Chapter 215: Someone

Qingque sprang up from her bed, gasping heavily, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Outside, daylight poured in; the familiar room furnishings, the messy bedding, and on the table still sat that "goofing off" thermos and a half‑eaten snack bag.

"Really… what a baffling dream."

She massaged her temples; the dream's details receded like the tide, leaving only vivid fragments: a verdant bamboo forest, a terrifying great sword, a gray‑haired figure shattered with a single punch, and that lively, curious sword‑wielding girl.

"Hua…?"

She murmured the name, feeling it oddly familiar.

A vague uneasy premonition rose in her heart, as if she had inadvertently glimpsed something she shouldn't have.

She shook her head, resolved not to dwell on it, reached for the jade tablet beside her pillow to check the time, and also ordered takeout to soothe her rattled spirit.

Her finger slid across the screen, unlocking it.

She habitually skimmed the push notifications—nothing noteworthy.

On a whim, she typed the character "Hua" into the search bar.

The page refreshed.

At the top was an entry, accompanied by a rather blurry side portrait showing only a tall, solemn silhouette standing before a sea of phantom arrows.

Entry title: 【Cloud Rider Marshal Hua】

Below was a brief description:

"Celestial Ship Alliance Commander, one of the early founders of the Cloud Cavalry. He once led the Alliance fleet to subdue the Four Directions Demonic Entities, earning outstanding merit. His maxim 'If the demonic entities are not eliminated, the Patrol Hunt never ends' inspired countless Cloud Rider soldiers. Very few public visual records survive."

Qingque's eyes widened gradually, her mouth opening slightly in an unconscious gasp.

She stared at the vague silhouette, while in her mind uncontrollably the gray‑haired woman's calm, unruffled face from the dream resurfaced, her plain, unadorned attire, and that ultra‑simple yet earth‑splitting fist…

Qingque's fingers grew a bit cold; she inhaled a breath of cool air slowly, then exhaled slowly.

No way…

Is this real?

She cradled the jade tablet, watching the figure on the screen, then looked up at the familiar surroundings of the room.

"This dream… its after‑effect is way too strong, huh?"

She muttered softly, tossed the jade tablet aside, flopped back onto the bed, and covered her head with the blanket.

"It's a dream, huh, just a dream!"

Abandoned Old Residential Area.

The afternoon sun here seemed stingy, casting only mottled patches of light onto the broken walls and ruins.

Wind slipped through the cracked windows and empty doorway, emitting a whimpering, wheezing sound, as if something were sobbing softly.

If it were the usual Huo Huo, not even stepping into this area—just seeing that crooked door plaque and the pitch‑black windows from afar—would already have made her tail bristle, heart race, pulling Han Ya's

clothing edge and stubbornly refusing to move forward.

Huo Huo stood before the wobbling vermilion‑painted gate, nudged the oversized black sunglasses that covered half her face, and furrowed her brows impatiently.

She wasn't fearless; rather, an inexplicable surge of courage—or irritation—in her chest overrode the habitual timidity that wanted to surface.

"This is the place… trouble."

She muttered softly, too lazy to check for traps or anomalies—according to the Task sheet, at worst there'd be some low‑level weak specters; what could be so serious?

She reached out and gave the seemingly ready‑to‑collapse gate a push.

The door wasn't locked, or rather the lock had long been broken; with a creak it slid inward, raising a cloud of dust.

Huo Huo coughed twice from the irritation, grew even more irritable, and simply lifted her foot—"clang"—completely kicking the door open.

The door slab slammed against the inner wall, echoing loudly as more dust cascaded down.

The courtyard scene unfolded: overgrown weeds, a dried‑up pond, collapsed artificial rocks, and the Main Hall's pitch‑black doorway that seemed to swallow light.

Everything fit the standard setup of a "haunted abandoned house."

But Huo Huo merely squinted; she noticed repeated trampling marks on the weeds, deliberately concealed yet not left by a random intruder.

Moreover, the air carried a burnt‑bitter scent mixed with a hint of medicine.

(Not a specter… is a person pulling a prank?)

The thought flashed through her mind, oddly easing Huo Huo's breath.

Compared to unknowable, uncontrollable monsters, living humans… seemed less terrifying? At least humans can reason, and can be frightened by the Ten Kings Office.

She stepped into the courtyard, the dry grass rustling beneath her feet.

The Main Hall was pitch‑black, yet she vaguely saw something shift in a corner shadow, then quickly retreat, accompanied by a metallic "ding".

(So there really is someone.)

Huo Huo didn't hesitate, heading straight for the Main Hall.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, a stronger musty odor hit her, and the light dimmed abruptly.

She adjusted for a few seconds, her gaze sweeping over the spider‑web‑laden, empty hall.

The central tables and chairs had long rotted away, with broken tiles and unknown debris scattered on the floor.

Her eyes landed on a wall at the side of the hall.

There hung a faded, damaged scroll whose original image was indecipherable; the wall beneath it seemed a different hue from the surroundings, and… there was no dust?

Huo Huo stepped forward, extended her gloved hand, and gently pressed against that patch of wall.

It felt slightly cool, the material seeming denser.

She groped along the wall's edge, soon finding a mark in an inconspicuous carved recess on the side of the scroll.

(Medicine King Secret Transmission?)

The term instantly popped into Huo Huo's mind.

She had seen related entries in Ten Kings Office dossiers—madmen who worshipped the Cihui Medicine King, pursued extreme longevity, and acted in cryptic, dangerous ways.

They sometimes indeed use abandoned houses as temporary bases.

If it's the Medicine King Secret Transmission, then it's not a simple "low‑level ghost lingering" anymore.

The nature of the matter has changed; this should be the Cloud Rider Army Administration, not under the Ten Kings Office.

But Huo Huo's hot‑blooded courage is still burning inside her, and discovering it wasn't a ghost only adds a few more strokes of reckless boldness.

She not only lacks any thought of retreat, but instead feels an urgent need to finish the job quickly.

She follows the triggering method recorded in the dossier, commonly used for simple mechanisms, and tries to turn the carved recess.

"Kada."

A faint sound.

The wall silently slides inward, revealing a downward, pitch‑black narrow stair passage; a stronger acrid, burnt smell surges out, and muffled voices can be heard faintly.

Huo Huo doesn't even think; she lifts her foot and goes down.

The stairs are stone, a bit slippery, but that means nothing for her current condition.

The passage is short; she soon reaches the bottom, where a brief Short Passage lies ahead, ending at a loosely hung wooden door. A dim, flickering yellow light leaks through the crack, and the whispers come from behind the door.

Huo Huo reaches the door without pausing, without pressing her ear to listen to what's inside, and simply lifts her foot—

"Bang!!!"

A deafening crash; the already flimsy wooden door is kicked inward with force, slamming hard against the inner wall, and the hinge lets out a painful groan.

Inside is a modest Basement, lit by a few dim oil lamps.

The walls bear strange charts depicting twisted plants and human vessels; the floor is strewn with dried odd herbs, crude pharmaceutical tools, and several open pottery jars exuding a foul odor.

At this moment, four people standing around a broken wooden table in the center of the room are all startled by the sudden door‑bursting roar, their bodies trembling as they whip their heads around.

The four are dressed differently, yet each exudes a gloomy aura.

Leading them is a middle‑aged man, gaunt‑faced with sunken eyes, wearing a faded old‑style long robe, and clutching a scroll of densely written cipher on leather.

Beside him stands a burly, scarred man, fiddling with a poison‑coated short blade.

The other two appear younger; one has a sharp, monkey‑like face, the other a drifting gaze, both dressed in agile short garments.

They are clearly plotting something, with a map and several bottles of suspiciously colored elixirs spread on the table.

At this moment, eight eyes stare at the unwelcome guest at the doorway, uncertain and alarmed.