Chapter 217: Shadow Traces Reappear

While speaking, he had already pulled out that set of dull-black 《Nine Yang Divine Needles》 from his bosom.

Murong Wanqing stared, startled by his words, her tear-filled eyes lifting to look at Zhang Jun. This guy… what is he doing? She instinctively wanted to stop him, but when she saw Zhang Jun's focused and solemn gaze, and the set of ancient gold needles in his hand emitting a faint warm aura, the words rose to her lips only to be swallowed back.

For some reason, seeing Zhang Jun's steady posture and the pure yang aura about him—upright and righteous, utterly out of place in this gloomy dungeon—her flustered heart inexplicably steadied a little, as if a bright lighthouse had suddenly appeared in the midst of a dark stormy night.

Perhaps… perhaps he really has a way?

Zhang Jun had no time to wonder what the girl was thinking. He held his breath, focused, and slowly poured pure yang true qi into his fingertips; the essentials of the Nine Yang Divine Needles technique flashed through his mind. He picked up the longest gold needle, aimed at the old man's Baihui point on the crown of his head, flicked his wrist, and the needle slipped in silently, leaving only about an inch trembling outside.

Next came Spirit Courtyard, Hall of Impression, Human Middle…

Zhang Jun's movements were lightning-fast; each gold needle struck precisely into the old man's major vital points. His technique was profoundly mysterious—sometimes a gentle twist and slow insertion, sometimes a swift thrust and rapid lift—each needle delivering a surge of pure yang energy that slowly pressed against the old man's inner yin-cold, deadly "Soul-Locking Lure" poison.

Wisps of black qi began to seep from the tails of the gold needles, dissipating into the air. The old man's violent spasms gradually eased, the strange sound in his throat softened; though he still suffered, his expression was no longer so ferocious.

There's hope!

Zhang Jun felt a surge of joy, and his movements grew even faster.

Murong Wanqing stood aside, dumbfounded. She prided herself on her medical skill, yet seeing Zhang Jun's godlike needle technique made her realize there are heavens beyond heaven and masters beyond masters. This… this is practically divine sorcery! Who on earth is he?

Just as Zhang Jun forced out the last thread of black blood and was about to withdraw the needles—

Suddenly, an anomaly occurred!

The old man, whose eyes had been tightly shut like a corpse's, suddenly flung them open!

His eyes, murky and nearly focusless, now locked onto Zhang Jun with a stare that burst forth a heart‑pounding light—not a dying flicker, but rather the fierce obsession of one expending every last vestige of life.

The old man's cracked lips twitched; summoning his last strength, he seized Zhang Jun's wrist. His hand was withered like firewood, yet possessed inexhaustible force, gripping Zhang Jun's wrist till it ached.

"Be… careful… 'Shadow'…" the old man rasped, his voice hoarse like a broken bellows, each word tinged with the smell of blood, "Blood… blood sacrifice… save… Mei… Mei Yao…"

Before the words faded, the old man's head lolled sideways, his grip on Zhang Jun's hand suddenly loosening, and the eyes he had just opened lost all luster, turning utterly dead.

He… he's dead!

Zhang Jun's heart shuddered; an indescribable chill surged from the soles of his feet straight to the crown of his head!

Shadow Organization! Blood sacrifice!

And… Mei Yao?

What exactly was the old man trying to tell him before he died?

"Great‑grandfather——!"

Murong Wanqing wailed heart‑rendingly, throwing herself onto the old man; her tears burst forth like a breached dam, instantly soaking his withered garments.

Those heart‑wrenching cries echoed in the grim dungeon, leaving Zhang Jun feeling suffocated inside.

Damn it, what the hell is going on!

A person, just… gone.

Those last few words, however, were like a red‑hot branding iron, searing fiercely into Zhang Jun's heart.

"Shadow" Organization!

Again, the "Shadow" Organization!

Plus that strange "blood sacrifice," and that name that made his heart jump for no reason—Mei Yao?

Su Mei Yao?

Could it be her?

A buzz exploded in Zhang Jun's mind, as if something had detonated.

This feeling was even more unexpected than the time he got talked into buying an eight‑thousand‑yuan card at Tony's hair salon in Jiangbei.

He instinctively clenched his fists, nails digging deep into his palms.

Murong Wanqing cried so hard she nearly fainted, slumped over her great‑grandfather, her frail shoulders shaking violently.

After a long while, she slowly lifted her head; her red‑swollen phoenix eyes no longer held their former willfulness and arrogance, only endless sorrow and bewilderment.

She looked at Zhang Jun, her eyes complex, opened her mouth, and hoarsely said, "He… my great‑grandfather he……"

"My condolences." Zhang Jun's voice was a little dry.

At a time like this, any comfort feels pale and powerless.

He could understand the girl's feelings, after all, a close relative had passed away.

The dungeon fell into dead silence, save for Murong Wanqing's stifled sobs and the occasional faint clink of the chains.

After a while, Murong Wanqing gradually calmed, wiped her tears, looked at Zhang Jun, and with a tone of inquiry and something ineffable asked, "You… you just heard that, didn't you?"

Zhang Jun nodded: "Shadow, blood sacrifice, and… Mei Yao."

Upon mention of the Shadow Organization, Murong Wanqing's eyes turned icy, filled with bone‑deep hatred: "My great‑grandfather's illness has always been strange; the family long suspected it was tied to the Shadow Organization! But… we simply lack proof."

She drew a deep breath, as if making a resolution: "Frankly, when my great‑grandfather was young, he had a deep grudge with the Shadow Organization. Rumor has it that back then he rescued an extremely important person—or perhaps an object—from the Shadow Organization's clutches. Hence, over the years, the Shadow Organization's pursuit and assassination attempts against him have never ceased."

Zhang Jun's heart stirred.

An important person?

Or an object?

Could it be related to "Mei Yao"?

"Then what does your great‑grandfather's 'blood sacrifice' mean?" Zhang Jun pressed.

Those two words sound nothing good; they exude an evil aura.

Murong Wanqing shook her head, a flicker of bewilderment and fear crossing her face: "I… I'm not sure either. But the Shadow Organization always acts in secret and vicious ways; this 'blood sacrifice' is likely some horrifyingly wicked ritual."

She paused; the hostility in her gaze toward Zhang Jun faded somewhat, replaced by a scrutinizing look and… a faint hint of reliance.

This sudden turn of events left her completely disoriented; the man before her, whose martial prowess was extraordinary and whose medical skill was practically divine, became the sole driftwood she could cling to at this moment.

"As for 'Mei Yao'…" Murong Wanqing frowned in thought, "It sounds like a woman's name—could it be the person my great‑grandfather saved back then?"

Zhang Jun remained silent, pondering whether this "Mei Yao" might be the third female lead he's been seeking.

If that's the case, then damn it, his trip to Yanjing has turned out to be a blind stroke of luck!