Fortunately, the disciple receiving guests did not intend to be vague. He said solemnly, “All the evil spirits we’ve captured in Peach Blossom Isle, as well as all the people devoured by them, are buried there. Have you ever seen a centipede that’s dead but not stiff? That’s what evil spirits are like—even after death, if they are summoned in some way, they’ll still stir restlessly.”

“And you still keep them?” Logan Barrett asked in puzzlement.

“There are benefits to it.”

Logan Barrett: “Such as?”

The disciple replied, “For example, at night, when the foul energy is at its peak, if an outsider invades and is stronger than anything buried beneath the peach grove, those buried in the earth will become restless and want to gather there. That’s the nature of evil spirits.”

Those who practice demonic arts are all like this. There is no sentiment between them, only suppression.

The weak submit to the strong, and instinctively draw near to them.

That’s how the Demon Lair, Zhaoye City, came to be.

Otherwise, with a group of evil spirits and demonic cultivators, killing and living as they please, how could a city lord ever emerge?

“If they make a commotion and all move toward one place, we’ll notice, won’t we?” the disciple said. “It also makes searching easier. But this trick is rarely used, since those buried are all extremely fierce—it’s hard to find something even fiercer to attract them.”

“In any case, just don’t go looking for trouble.”

The disciple was still in a hurry to deliver the talisman papers and left in a rush.

***

Logan Barrett was not an impolite person.

Staying as a guest in Peach Blossom Isle for a day, he didn’t want to cause any trouble, so he didn’t wander around, nor was he curious about the things on the isle.

The only one he wanted to see was Ethan Brooks, whom he would meet the next day anyway, so there was no rush.

In Chunfan City, layers of dark clouds gathered, threatening rain, and dusk fell especially quickly.

Not long after the disciple left, the head of the household, Blake Whitman, sent someone to deliver food, which was quite thoughtful and hospitable.

Logan Barrett lifted his sleeve and opened the food box, his lips moving silently for a moment.

As expected, he thought, the box was filled with the kind of food favored by disciples of the immortal sects—extremely vegetarian, but beautifully presented, with a plate of elegant-looking peach blossom pastries.

He had no appetite, closed the food box again, sat down at the table, and poured himself a cup of tea.

He had just taken a sip when suddenly a voice sounded by his ear: “Ordinary mortals do get hungry.”

Logan Barrett’s eyelashes fluttered as he swallowed his tea.

There was clearly another chair nearby, but after waiting a while, Owen Fletcher was still standing behind him, not taking a seat. So, holding his teacup, Logan Barrett turned his head and said, “Why are you standing behind me—trying to look tall? If you’d seen my dinners in Que City, you wouldn’t say that.”

After a moment, Owen Fletcher’s voice came from behind him, answering, “Ordinary puppets generally don’t need to sit.”

Logan Barrett: “……”

He glanced at the patrolling disciples passing by outside from time to time, and thought to himself… fine, you stand then. He poured himself another cup of tea.

Without turning around, Logan Barrett muttered quietly into his teacup, “But it is a bit strange, I’m really not that hungry. Maybe this demon’s body is just that strong, able to endure.”

Though he disliked it, in the end he still picked out a peach blossom pastry.

The lamp was already lit in the room, the warm yellow light tracing a line across his brows, eyes, nose, and lips. And Owen Fletcher’s shadow fell from behind him onto the table in front.

After nightfall, there were even more patrolling disciples. To avoid suspicion, they spoke little.

Only during a certain lull did Logan Barrett glance toward the door, and, as if remembering something, suddenly asked, “...Owen Fletcher, what kind of person was that demon I originally was?”

It was a strange question, since he himself had said, “that demon.”

For a long while, he didn’t hear Owen Fletcher reply.

But he could feel a gaze fall upon him.

He couldn’t help but turn his head, meeting Owen Fletcher’s eyes. He saw the man leaning against the wall with his sword in his arms, watching him for a long time before saying, “Isn’t it a case of a living soul entering the wrong body, wanting to return to Que City? Since you want to go back, this place is just a dream—why bother asking?”

Logan Barrett narrowed his eyes slightly, then turned back and said, “True.”

He thought that would be the end of it.

But after a while, he heard Owen Fletcher say, “I don’t know what others think, but to me, no matter what form he takes, he’s someone I could never mistake.”

Logan Barrett’s eyes flickered.

Perhaps because of that answer, or perhaps because two guard disciples arrived, neither of them spoke again that night.

Owen Fletcher had no need to eat or sleep, standing by the wall with downcast eyes, dutifully playing the puppet. Logan Barrett tidied up a bit and curled up on the bed.

In the latter half of the night, a sudden clap of thunder rang out over Peach Blossom Isle.

This was when the foul energy was at its heaviest; the aura of evil spirits could not be concealed. If anyone were to invade, it would be most obvious at this time.

At some point, the peach grove suddenly rang with urgent bells, followed by a clamor of voices.

Patrolling disciples hurried back and forth with small silver bells, spreading the word. Nearly a thousand disciples poured out of their rooms, only to see the long-still earth of the peach grove churning, as if a hundred insects had been startled at once.