Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

A moment later, Aisma had finished writing a brief record, and Black Star immediately sealed it with wax and stamped it with the Tusol family's secret file seal.

When the stamp was pressed down, the edge of the red wax slightly overflowed, like a drop of dark blood that had been flattened.

"Xilun's nominal cooperation file, add one entry."

As Black Star wrote, he read aloud in a low voice, "The spiritual gateway has been opened, intermediate scholar level, confirmed as positive affinity for spells, leaning towards the life purification system. This item is classified as top-secret."

The room was quiet.

This single line of text, however few, is more decisive in determining a person's standing in Tussor's eyes than many pounds or territories.

Xilun looked at the words, not feeling particularly proud, but his breath grew increasingly steady.

The road is longer now.

But it also makes things clearer.

When he left the testing room, Black Star personally saw him off, walking much slower than when he arrived.

He suddenly spoke as he walked to the middle of the stone corridor.

"Do you know that today's test will change a lot of things?"

"for example?"

"For example—if someone ever again sees you simply as a young, crazy guy who knows how to fight, then they're the ones who are stupid."

Xilun glanced at him sideways.

Black Star looked at him, and after a moment, smiled helplessly.

"Let's go, before it gets completely dark, I'll take you to copy 'The Prayer for Sacred Buds'."

Xiren did not leave Tusol Manor until it was completely dark.

The carriage traveled through the streets of the North District, the gas lamps outside the window receding one by one, and the fog on the street was dispersed by the wheels.

In the distance, there was the noise of pubs and the steam whistles coming from the direction of the docks. The city was still noisy, but the quiet was rare for Siren, who was sitting in the carriage.

There was a small black wooden box beside his legs.

The box contained a rubbing of the "Prayer of the Holy Sprouts" manuscript, a scroll of the old parish's water vein map, two bottles of newly given Yin Spirit Source Water, and a small packet of Cold Marrow Supplements.

The items weren't extravagant, but they far exceeded the significance of the initial transaction.

The Tusol family's willingness to agree was not out of kindness.

It's because he's worth more now.

Xilun saw things clearly and had no intention of being pretentious.

A figure flashed past the window, the car headlights illuminating half of the person's face before quickly moving away.

Xilun leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He had already flipped through the pages of "Prayer for the Holy Bud" twice on the way.

That thing was completely different from breathing techniques. It didn't have any walking path or tricks for generating strength from muscles and bones. All it had were extremely fine white lines, a compressed and almost obscure old prayer, and a few marginal notes that seemed to have been obtained by predecessors at the cost of their lives.

Nourish the sprout with the image of the mind, purify the impurities with the moon, guide the breath with sound, and cover the black with white.

Do not attempt this if the practitioner is mentally unstable.

If the thing being purified has already taken root, the prayer can only suppress it, not cut it off.

Intermediate learners can get started, while those with a natural affinity for the techniques will achieve twice the results with half the effort.

Each line of text is like a needle.

Robert's face resurfaced in his mind.

Pale skin, faintly gray veins, an overwhelming weariness in his eyes, and an aura as if something was slowly seeping into him.

At the time, Xilun only felt it was a troublesome matter, but now, looking back, that feeling of "pollution" vaguely overlaps with the "active filth" written in the old Qing Shengjing scroll.

If praying for the sacred bud can truly suppress that thing...

Even just suppressing it is better than standing by and doing nothing.

When the carriage stopped, the lights in front of the mansion gate were already on.

Rhodes personally came down to greet him. Seeing that Xilun looked tired, he first had a servant take the wooden box from him and whispered:

"Young master, dinner has been kept warm. There are also two visiting cards, one from the newspaper and the other from the manager of the chamber of commerce from Black Pigeon Lane."

"not see."

"Yes."

Xilun walked up the steps and then paused.

"Send paper and pen to the study, and prepare a silver basin and a pot of clean water for me. Don't let anyone come in and disturb me."

Rhodes hesitated for a moment, but immediately agreed.

"clear."

The lights in the study were quickly turned on.

The night outside the window was deep, and the mountain breeze seeped in through the gaps, causing the curtains to sway gently.

On the table were a copy of the book, a silver basin, clean water, a small amount of cold marrow powder, and the "White Sprout Prayer Record - Fragment" brought back from Scamay.

Xilun didn't touch the spell first, but instead picked up a pen to write a letter.

The letter was addressed to Lund.

The ink spread across the paper; he wrote quickly, yet not carelessly.

teacher:

I've returned to the North District, and the Scamay affair has taken a new turn. What's been unearthed beneath the flower field isn't simply evil spirits, but rather clues involving the remnants of the old church's legacy.

I found some old scrolls in Tusor's archives and confirmed one thing—some contamination is not insurmountable; at least there are techniques that can suppress and purify it.

If you are still investigating related traces at the ocean pier, be sure to pay attention to the following types of things: "active contamination", "old wells", "church cellars", and "singing guidance".

You've been away for a long time, and I always feel that the place isn't very quiet.

I still have some doubts to share with you, but they are difficult to express in a letter. I look forward to our next meeting.

Be careful in everything you do.

Westren!

After writing the last word, he blew on the ink to dry it, put it in an envelope, and paused slightly with his fingertip as he sealed it.

He doesn't like to place his hopes on others.

However, there are some lines that he can't pull all by himself.

After putting the letter away, Xilun finally turned his attention back to the spellbook on the table.

The study was very quiet.

Even the faint sound of the candle wick burning could be heard clearly.

He first ground the cold marrow supplement into a fine powder and sprinkled it into the clean water in the silver basin.

A thin layer of white mist immediately rose from the water's surface, like the cold air at dawn.

Then he placed the withered lark root he had brought back from Scamay next to the pot.

That was a small, deliberately left-behind filth, sealed by the chilling energy to prevent it from getting out of control, yet still retaining a very faint trace of filth.

If you want to try it, try this first.

Xilun sat cross-legged, placed his hands on his knees, and began practicing the Moon Memory Meditation Method.

His consciousness quickly sank into that familiar deep blue void.

A pale, full moon hung high, its light streaming down in strands. Now, standing in this spiritual world, he was much more composed than before.

The reverberatory cavity between the chest and throat is like an empty palace, and when the moonlight falls, it vibrates out extremely subtle echoes on the palace walls.

Following the instructions on the copy, Xilun did not chase after the moonlight, but instead drew a "bud" in his mind.

It's hard.

Breathing techniques help the body remember the path, and spear techniques help the muscles and bones remember how to generate power, but techniques themselves are not.

The technique first "plants" something in the mind, and then brings it to life through the prayer, vibrations, and will.

On his first attempt, he had barely sketched half an outline when the moonlight dissipated.

The second time, the white tinge just began to rise before being shattered by the excessive vibration of the echoing melody.

The third attempt was even worse. The white bud didn't form; instead, a lot of irrelevant noises surfaced in his mind—the chorus under the flower field, the dripping water in the mine, the soft chirping of Lady Black Crow's feathers as they brushed against the moonlight that night… Countless sounds crowded together, as if trying to crack his head open.

Xilun suddenly opened his eyes, his palms already damp with a fine layer of sweat.

The water in the silver basin remained still, and the withered flower roots showed no change.

failure.

But he wasn't surprised.

If the technique were truly something you could learn effortlessly, it wouldn't have surprised Tusor and his group so much.

Xilun raised his hand to rub his temples, picked up a glass of water and took a sip. After his breathing stabilized, he closed his eyes again.

On the fourth time, he stopped rushing.

First, practice the Moon Recollection Meditation, then reduce the Great Thunder Sound Breathing Method to an extremely light level, leaving only a thin line to prevent the body's Qi and blood from dissipating.

Then, he focused all his attention on the word "clean," not thinking about how big the white sprout should be or how quickly it should grow, but only about one thing—to suppress the black and wash away the dirt.

Robert's image flashed through the depths of my mind.

It's not about technique.

It's so that when that day ever comes, I won't be helpless when I reach out my hand.

As soon as the thought settled, the echo chamber suddenly rang softly.

Extremely light, extremely stable.

It was like the first snowflake falling into an empty palace.

Then, a sliver of white slowly emerged in the moonlight.

It's not a flower, not a leaf, just a tiny, tiny bud tip, slightly curled up, like a baby's fingertip.

It hung in the depths of Xilun's consciousness, so delicate that it seemed as if a gust of wind could scatter it, yet it did not dissipate. Instead, it slowly came to a stand still with that echo.

Xilun felt a chill run down his spine and silently recited that old phrase while looking at the prayer page.

One word after another, extremely slowly.

Beside the silver basin, the once calm water surface trembled without any wind.

On that withered flower root, a faint wisp of black mist, as if touched by something, slowly rose to the surface.

Xilun opened his eyes and raised his right hand.

There was indeed a point of white light on my fingertips.

It was dim, almost transparent, like a morning star about to go out.

But it truly exists, as thin as a newly sprouted bud, trembling gently in the air.

Xilun slowly pressed that little bit of white towards the flower root.

laugh--

A very faint sound.

Like a scalding iron needle piercing into the snow.

The black mist on the flower roots immediately twitched as if struggling, then was gradually suppressed by the white light, evaporated, and turned into a few wisps of very faint gray smoke, which drifted into the air and disappeared.

Xilun's face was slightly pale, and a vein bulged on his forehead.

The consumption was greater than he had anticipated.

Just by pressing away such a small bit of filth, the white sprout in his mind seemed to have been instantly stripped of most of its moonlight, almost collapsing on the spot.

But a glint appeared in his eyes.

It became.

Although it was only half a step.

Although it is still far from truly purifying a living person and suppressing deeper pollution.

But this is a path that can indeed be taken.

He withdrew his hand, and the white light at his fingertips went out.

Beside the silver basin, the withered root had lost a layer of filth, and its surface had changed from its original dead black to a grayish brown, no longer possessing that creepy "vitality".

Xilun slowly exhaled, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes for a moment.

The night outside the window grew even deeper.

In the distance, someone's clock tower struck twice, the sound deep and lingering.

Rod knocked gently on the door and whispered from outside, "Young Master, the letter has been delivered and will be sent to the station before dawn."

"Um."

"In addition, Tusol Manor just sent a sealed box, saying it's for your practice tonight, and that... it will be sent every seven days according to the usual secret service."

Xilun opened his eyes and said calmly, "Put it by the door."

"Yes."

The footsteps faded into the distance.

Xilun looked at the flower roots on the table, then at the copy of "Prayer for the Sacred Bud".

He knew that from tonight onwards, many things would be different.

The Black Dove Church is no longer just a dangerous place to be uncovered.

Pollution is no longer something to be killed on sight or avoided upon contact.

And he himself is not just someone who uses guns, fists, and cold air to smash things.

This surgical approach is very delicate and also very risky.

But once it becomes a viable path, many things that we could only watch helplessly in the future may change.

Siren pressed the page of the copy flat again, pressed his fingertips on the first line of the old prayer, and his expression was quiet to the point of being cold and stern under the lamp.

Become stronger.

It needs to be even stronger.

Otherwise, even if you see the road, you won't have the strength to walk to the end.

The next morning, the sky over the North District was a gloomy gray.

A light rain had fallen during the night, and the soil on the hill behind the mansion was still damp, with fine water droplets condensing on the window frames.

Xilun slept for only two hours that night, spending the rest of the time in his study.

The silver basin on the table has had its water changed three times.

The first section of withered flower root had completely lost its foulness and turned into an ordinary brown dead root. The second section was only half cleansed. The third section was the most stubborn, with the black aura shrinking into the root pith, like a coiled, motionless little worm. No matter how much Xilun pressed it down with white buds, it only faded slightly.

It's difficult, but not hopeless.

Xilun wiped the remaining cold mist from his fingertips, closed the copy, glanced at the pale sky outside the window, and got up to leave the study.

Rhodes was already waiting in the courtyard.

The old butler stood ramrod straight, holding a stack of newly delivered account books and notes. When he saw Xilun come out, he first handed over the top one.

"Young master, an urgent letter has arrived from Scamay."

"Was it a gift from Feru?"

"Yes, it was sent at night and delivered in the early morning."

Xilun took the letter and opened it as he walked.

The letter was not long, but the writing was hurried and the ink was blurry, clearly indicating that the writer was not in a stable mood.

Last night, the town caught a postman who rolled in from the dirt road in the south. He's still alive, but he's acting like a madman, humming a song incessantly, and anyone who gets close to him gets a headache and a stuffy feeling.

Later, he suddenly said that he wanted to see you, and only you, and that he was sent by "the church" to deliver a message.

An elderly man in the town listened to a few words and immediately sat down on the ground and cried, saying that he felt like his heart had been ripped out.

The subordinates dared not act without authorization and sent someone to ask for instructions.

Xilun paused slightly.

Where are they?

Rhodes immediately replied, "They were just taken to the side hall in the front yard, and Kusso was personally overseeing them. Miss Reina has also arrived."

Xilun hummed in agreement and walked straight towards the side hall.

He heard the sound before he even entered the door.

It wasn't crying, it wasn't shouting.

It's an extremely subtle, sticky humming, almost imperceptible, like someone slowly stuffing damp cotton thread into your ear canal and then gradually drilling into your brain.

Two Brotherhood musketeers stood at the door, both looking quite grim.

One of them, upon seeing Xilun, immediately straightened his back, though his Adam's apple bobbed and his voice was noticeably weak: "Governor."

Xilun pushed open the door and went in.

The coal lamps in the hall were brightly lit, and the curtains were drawn, yet the air still carried a damp and chilly smell.

A middle-aged man was kneeling on the ground, wearing a soaked postman's coat, his hat was off to the side, his hair was stuck to his forehead, and his lips were white from the cold.

His hands were tied behind his back with rope, and his shoulders twitched as if he were trembling, but when Xilun's gaze fell on his neck, his eyes suddenly turned cold.

A small piece of silver thread was sewn onto the back of the man's neck.

It's not long, only three fingers wide.

But it was as if something had been forcibly "nailed" into his flesh and blood.

Rena stood to the side, her hand on the gun handle at her waist, her expression also not very good.

Seeing Xilun enter, she whispered, "I listened to his tune for two minutes, and my chest felt empty. Rhodes has already sent someone to get the incense."

Kuso stood on the other side, his brows furrowed tightly, his voice low and heavy:

"This person rolled into the town entrance on his own; his knees and palms were worn raw, as if he had crawled all the way here."

Fearing trouble, Firul didn't dare stay in town long and sent it over as soon as it was light.

Siren didn't speak, he just looked at the postman.

The next second, the person on the ground suddenly raised their head.

Those eyes were bloodshot, and the pupils were so dilated that it was as if they couldn't see anything at all.

He stared at Xilun for a couple of moments, then slowly grinned, revealing a very incongruous smile.