, some were drinking, and some were playing cards.

Several bottles of liquor and a pile of loose change were on the table, and the floor was littered with cigarette butts and peanut shells.

These people were dressed in various casual clothes, including jackets and leather coats, none of which seemed to fit them properly, as if they had been randomly picked.

But their arms were thick, their shoulders broad, and the veins in their necks bulged, clearly indicating they had trained.

These people must be martial arts practitioners; they have extremely strong physical abilities, and their fists are more effective than weapons.

Walk into another room, and the door is open.

It was much quieter inside, with no smell of smoke or alcohol, only a faint sandalwood scent.

Four or five people sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, with various small objects in front of them.

Some were fiddling with a black bead, which floated and spun in their palms.

Some were fiddling with a silver needle, which darted through the air as if they were sewing something.

Others were fiddling with a stone, the surface of which showed patterns that seemed to flow slowly.

Zhang Yangqing judged that these people should be cultivators of magic, with strong mental power, who attacked enemies by manipulating objects with their minds instead of brute force.

After walking a while, they came to a room with the door ajar. A person was lying on the ground, wearing a dark cloak, the hood of which covered most of his face.

There was a complex pattern drawn on the ground beside him, using a dark red liquid that made it impossible to tell whether it was blood or paint.

Several candles were lit around the pattern. The candles were half burned, and the candle wax solidified on the ground, forming small puddles of white residue.

The person lay motionless in the center of the pattern, as if making some kind of prayer, or as if waiting for something to come to him.

The most outrageous thing was that a long sword was stuck in his chest, piercing his body.

Zhang Yangqing couldn't determine what this guy did at the moment, but he decided not to provoke him for the time being. He just glanced at him and walked away.

After searching for a while, Zhang Yangqing and Youyu Weiyi finally found the room with the sign "Conference Room" on the door.

It was no different from the other doors, but the words on the doorplate said it all.

The door was locked, so Zhang Yangqing took out the remaining keys and tried them one by one.

On the third try, the key went into the lock perfectly, and when turned, it made a "click" sound, and the door opened.

If it can be twisted open, it means there's surveillance footage inside, which is a crucial clue.

There must be cameras in the meeting room, and they must be turned off.

Once he fixes the camera, only one of the eight feeds will remain.

Zhang Yangqing guessed: The female surveillance operator's head is most likely here. (End of Chapter)