I tightened my grip on the Battle-Wave Blade. The water-ripple patterns along the flat of the blade and the dark-gold runes flickered in alternation within this eerie environment, as though warning me of the unknown that lay ahead.

The life signal on my system panel grew stronger with each passing moment — like a dying heart beating faintly in the darkness.

The outline of the central floating island gradually sharpened into focus. It was a palace constructed of white jade, its upturned eaves and bracket sets buried beneath a thick layer of spirit-dust, while the stone lantern pillars flanking the stairway held spirit-flame long since extinguished and frozen in place. When I set foot on the first step, the scrape of my sole against the jade stone produced a grating sound that rang out jarringly in the dead silence of this sealed grotto.

"System, scan the palace's defensive formation array." I kept my voice low, channelling spiritual energy into both ears in an attempt to catch even the faintest trace of abnormal fluctuation.

Ding! The outer formation array of the palace, 'Righteous-Yang Dragon Lock,' has fallen into ruin. Spirit-energy circulation is below 10%, likely the result of prolonged neglect. A weak prohibition remains active in the core zone — proceed with caution.

I pushed open the heavy hall doors. The groan of their hinges echoed through the vast chamber beyond. The interior was strikingly empty. The great domed ceiling bore faded murals of the Four Symbols — the Azure Dragon, the White Tiger, the Vermilion Bird, the Black Tortoise — their edges curled and scorched as though licked by fierce flames. On the jade dais at the very centre of the hall lay a curled figure.

My heart clenched hard.

It was not a whole person — more like a mummy drained of every drop of flesh and blood. Desiccated yellow skin clung tight to the skeleton beneath; the eye sockets were sunken hollow. Only a single wisp of white hair at the forehead still trembled faintly. Had the system's life signal not been emanating from this very spot, I would have declared without hesitation that this was nothing more than a dried corpse.

Scattered around the jade dais were shattered jade slips and withered spirit-herbs. Hanging at the head of the bed was an ancient gourd. Its surface was carved all over with dense runes, and it radiated a faint golden radiance — that was the Director's life-bonded treasure, Xuanhu, the Suspended Gourd.

"Is that… the Director?" I ventured aloud, my voice trembling slightly with agitation.

The mummy-like figure seemed to stir. The sunken eye sockets turned toward me. There were no eyeballs — only two faint sparks of spirit-fire flickering within. A wave of icy spiritual sense swept across my entire body without warning, carrying with it a sense of scrutiny and a barely perceptible undercurrent of surprise.

Ding! High-order spiritual sense scan detected. Intensity equivalent to that of a Yuan Infant stage remnant soul!

A remnant soul? The realisation struck me all at once. No wonder the life signal had been so faint — the Director's physical body had long since decayed. He survived solely through a remnant soul tethered to the Suspended Gourd, clinging to existence by that slender thread alone.

"This junior, Ethan Lu, pays his respects to the Director." I bowed at once, and at the same time drew the sealed letter from my canvas satchel, raising it above my head with both hands. "This junior has brought evidence of the collusion between Baizhen Pavilion and factions within the Xuan Sect. I beg the Director to examine it!"

The two sparks of spirit-light flared into a blinding brilliance — like two guttering candle flames suddenly fed with oil. The Suspended Gourd shook violently, its golden radiance blazing outward, and an invisible force swept the sealed letter through the air to hover before the dried corpse.

The mummy's fingers — two bare bones — made the lightest contact with the letter. In that instant, the spiritual energy of the entire hall began to churn wildly. The gourd let out a resonant hum, and countless fragments of memory unfurled before my eyes like frames of a film:

Torrential rain hammered the glazed roof-tiles of the Xuan Sect Administration Bureau. The Director — in the appearance of a middle-aged man — stood before a window, gripping an investigation report, his complexion ashen. The report was spattered with bloodstains and bore the heading Baizhen Pavilion Spirit-Child Sacrifice Case; the chain of evidence pointed directly at Wen Hudang's Vice Hall Master, Gordon Jin.

"Arthur Wen, come and look at this." The Director passed the report to the man standing beside him.

The image shifted to that man — Arthur Wen. Triangular eyes. Mouth corners dragged down. The very same sinister cast of features I had seen at Baizhen Pavilion. He took the report, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes before he composed himself. "Director, I fear there may be more to this matter than meets the eye. Vice Hall Master Jin has always conducted himself by the book…"

"Conducted himself by the book?" The Director's palm slammed down on the desk. "Every single word on those pages points to him! Zhang Yuanshan and his colleagues from the Demon-Demon Demon Suppression Bureau have already traced the key evidence — they are ready to submit it to the Council of Elders tomorrow!"

Arthur Wen's fingers stroked lightly along the edge of the report, his gaze darkening. "Director… the Demon-Demon Demon Suppression Bureau has grown increasingly aggressive in its methods in recent years. I fear it may… destabilise the Xuan Sect."

End of Chapter 62: The Director's Remnant Soul