Under the dim candlelight of the Wang Estate, the members of the Demon-Slaying Squad sat in a circle, the atmosphere heavy and uncanny.

Conspiracy and Abnormality

Wen Buhuo spread out the defensive map of the Imperial Capital, his brow furrowed. "Based on my previous encounter at the Chen Estate, the enemy's strength far exceeds expectations. All clues point toward the palace; it is highly likely the Emperor has been taken hostage by demonic cultivators. We must be extremely cautious and fully prepared."

Liu Jing stood up abruptly, a fervor bordering on fanaticism gleaming in his eyes, his voice bone-chillingly cold. "A mere demonic path is nothing but a clown's act. As cultivators who enjoy the sect's grace and bounty, we must exterminate these filthy wretches to the last man!"

Buhuo keenly captured the anomaly in Liu Jing’s expression; it wasn't just righteousness, but a form of paranoia born from carrying a deep-seated grudge.

The Two-Pronged Plan

After some deliberation, the group finalized their strategy:

• Frontal Assault: Wen Buhuo, Liu Jing, and Song Meng would be responsible for charging the imperial city from the front, using powerful spells and close-combat fire-power to draw the demonic cultivators' attention.

• Flank Rescue: Zhong Weiyan and Chen Qiaoqian would take the opportunity to infiltrate the inner palace to find and rescue the potentially trapped Emperor.

• The Absentee: Dong Xuan’er yawned, refusing to participate on the grounds that "her master had given her other tasks," her expression still carrying that unquestionable arrogance.

Despite the detailed plan and the confidence shown by Liu Jing and Song Meng, the unease in Buhuo’s heart spread like a rising tide. He felt that the hidden hand in the shadows was far more complex than a single Bull Demon-Man.

Final Warmth: The Lantern Festival

"Tomorrow is the Lantern Festival," Zhong Weiyan suddenly spoke up, breaking the tension. "Mortal festivals are rare to see; why don't we go for a walk in the streets? Consider it a relaxation before the battle." The others agreed, except for Wen Buhuo, who excused himself for seclusion.

Daytime: Hidden Contingencies

Buhuo went alone to a remote bamboo forest outside the city. Knowing the danger of this mission, he began to set up the "Five Elements Eight Trigrams Array." Having just glimpsed the secrets of formations, his technique appeared slightly green, yet he was meticulously rigorous. The burying of every spirit stone and the carving of every formation line consumed a vast amount of effort. For the remaining time, he locked himself in his room, frantically drawing high-grade talismans.

Night: Clamor and Desolation

As the first lamps were lit, the markets of the capital were swarmed with crowds. Zhong Weiyan excitedly pulled Liu Jing through the stalls like a child who had never traveled far. Wen Buhuo and Chen Qiaoqian walked side-by-side behind them, speaking softly of sect memories. Their occasional smiles appeared as gentle as jade under the festive lights.

Amidst the crowd, Mo Caihuan stood in plain white clothing, her figure appearing thin and frail. She spotted that familiar green figure at a glance, and also saw the transcendent Chen Qiaoqian beside him. In that moment, the bustling market seemed to fall silent; she felt the unbridgeable chasm between them, her heart sinking in sorrow.

Fireworks at the Bridge: The Divide of Immortal and Mortal

As the lights dimmed and the gathering dispersed, Wen Buhuo met Caihuan again at the bridgehead. Caihuan looked up as she always did, a desperate persistence in her eyes. "Buhuo... without spiritual roots... is it truly impossible to cultivate?"

Wen Buhuo fell silent. Looking at her beautiful face, he knew how cruel the so-called "Immortal Path" was to mortals. "Whenever you face a question that is hard to answer, you stop speaking," Caihuan smiled sorrowfully.

Just then, a firework whistled into the sky, exploding into a shower of gold behind them. Caihuan could no longer restrain herself; she stepped forward and hugged Buhuo tightly. Wen Buhuo’s hands rose slightly, his fingertips trembling. In that moment, the loneliness of the Great Path of Longevity flashed through his mind, as did the warmth of this fleeting mortal life. Ultimately, his hands fell powerlessly to his sides.

A hundred years of seclusion for a cultivator is but a lifetime of birth, age, sickness, and death for a mortal. This parting was the end of a life for Caihuan, but for Buhuo, it was perhaps only a faint cloud on the long road to the Great Path.

The two stood silently under the brilliant fireworks until the night wind grew cold and the lanterns began to dim.