Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

After about two minutes, Oin finally spoke.

His voice was flat, as if he were talking about something insignificant.

"What other news is there about Campbell's mental pollution?"

Oro paused, thought for a moment, and said, "I heard it was an ambush set up by the Scarlet Retreat Society and the choir together—"

"That's not it," Oin interrupted him. "I'm asking about the negotiation itself, how Campbell fell for it, and what methods he used."

"This..." Auro hesitated for a moment, "The Second Elder has blocked the news, and it's said that Elder Kamber himself is not yet sober enough to recount the whole story—"

"Then we'll wait until he's sober before asking him," Oin said flatly.

"Yes."

Oin looked down at his hands resting on the armrest, remained silent for a moment, and then said, "You can go now."

Oro nodded and turned to walk towards the door.

After taking two steps, Oin's voice came from behind: "Let Chik in."

Oro paused slightly, replied "Yes," and left through the door.

A moment later, a burly man walked into the side hall.

Chick was about thirty-five years old, with a very short buzz cut, a thick neck like an ox, and small eyes sunken under his large, bony brows, making him look silent and fierce.

He was Oin's personal bodyguard and, outside of the Hawk family, the only remaining Tier 2 combatant under Oin's command.

"Third Elder." Chik stood at the door, awaiting instructions.

Oin did not look up at him.

"From today onward, report to me every detail of Siron's daily whereabouts."

"yes."

"Who he met, where he went, how long he stayed, and what he took—especially any documents he took from the family library and archives."

Chick nodded.

"And one more thing." Oin finally raised his eyes.

A faint hint of coldness flashed in those calm eyes.

"Don't let him find out."

"clear."

Chick left.

The side hall fell silent once again.

Oin closed his eyes again, and his fingers resumed their rhythmic tapping.

One, two, three.

pause.

One, two, three.

He is waiting.

Waiting for the right opportunity.

……

in the afternoon.

Xilun arrived at the quiet room in the east wing on time.

When the door was opened, Elder Kamber was in much better condition than yesterday.

The deep-seated ashen complexion had mostly faded, and even a trace of color had returned to his face.

His hands were no longer gripping the sheets tightly, but were placed flat at his sides, and his breathing changed from the rapid and disordered breathing of yesterday to a slow and even rhythm.

Xilun walked to the bedside and activated the echo chamber.

Mental energy seeped in silently like water, outlining the map of pollution in Campbell's brain.

After the thirteen outer threads were burned off yesterday, the thick black mist that had been hovering around the edge of the spiritual core contracted slightly—as if it had been burned and instinctively retreated.

But it's still there.

Moreover, its density actually increases after shrinking.

Xilun stared at the shape of the thick fog and made a judgment in his mind.

This is not ordinary active contamination.

It has a strategy.

The weakened outer threads are merely its tentacles—the true core has never been exposed.

What we need to do today is to continue weakening the periphery, forcing it to contract further, while testing its true form.

The third net pressure test will be the real test of who is who.

Xiren took a deep breath.

The sacred bud of prayer between his brows slowly lit up, and pure white purity flowed from his fingertips into Campbell's temples.

In the quiet room, time passed slowly.

……

One hour later.

Xilun withdrew his finger and let out a long sigh.

A fine layer of sweat beaded on his forehead, but his complexion was much better than yesterday—today's exertion was within a manageable range.

Elder Campbell's eyelids twitched.

Then—he opened his eyes.

Those eyes, belonging to a third-tier expert, were somewhat cloudy, carrying the bewilderment of someone just waking up.

But soon, the focus shifted to Xiren's face beside the bed.

"……Who are you……"

His voice was hoarse, like a rusty saw scraping across a wooden board.

"My name is Siren," Siren said. "You have been poisoned by mental pollution, and the chieftain asked me to treat you."

Campbell stared at him for a few seconds.

Something flickered in those cloudy eyes—not gratitude, but something deeper. It was as if they were assessing something.

"...How long has it been?"

"You were unconscious for five days."

Campbell remained silent for a moment, then slowly closed his eyes.

"I remember some," he said.

His voice was clearer than before, and its hoarseness carried a hint of the composure of an elder.

"The choir...used something."

Xilun didn't reply, but just waited quietly.

Campbell opened his eyes again, his gaze falling on his palm.

He slowly clenched his fist, as if to confirm that he was still alive.

Thank you.

Two simple words.

The gratitude of a third-tier expert to a second-tier junior was expressed without any unnecessary embellishment.

Xilun nodded slightly.

"This is the second time we've done the empty pressure test today, and there's one more time," he said. "We'll see how you recover tomorrow or the day after."

Campbell nodded and said nothing more.

Xilun turned and walked towards the door.

Campbell's voice came from behind, deep and calm: "That... Xiren."

Xilun stopped and turned around.

Campbell was staring at the ceiling, as if recalling something.

"...You saved my life, I accept this debt of gratitude, and you can come to me if you ever need anything in the future."

"Okay." Xilun accepted without hesitation.

He pushed open the door and left.

Outside the door, Black Star leaned against the wall and immediately straightened up when he saw Xilun come out.

"How is it?"

"He's awake," Siren said. "The second cleanup is complete; the contamination at the core periphery has been reduced by about 40%. The final cleanup is tomorrow."

Black Star's brows relaxed, revealing a rare hint of ease.

"You've managed to curry favor with Elder Kanber." He lowered his voice. "A third-tier expert owing you a favor is worth far more than any Yin Spirit Source Water."

Xilun glanced at him but offered no comment.

"I'll go back to my room to rest first."

"Go ahead." Black Star crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "I'll keep watch tomorrow."

Xilun walked through the corridor toward the west wing guest rooms.

The people who had cast their gazes at me this morning were no longer in the corridor.

But Siren knew that some things are invisible.

He didn't turn around.

the next day.

The morning light was still like a sharp blade, cutting in through the gap in the curtains.

When Xilun woke up, he felt good—his mental strength had recovered to more than 80%, his physical condition was good, and the black mark on his right wrist remained as quiet as ever.

Final net pressure.

He confirmed it in his heart.

After today, Elder Campbell's mental pollution will be suppressed to a harmless level, and the remaining cleanup can be left to time and medicine.

He could then leave the main residence and return to his mansion in the North District to continue his cultivation and planning.

After washing up and getting dressed, Lucas brought breakfast as usual.

The portion was slightly larger than the previous two days – there was an extra dish of cheese and a small piece of honey cake.

Xilun didn't take it to heart.

After finishing his breakfast, he sat quietly in his room for half an hour, using the Moon Memory Meditation Method to adjust his mental state to its best.

Then they set off for the East Wing.

……

In a quiet room.

Elder Campbell had already sat up halfway, leaning against the raised pillows.

Compared to yesterday, he was in better spirits. The cloudiness in his eyes had mostly subsided, and his gaze had regained some of the sharpness expected of a third-tier expert.

"Here you are." He saw Xilun push the door open and come in; his voice was no longer hoarse.

"You're in good condition." Xilun walked to the bedside and activated the reverberation chamber to perform a quick scan.

The good news is that the 40% reduction from yesterday has not rebounded. The thick fog has obediently curled up in the corner of the spiritual core. Although the density is high, the activity has been greatly reduced.

The bad news is—it's still there.

Xilun withdrew his senses.

"This is the last time, and it might be a little uncomfortable," he told truthfully.

Campbell nodded slightly: "I can handle it."

Without a word, Xilun placed his fingertip on Campbell's temple, and the sacred bud between his eyebrows lit up.

The white light pierced in like a knife.

This time, instead of gently burning off the outer threads one by one, he went straight for the contracted core.

The thick fog began to shake violently.

Like a wild beast cornered, it began frantically spraying fine black threads in all directions, attempting to re-establish itself in the mental space.

Xilun calmly cut them off one by one.

The white enveloped each black thread, burning it into ashes.

Campbell's body convulsed slightly, and beads of sweat poured from his forehead, but he clenched his teeth and didn't make a sound.

Time slips away silently.

Ten minutes, twenty minutes, forty minutes...

As the last wisp of fog was crushed into ashes by the white mist, Xilun withdrew his finger.

His breathing quickened a few beats, and sweat trickled down his jawline.

But the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

"It's over."

Campbell slowly opened his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he smiled.

That kind of laughter wasn't just polite formality; it was the genuine laughter of someone who had been pulled back from the brink of death, truly feeling alive.

"...It's clean," Campbell said softly, as if confirming to himself.

He could feel it—the eerie whispers that tormented him day and night, the fear of being slowly devoured by something, had all disappeared.

My mind was completely quiet.

Like the surface of a lake after a storm.

"Complete net pressure achieved," Siron said.

"However, the core of the spirit is still quite fragile after five days of erosion. For the next two weeks, avoid any high-intensity use of mental energy, take tranquility potions daily, and burn mind-cleansing incense before bed."

Campbell nodded to indicate that he had made a note of it.

He looked at Xilun and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Sit down and talk."

Xilun pulled up a chair and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Just then, the door was gently pushed open.

Austin walked in.

The patriarch of the Tusol family wore a dark black velvet coat today, which made his silver-white beard stand out even more.

His steps were steady, like those of an old wolf that, though aged, was still sharp and vigorous.

"Old Campbell," Austin said, standing at the foot of the bed, his gaze sweeping over Campbell's face. "You look good."

"He won't die." Campbell's tone was calm, but there was a hint of warmth in his eyes.

The two are of the same generation, and their decades-long friendship doesn't require much formality.

Austin turned his gaze to Xilen, nodded slightly in thanks, and then pulled up a chair to sit down.

The three of them sat around the bed, and the atmosphere relaxed.

"How much has your mental state recovered?" Austin asked Campbell.

"About 70%." Campbell stretched his shoulders. "A few more days of rest and it should be almost healed."

"Okay." Austin nodded, as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Then he looked at Xilun, his gaze carrying a hint of amusement.

"Young man, you did a great job. Three rounds of pressure, five days, and you pulled a third-tier expert who had been poisoned by active contamination back from the brink of death—if word gets out, you probably won't find another person in the entire Northern District who could do that."

"You flatter me, Chieftain," Xilun said calmly. "It was merely a matter of the right technique being used."

Austin smiled and didn't continue the conversation.

Campbell interjected, "Silen, come on, let's talk—how much do you know about mental pollution?"

"Not very deep," Siron answered truthfully. "I only know how to control the net pressure; my understanding of the classification and nature of the pollution itself is limited."

Campbell nodded slightly, seemingly satisfied with the frank answer.

His gaze deepened, as if he were carefully choosing his words.

"The day I got infected..."

Austin's expression also became more serious.

"That's not ordinary mental interference," Campbell said slowly.

Xilun waited quietly.

Campbell's gaze fell on the window, which was covered by curtains, as if he were recalling some unpleasant scene.

"At the negotiating table, the two sides were still bickering. The Scarlet Retreat Society members were putting on an act, their attitude ambiguous, neither admitting nor denying... but I knew they were stalling for time."

He paused.

"Then—the choir moved."

"I heard a sound in a dark room right next to the negotiating table."

Campbell lowered his voice slightly, as if even the memory itself carried a certain danger.

"That wasn't a human voice. Nor was it simply mental interference. It was... 'sung' out."

Each syllable is like a needle, piercing your brain and taking root and sprouting inside.

Xilun frowned slightly.

"Could you describe that feeling in more detail?"

Campbell glanced at him, thought for a moment, and said, "Do you know... the concept of a 'lullaby'?"

"I've heard my mother sing it."

"Take away all the gentleness from a lullaby," Campbell said, "leaving only the part that puts you to sleep—and amplify it a thousandfold."

"That kind of thing."

The room was silent for two seconds.

Austin tapped the armrest silently with his fingers.

"The Chapter of Echoes," he murmured a name.

Campbell nodded slowly.

"The ancestral instrument of the Whisper Choir." Campbell's voice deepened.

Xilun's gaze shifted between the two.

"Ancestral weapon?"

"Every force that has been rooted in the North District for over a century has its own trump card."

Austin picked up the conversation, his tone serious, "Those ancient artifacts, weathered by history and passed down through generations, carry the will and power of their creators—some have even developed self-awareness."

"The Echoes is the most important piece in the choir, an object shaped like a music box."

Campbell continued, "It is said that their first lead singer forged it with his own flesh and blood and vocal cords."

When you turn it on, a sound will come out between the speaker boxes... not read aloud, but "sound".

It's like something is sealed inside; once the music box is opened, it will be released.

"That sound directly affects the core of the mind." Campbell looked at Siron.

"It doesn't go through your ears or any senses; it just 'sounds' directly in your brain."

Unable to isolate itself, unable to resist—at least for me, the only option is to get out of its reach as quickly as possible.