Almost everywhere here are lost ancient magic arrays and inscription relics, and to this day, less than one-tenth have been successfully deciphered. They are intricately connected to many incomplete ancient texts that are yet to be restored.

The energy field deep within Chiyuan is complex and bizarre—what exactly is it? Even within the Bureau of Anomalous Control, opinions vary widely. The most popular theory is the “seal theory,” but regardless, everyone agrees that there may be something extremely dangerous hidden beneath that forest. Without thorough preparation, it’s best not to let it see the light of day again.

It’s like a dangerous yet highly alluring living fossil.

“I’ll keep it brief,” Zachary Brooks said. “During the Golden Week holiday, several ancient trees in the primeval forest of the Chiyuan Grand Canyon suddenly mutated. The cause is still unknown. These trees are cunning—after mutating, they can move around the forest, making them quite difficult to deal with. For safety, the local security branch coordinated with the surrounding scenic area and suspended tourist visits under the pretext of a ‘geological disaster.’ But a handful of thrill-seekers, with nothing better to do, insisted on sneaking in. Not only did they evade tickets, but they also happened to run into the mutated trees’ rampage.”

Dylan Foster raised an eyebrow: “‘Rampage’—what do you mean by that?”

Zachary Brooks opened his laptop and turned the screen toward him. “This is what the scenic area’s surveillance captured.”

The footage was extremely shaky, the image constantly trembling, and the signal was unstable. Suddenly, a massive shadow swept by at high speed—thick as a person’s embrace, moving incredibly fast, like a giant python on the hunt.

Looking closely, that “giant python” emerged from underground—it was actually a huge tree root.

The python-like root first smashed a hole in the ground, slithering along the surface with menacing, claw-like movements. Then it crashed into an ancient tree not far from the camera, immediately wrapping around it. The ancient tree visibly withered, as if its life force was being drained. In less than ten seconds, it had become a pile of dead branches.

The now “sated” root was noticeably thicker. Next, it reached up into the air, shaking a few times as if showing off, then suddenly smashed toward the camera. The screen went black in an instant—the camera must have been destroyed.

Dylan Foster: “Whoa, is this a real-life ‘Anaconda’ disaster?”

“That’s one of the mutated spruces. After accumulating some energy, they began rapidly expanding outward, draining the life force of all living things along the way. Extremely dangerous.”

“Hm…” Dylan Foster quickly flipped through the materials at hand.

There were eight trees in total, all mutating almost simultaneously. The local security branch’s field agents had marked the original locations of the eight mutated trees on a map. For some reason, Dylan Foster felt that the pattern formed by those eight points looked vaguely familiar.

“What is it?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Dylan Foster hesitated. “You go on.”

“We sent out an emergency rescue team to retrieve those trapped tourists,” Zachary Brooks said. “Fortunately, everyone was rescued. They had hidden in a natural cave and escaped disaster. But now we don’t know how much they saw—your job in the Aftercare Division this time is to handle these people.”

Dylan Foster was momentarily blank-faced at this baffling assignment, confused for two seconds before going “ah” and remembering his role.

He wasn’t being asked to chop down mutated trees, nor to consult on how these demon trees went crazy. He was now the “cleanup crew” leader, the “nanny squad” boss—his main job was to soothe the nerves of traumatized civilians and make sure they saw nothing, remembered nothing.

Zachary Brooks’s face clearly said, “See, what did I tell you?” He shot him a look and subtly hinted, “Go quickly and come back soon—Security Department’s Old Morgan wants to invite you to dinner.”

“First day on the job, my previous field wasn’t even related, no experience—pardon me.” Dylan Foster gave an awkward laugh, then got stuck, turning to seek help from his new colleagues. “Comrades, as per usual, how do we handle this kind of situation?”

As he turned around, he got a good look at the people behind him.

Earlier, when Director Brooks was rushing him, Dylan Foster had just randomly picked three people and hurried out. Now, taking a closer look, he realized each of the three was a story in themselves.

One was the older lady who’d been calling out “one, two” earlier. Maybe she was hot from wearing too much—she’d already taken off her outer black suit, revealing a “death Barbie pink” knitted cardigan underneath. The thermal shirt at her collar had lace trim, oddly delicate, and she was wearing reading glasses, scribbling away in a small notebook.

Next to her was a well-dressed, steady-looking gentleman. Despite his receding hairline—his hair now more like a barcode—he’d still carefully applied hair gel, fixing what was left neatly atop his head. From a distance, it looked like he was wearing a row of barcodes.

The third was a young woman—or at least, she looked young. Of course, she might not actually be that young; maybe she was just so plump that her wrinkles were smoothed out, making her look youthful. She was taking up two seats by herself, listening to Director Brooks while nervously pulling snacks from her pocket. When she saw the new boss turn to look at her, she hurriedly stuffed a half-unwrapped chocolate bar back into her pocket, a peanut crumb still stuck to the corner of her mouth.

Dylan Foster: “……”