He Yuzhu returns in Siheyuan

Chapter 865, Team 2

These words, like steel needles tempered in fire, pierced the hearts of everyone present with a scorching force, jolting them awake. Yes, as long as they could capture that dragon, they would brave even the most choking poisonous fog, or the most agonizing trials of fire and boiling oil, without hesitation!

Dragon scales are indestructible; after being tempered using secret methods, they can be forged into treasures that can cut through iron like mud, shattering ordinary swords and blades upon contact. Dragon blood is scorching and rich, the main ingredient for refining pills that allow one to break through cultivation bottlenecks. Countless cultivators have toiled for decades, hoping to obtain a drop of dragon blood to prolong their lives and enhance their cultivation. If one is even luckier, one might even find the dragon race's cultivation techniques in the dragon's nest, treasures that can allow one to ascend to the heavens in one step and surpass all living beings...

A greedy glint instantly ignited in everyone's eyes, a light that seemed to pierce through the thick poisonous fog. They gritted their teeth, suppressing their fear, and gripped their magical weapons tightly—some clutched longswords engraved with mysterious runes, the blades gleaming coldly in the fog; others pressed their hands against the bulging talisman pouches at their waists, their fingertips already touching the front row of attack talismans; still others pulled out porcelain bottles, poured out jet-black antidote pills, chewed them, and held them under their tongues. As soon as the pills entered their mouths, a cool sensation flowed down their throats, like an icy spring flowing across a scorching wasteland, slightly suppressing the dizziness and nausea brought on by the poisonous fog.

Yet the surrounding poisonous fog continued to flow slowly, like a living thing, tinged with an eerie purplish-green hue, coiling around you in wisps. When it wrapped around your ankles, it felt like countless cold, sticky hands were pulling at you, making your legs feel like they were filled with lead with every step, so heavy that you couldn't lift them; when you inhaled it, it felt like your lungs were stuffed with a wad of water-soaked cotton, suffocating and heavy, making your chest feel like it was about to explode.

But the thought of the allure of the dragon's treasure, Wang Ran's sinister gaze before they set off, and his words, "If you don't catch the dragon, none of you good-for-nothings will come back alive," made it impossible for anyone to stop. This road, shrouded in poisonous fog, even if it meant facing mountains of knives and seas of fire, or an abyss of eternal damnation, was one they could only grit their teeth and continue—after all, one step back meant facing Wang Ran's inescapable trap, a fate far more unbearable than the poisonous fog itself.

As the human caravan struggled through the poisonous fog, stumbling forward with a vague sense of direction, a sudden, biting wind swept through, carrying a putrid stench. The surrounding poisonous fog churned violently, like stirred ink, instantly transforming into a thick, impenetrable mist. The path ahead, where they could barely make out the figures of their companions a few steps away, was completely swallowed by the white fog. Even the faces of those around them became blurred, with only their heavy breathing echoing in the mist, adding to the eerie and chilling atmosphere.

"W-What's going on? This fog... why did it suddenly get so thick?" At the end of the group, a young cultivator couldn't help but tremble, his longsword shaking like a leaf in the wind, his voice filled with barely suppressed fear. The fog felt heavy on his heart, making him inexplicably panicked, as if a monster might leap out of it at any moment and devour him.

"What's the panic!" A burly man with a scarred face barked from the front of the group, his voice rough and hoarse like sandpaper. He was one of the leaders of this operation, a seasoned veteran of the Monster Beast Mountain Range. He gripped a heavy battle axe, its blade gleaming from repeated sharpening, the blade still stained with dried, dark blood. "The Misty Forest is always like this; fog rising and dissipating is perfectly normal. Stay alert, grip your weapons tightly! As long as we keep our minds focused and don't let illusions cloud our judgment, we... we'll get out of this fog!"

Even so, he quietly tightened his grip on the battle axe, his knuckles turning white from the force—the fog had come too suddenly, and was unusually thick, so much so that even his intuition, honed over years in the mountains, was useless. The surroundings were so quiet that he could only hear his own heartbeat and the rustling of fallen leaves under his feet. The sound was amplified infinitely in the silent fog, becoming exceptionally clear, which only added to his unease.

The other humans, though terrified, dared not utter a word. All around was a thick, white fog, making it impossible to discern directions; retreating would only mean going in circles. They could only follow the blurry, scarred figure ahead, shuffling forward with each step. Everyone was on edge, eyes wide, staring intently at the fog, fearing something might suddenly leap out. The dry branches beneath their feet cracked intermittently, sending shivers down their spines, but they could only grit their teeth and grope their way forward like headless flies in this vast, misty expanse.

The fog deep in the forest was as thick as ink, clinging to the tree trunks and tearing the sunlight overhead into specks of light that fell on the thick pile of dead leaves, giving off an eerie, cold glow, as if it might devour all living things at any moment. The footsteps of the human squad were exceptionally clear in the silence, snapping branches with a "crack," startling several dull-feathered birds into flight, unaware that they were already trapped—in the shadows of the surrounding trees, behind the tangled vines, and beneath the damp, decaying leaves, countless pairs of eyes, gleaming with eerie green or scarlet, were staring intently at them, their breaths held even lower than the fog, like a taut bowstring, waiting only for the command to pounce.

At the very front of the encirclement, in a cracked hollow of a thousand-year-old locust tree that required three people to encircle, huddled a half-transformed little fox demon. Her fiery red fur was glossy and smooth, interspersed with a few strands of milky white down that hadn't yet faded, making her appear both lively and somewhat childlike. Behind her trailed three fluffy tails, their fur brushing against the cave walls, one of which still had a patch of dark brown grime at the tip—these three tails were proof of her five hundred years of arduous cultivation, barely qualifying her as a minor leader in this misty forest. Since birth, she had been confined to this small area, listening to the elder demons talk about the mountains, rivers, lakes, seas, sun, moon, and stars outside. She had long been tired of the perpetual mist and the damp, decaying smell of leaves, and yearned to leave this forest and see what the real sun looked like.

At this moment, she was restlessly licking her sharp fangs, her sharp claws lightly scratching the rough tree trunk, leaving a few shallow white marks. Her eyes were filled with barely suppressed excitement and tension. Hearing that dragons were passing through, she had staked almost everything she had—twenty newly awakened gray wolf demons, though not very bright, their claws and fangs were sharp; thirty highly venomous black widow spiders, lurking in the shadows, weaving a vast net, their venom capable of instantly paralyzing a strong man; and about fifty tree spirits, barely able to exhale a little bewitching mist, scattered around the perimeter. This massive encirclement was set up not for any other reason than to show off before the legendary dragons, hoping to be noticed, taken in as followers, and taken out to see the world.