Everything Ye Yang said was true. Shen Ming was silent for a moment, then simply cast a sleep spell to let him continue resting. When Ye Yang woke up the next morning, he thought he had just dreamed the whole thing.
He had made a new discovery, but instead of solving any mysteries, it only raised more questions. Shen Ming realized that this matter was undoubtedly important, and Ye Yang was unquestionably the key breakthrough.
A secret love child was certainly impossible. Ye Yang had never seen him before either, so it couldn’t be stray divine power of his own. What other possibility was there?
His divine power was stirring erratically, accompanied by occasional nightmares. Shen Ming had a strong premonition that the lower realm was likely about to experience violent upheaval that would spill over into both the human and yao realms. When that happened, neither the yao, nor the humans, nor the spirit beings would be spared.
To prevent a potential major catastrophe, he had to quickly uncover what was abnormal about Ye Yang. To do that, he needed to observe and sense the state of Ye Yang’s spiritual energy in use. When necessary, he would also need to stimulate Ye Yang’s potential and make that elusive power within him surface on its own.
Before long, Shen Ming finally made up his mind and applied to accompany Ye Yang on his missions.
When Professor Li approved the application, he commented, “A bit late, but it’s good that you’re finally willing to properly fulfill your duties as a mentor. Very good.”
Shen Ming ignored him, silently thinking to himself: As the last remaining guardian deity, whether it was Ye Yang, this little sea hare, or the entire lower realm—humans, yao, and spirit beings alike—they were all his responsibility.
Ye Yang had no idea yet—not just for this mission, but for the next, the third, and every mission after that, he would be stuck with Shen Ming.
He had just arrived at the mission location and immediately began searching meticulously for any clues.
Before setting out, he had thoroughly studied the mission intel and learned that this task involved capturing a snake yao.
This snake yao had emerged from who knows which deep, remote mountain. It was powerful but knew nothing about the current state of the human and yao realms. The moment it appeared, it had already injured many people.
This stretch of deep mountains was sparsely populated—hardly anyone ever came here. But as luck would have it, a film crew had scouted this very location for its lack of people and set up a shooting site here.
They worked inside a makeshift studio. During breaks, they stayed either in RVs by the wetland or in tents. After wrapping, they drove over an hour back to temporary lodgings in a nearby village. When shooting night scenes, they simply stayed in the mountains.
On the third day of filming, a script supervisor reported seeing a large group of snakes by the forest near the wetland—huge numbers of snakes, very frightening.
But the crew had surveyed the area beforehand and taken measures to drive away wildlife. The place was supposed to be very safe. There was no way snake groups existed there.
Besides, no one else had seen them—not even the other crew members who had been walking with the script supervisor saw any snakes.
So the supervisor got yelled at, and filming continued as normal.
But on the twelfth day of shooting, someone spotted the snakes again.
“There were so many! I’m not lying. At first, I didn’t see clearly—I thought it was some kind of pattern. But when I looked closer, the pattern was moving!”
“Really? That sounds pretty far-fetched.”
“I saw them too. They were everywhere—it was terrifying.”
The script supervisor who had been yelled at got excited. “See? I told you I wasn’t lying! I really did see them back then.”
“So what do we do now? Should we tell the director?”
“Who’s going to go? I’ll say this first—I’m not going. I just saw Xiao Wu go talk to the director, and guess what—he got yelled at too. The director doesn’t believe it at all.”
“I still think you all just mis-saw. Didn’t the locals down the mountain say they’ve lived here for years and never seen a single snake?”
“But so many of us saw them.”
“Don’t you think… it’s also strange that no one has ever seen snakes in such a deep, remote mountain forest? This place seems pretty suitable for snakes to live in.”
After whispering among themselves for a while, no one dared to speak up again under the director’s oppressive authority. They could only continue working cautiously and distractedly.
But two days later, the assistant director and several cinematographers were attacked by the snake swarm!
It happened during filming. Many crew members saw it: a massive group of snakes slithered out from every corner of the studio, heading straight for the assistant director with clear intent. Before anyone could even process what was happening, the assistant director had already been bitten multiple times, each bite piercing deep into the skin.
The closest cinematographers didn’t react in time and were bitten too, though not as severely as the assistant director.
The more faint-hearted screamed in terror, their cries drowning out even the assistant director’s agonized screams. The director stood frozen, completely at a loss. Fortunately, a few brave members of the props team rushed forward to help, using long poles to flick the snakes away. But there were too few of them and too many snakes. In the end, the snakes retreated on their own, and only then was the assistant director saved.
By then, the assistant director’s body was covered in bites beyond recognition. He lay limp on the ground, motionless. The quick-thinking props team realized that an ambulance couldn’t make it up the mountain. After calling emergency services, they carried him to a vehicle, drove down the mountain, and even remembered to bring a dead snake so the doctors could identify it.
The ambulance met them in time, and he was finally given antivenom at the provincial hospital, which saved his life.
Just a little longer—just a few more minutes—and it would have been too late.
However, even though his life was saved, the assistant director was severely injured and remained in the ICU. It was hard to say how well he would recover.
The other cinematographers suffered lighter injuries. After receiving antivenom and having their wounds bandaged, they were mostly fine.
The situation had been chaotic at the time, and the director hadn’t managed to shut down the leaks. Paparazzi had captured footage of the ambulance, and the next day, news of the crew’s snake swarm incident went viral online. The production had a fair amount of public attention, and online public opinion quickly escalated.
Soon, both the police and fire department came to investigate the scene but found nothing. The following day, the case was handed over to YCG.
The first round of on-site investigators had detected a strong yao aura there. After comparison, it matched several types of venomous and water snakes from the yao clan, making it difficult to identify. The snake carcasses they left behind initially looked like five-step pit vipers, and the hospital had treated the victims accordingly. But after bringing the carcasses back to YCG for further study, they discovered the snakes weren’t five-step pit vipers at all.
Though they looked almost identical to five-step pit vipers, upon prying open the snake’s mouth, they found five dense rows of fangs!
The assistant director had been lucky—even though it wasn’t a five-step pit viper, the antivenom had still worked.
But despite extensive research, no one could identify exactly what kind of snake it was. For the time being, it was classified as a variant of the five-step pit viper.
Such a terrifying snake yao had injured people and was still at large. YCG was deeply concerned that more people would be hurt.
The escaped snakes had vanished without a trace, but the leftover signs suggested they had very likely been raised and commanded by the snake yao. Moreover, there were residual traces of aquatic spiritual energy at the scene. After fruitless investigations, the case was sent to headquarters and then reassigned to Dongzhou.
By the time Ye Yang arrived at the scene, the film studio was already completely empty.
After such a major incident, and with the snake swarm nowhere to be found afterward—almost like an illusion—the crew was too terrified to stay. After shutting down for a few days, they decided to go shoot other indoor scenes elsewhere.
Though it had only been abandoned for less than five days, the studio was already dilapidated. Parts of the outer tarpaulin and framework had collapsed. The inside was cluttered with miscellaneous items. The floor was covered with drag marks and scattered trash—clear signs that everyone had left in a hurry, unwilling to stay a moment longer.
But none of that was the main point.
The moment Ye Yang stepped inside, he immediately sensed a strong yao aura.
Aside from during his preschool days, he hadn’t felt such an unrestrained yao aura in a long time.
The snake yao that left this presence was either arrogantly fearless or, like Ye Yang back in the day, newly emerged into the world and completely oblivious.
Based on the intel from the investigators, they leaned toward the latter scenario.
So the mission requirement was to capture it alive if possible.
Following the yao aura, Ye Yang walked forward. The further east he went, the stronger the aura became—until the ground beneath his feet grew wet, and the aura suddenly weakened to near imperceptibility.
Ye Yang looked down. He had walked into the water.
This was a wetland area. The water’s edge was thick with lush aquatic plants, reeds growing taller than a person. Further ahead lay the marsh.
“Keep going?”
Shen Ming had been silently following behind Ye Yang and only now spoke up.
Ye Yang sniffed the air. “I can still sense a faint yao aura, but it’s fading fast. I have to go now, or the trail will be lost.”
Shen Ming said nothing more and just continued silently behind Ye Yang.
Casting a minor floating spell, Ye Yang crossed the marsh and pressed on. Ahead lay another vast expanse of wetland.
Thick fog hung over the wetlands. The already faint yao aura was quickly dispersed by the moisture, and Ye Yang had no choice but to stop in the middle of the wetlands.
He felt some regret. “I shouldn’t have come this way. Let’s head back to the studio first and look for more clues.”
Shen Ming nodded, then suddenly reached out and placed his hand on Ye Yang’s shoulder. The next second, they were back at the studio.
Ye Yang’s head snapped up. “A fixed recall point? Teacher Shen, you knew this would happen?”
Shen Ming let go and stepped back, saying calmly, “I told you, you’re in charge. I’m only here to assist. This is your first official mission. Gaining experience is important.”
He was both protecting Ye Yang’s safety and allowing him to grow so he could one day stand on his own. Though Ye Yang was already a full-time employee, Shen Ming was still thinking about him as a responsible mentor.
Ye Yang’s eyes softened, warmth spreading in his heart. Truly worthy of Teacher Shen—so thoughtful. He really still had a lot to learn.
Then he refocused on the mission at hand.
The lead from the yao aura was lost. Ye Yang walked through every inch of the studio, inside and out, when a question suddenly occurred to him: The props team had killed dozens of snakes from the swarm. One was taken away when rescuing the assistant director. YCG had taken another for investigation. When the crew evacuated, they hadn’t even taken all their own belongings, let alone cleaned up. So what happened to the remaining snake carcasses?
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