285: Chapter 285 Night, Zen Temple

The capital is vast, so vast that even with Chen Ran keeping [Heavenly Net] active as he moved, it would take considerable time to map out the contours of a single ward.

After leaving the free clinic stall of Ciyin Medical Valley, Chen Ran was in no rush to return to the prison.

He walked along the street for a while, then casually bought a bamboo hat to cover his head.

The bamboo hat was pulled low, obscuring the upper half of his face and revealing only his jaw and neck. A few strands of long hair fell along the hat's strings to his shoulders, swaying slightly with each step.

With the people of Bodhi Zen Monastery having entered the capital for the Martial Arts Tournament, the leading Elder had naturally moved in with them.

Disciples from the major Schools mostly lodged in several courtyards in the city's east. As a legitimate Buddhist sect, Bodhi Zen Monastery would certainly be stationed within that area.

He calmly turned his steps toward the east of the city.

Upon reaching the corner of an old alley, Chen Ran slowed his pace and came to a stop beside an old wall.

[Heavenly Net] quietly unfurled.

That Mental Energy was like an invisible, delicate net, flowing from his brow. It seeped silently in all directions, washing over streets, rooftops, and courtyard walls, drawing the Qi within a radius of hundreds of steps into his perception.

Chen Ran stood at the alley entrance, appearing to be nothing more than a passerby who had paused to adjust the strings of his bamboo hat.

Auras were marked and screened, one by one.

Ordinary person, Martial Artist, ordinary person, ordinary person...

His perception traced those streams of Qi deeper, until he detected a cluster of Qi within a courtyard in the east of the city.

It was more than one person.

Chen Ran focused his mind, slowly mapping out the clear contours of the courtyard.

It was a deep courtyard with high walls. A weathered, black-lacquered plaque hung above the main gate, faintly displaying the characters "Zen Monastery."

A Disciple stood on either side of the gate, dressed in moon-white monk robes with plain cloth sashes tied at their waists. Their hands were clasped, they stood perfectly straight, eyes downcast, their breathing steady.

The Qi within the courtyard was scattered like stars.

Chen Ran scanned through each of those Qi signatures.

Fifth-grade, sixth-grade, seventh-grade...

Most were young Disciples with low Realms. Their Qi held a certain sharpness, yet it was steady and grounded—clearly the result of honest, diligent cultivation, devoid of any flashy, superficial techniques.

This was the style of Bodhi Zen Monastery: always accumulating strength over time, never rushing for immediate results.

Then, his perception paused in the deepest part of the courtyard.

There was a stream of Qi there, unlike any of the others.

It was heavy, restrained, dense yet coherent, like an old pine tree blanketed in late autumn frost.

Chen Ran silently gauged the magnitude of that Qi.

Peak Return to Truth Realm.

He weighed this figure in his mind.

A Peak Return to Truth Realm expert was considered a formidable fighter in the Jianghu. That Bodhi Zen Monastery was willing to send such a person to accompany the team to the capital showed they placed significant importance on this tournament.

Regardless of whether his hypothesis was correct.

It meant this individual had been with Bodhi Zen Monastery for a long time, had witnessed much, and naturally would possess extensive knowledge.

They might even possess internal information regarding the Master Xuandu affair.

Given his current Realm, he no longer needed to be as timid and overly cautious as he had been at the start.

Now, for any clues regarding cases requiring investigation, a simpler path had opened up.

Chen Ran refastened the strings of his bamboo hat and slowly walked away from the alley. He circled the area, committing to memory the terrain surrounding the courtyard, the entry and exit routes, and the approximate positions of the Disciples inside.

"Peak Return to Truth Realm, not bad..."

His steps remained calm, his eyes darkening slightly as his figure slowly vanished from the street, merging into the flow of the crowd.

As night fell, the streets and alleys gradually quieted down.

The bustle of the day faded away, and wine shops and teahouses began to extinguish their lights around the Hour of the Bo.

The crowds dispersed, and even the late-night snack stalls packed up. The streets became deserted, leaving only the occasional sound of footsteps echoing on the bluestone pavement.

The courtyard where Bodhi Zen Monastery was staying had grown quiet even earlier.

Once the gate was closed, the noise outside felt as if it were from another world, leaving only the chirping of insects and the occasional sound of the wind within the courtyard.

Under the eaves of the west wing, a few young Disciples sat together, chatting by the light of the moon.

"Come to think of it, the night air in this capital..." the round-faced Disciple Huiming said, hugging his knees and glancing up at the night sky, "it feels quite different from the nights at our monastery."

Beside him, a tall Disciple named Huiyuan rested his chin on his hand and said lazily, "How is it different? It's the same night."

"I just can't quite put my finger on it," Huiming frowned, pondering. "It feels... damper? Stuffier? It feels like the Qi doesn't flow as smoothly."

Huiyuan thought for a moment and nodded. "That's true. The capital is in the Central Plains, so the climate is naturally different from the mountains. Since this is your first time traveling far from home, it's normal not to be used to it."

"It's not that I'm not used to it," Huiming muttered. "I just find it strange."

Another Disciple beside him, resting his chin on his hand, suddenly glanced toward the courtyard gate, his tone filled with curiosity. "Hey, look at that. What is it?"

The others followed his gaze.

At the base of the courtyard wall, a layer of white mist had appeared, though no one knew when.

It clung low to the ground, seeping in through the cracks in the wall corner in wisps, slow and silent. In the blink of an eye, it had already covered the ground near the wall with a thin, grayish-white layer.

Huiming straightened up, his eyes widening. "The capital actually has fog?"

"It's not late autumn, and there's no heavy frost," Huiyuan frowned. "Where would fog come from at this time of year..."

"Perhaps it's a climate unique to the capital?" the third Disciple mused, tilting his head while resting his chin in his hand. "This place is filled with hidden Dragons and crouching tigers, a convergence point for Dragon Qi. The celestial phenomena are naturally different from elsewhere. Perhaps this fog is some sort of unusual omen..."

Huiming's eyes lit up upon hearing this, and he was about to speak.

Suddenly, he noticed a sound.

It was extremely faint—so faint that it would have been impossible to detect without listening intently.

It sounded like something stepping on the ground, yet there was no vibration, leaving only the faintest disturbance in the airflow.

The words caught in Huiming's throat, unsaid.

Subconsciously, he looked toward the courtyard gate.

The white mist had already drifted in, blanketing the ground low and shrouding the courtyard in a haze, making the outlines of the pillars appear somewhat unreal.

Then, he saw the figure.