The fish has been hooked.

After Chen Shang sent out his invitation, the users fell into a brief silence before typing almost in unison:
“Come to Sage Mountain / Immortal Peak / Maitreya Hill.”
Clearly, these people had no intention of disguising their identities and were directly inviting the poster to their own sects.

Five seconds after their invitations, the poster replied with a suspicious suggestion:
“Can we meet somewhere less crowded?”
The liaison officers representing the three major sects all darkened at this message.
A request for a “less crowded place” was far too suspicious—it was practically a blatant sign that something was amiss.

Their thoughts racing, the sect liaisons immediately instructed their companions, “Track his IP address. See if you can locate his current position!”
Their fellow disciples quickly operated their computers, but in the end could only shake their heads in disappointment:
“The other party’s signal is shielded by advanced methods. We can’t find anything.”

Suddenly, their expressions changed dramatically: “My computer just got hacked by him!”

Meanwhile, Black Calice, who had been tossing and turning on her bed, suddenly froze. She reached out and grabbed a device on her nightstand that looked suspiciously like a PS5, muttering,
“Someone’s trying to attack my signal jammer?”
“As expected, they want to locate me,” Chen Shang replied.
He had anticipated all of this.

As a top-tier hacker, Black Calice had set up a signal jammer in the room immediately upon entering, specifically to counter any network tracking attempts.
This was why Chen Shang could sit in his hotel room and fish for information with such ease.

Not long after, those private chat users sent another message:
“Where do you want to meet?”
Now that they realized the poster had hacking countermeasures, they had no choice but to follow his lead.
Chen Shang quickly sent them a set of coordinates and typed: “Tomorrow at noon.”

...

The chosen meeting place was a cemetery on the outskirts of the Kunlun District.
Several cultivators in Taoist robes descended through the thinning mist on nuclear-powered flying swords. Pairing up, they stood back to back, vigilantly watching their surroundings.
Everything about yesterday’s invitation had the air of a deadly banquet, yet the Daoists still sent people to keep the appointment.
The reason was simple: the poster had mentioned the ruins of Gusu Town, and that could not be a coincidence.
Even if the “midnight executioner sighting” was a lie, the poster was likely privy to secrets from ten years ago. He had to be silenced at all costs.

Each disciple wore a police-grade recording device on their chest. If the poster tried to lure them here to kill them, the technical department could use the footage to observe the situation and capture the poster’s face.

Given the possibility that the poster was a skilled hacker, the recorders were loaded with the highest-level firewall software. According to the tech team, unless the poster was the very best hacker in Night Pivot City, there was no way he could crack it.
With every precaution in place, the Daoists sent these decoys to the meeting, exemplifying utter caution.

After proceeding some distance, swords in hand, the Daoist cultivators suddenly spotted a shadowy figure in the mist.
“Who’s there?” One of them drew a pistol from his waist and fired three shots at the figure.
A poetic chant rang out from the gloom: “My body is diamond-hard, impervious to blades and bullets!”
The bullets struck the figure, ringing out with metallic clangs.
“Looking for trouble, are you? Daoist lackeys!”
The shadow cursed and charged out of the fog. He wore a white robe embroidered with the Confucian sect’s emblem, wielded a Volume of Righteousness, his muscles bulged and gleamed with a metallic sheen—like someone pumped full of military-grade stimulants.

A few more Confucian disciples emerged from the mist, facing off against the Daoists.
“What are you fake scholars doing here?” the Daoists retorted, not backing down and full of mockery.
“Oh? Since when does the Confucian sect have to report to you?” The Confucian disciples rolled up their sleeves, ready for a brawl.
The three major sects of Kunlun District had always been rivals, and clashes between disciples were commonplace.
At the height of their enmity, it was routine for the disciples to greet each other with a shouted “Daoist dog!” or “Confucian pig!” before launching into a street fight.

“Amitabha, let’s not fight, peace is a virtue.”
Just as the two groups were about to come to blows, several figures emerged from the mist.
“Who’s there?!”
Both sides turned to look—only to see a group of mechanical monks in monastic robes, hands pressed together in greeting, their alloy skulls gleaming so brightly it hurt the eyes.
“The Buddhist sect is here too?” one Daoist said in surprise, putting away his cocked pistol.
The Confucian disciples also lowered their Righteousness Volumes and shoulder-mounted rocket launchers, fixing their gazes on the mechanical monks.
Among the three sects, the Buddhist order was the undisputed pacifist. They often played mediator when the other two fought, and held more charity events each year than any other sect.
Though these monks always wore the benevolent mask of “merciful saviors” and their technology wasn’t as advanced, neither the Daoists nor the Confucians would lightly provoke them.
For all their gentle manners, these monks were infamous for being both pedantic and trigger-happy: reason with them, and they’d reason with you; fail to reason, and they’d pull a Gatling gun from their robes and press it to your face before resuming their lecture.

With all three sects gathered in the cemetery, the atmosphere grew tense and bizarre.
After a moment’s silence, someone finally spoke up:
“Um… were you all invited here by the Jianghu Most Wanted notice?”
“Indeed.”
“The benefactor is correct.”
A Daoist probed further: “You’re all here about the midnight executioner, then?”
The answer was still yes.
Silence fell once more.

What was the poster’s purpose in luring all three sects here?
If it was just a prank, it was an awfully elaborate one.
If he had a motive, what was he after?
All three sects’ tech teams were now frantically trying to trace the poster’s IP address. The moment he was exposed, he would be hunted by all three.
But most importantly, it was already noon, and the poster hadn’t shown up.

“Something’s wrong, it’s a trap!”
Someone shouted, and the crowd grew restless.
The cemetery was nestled in the mountains, shrouded in mist all year round with limited visibility.
In these conditions, an enemy could strike at any moment from the fog.
For a long time, the disciples kept their weapons at the ready, but nothing happened.
“Strange… no ambush?” a Confucian disciple sighed and deactivated the Righteousness Volume’s skill program.
“Then which bastard just yelled ‘It’s a trap’?” the Daoists asked angrily.
“It wasn’t us!” the Confucians retorted immediately.
“Nor was it this humble monk,” the Buddhists replied serenely, hands together.
“Then…” The Daoists looked at each other, and shook their heads in unison.
“Could it have been a ghost?” one Daoist joked, wiping the sweat from his brow as he pulled out his phone to contact headquarters.
But on his screen appeared a huge skull icon that wouldn’t go away no matter what he did.
“Damn it, my phone’s been hacked!” the Daoist exclaimed.
“Don’t get so worked up!” the Confucian disciples snapped, reflexively checking their own phones.
Moments later, they too erupted in anger: “Damn it, mine’s hacked too!”
“So is this humble monk’s…”
Before anyone could figure out what was happening, a shadow dropped from above, and a mechanical katana slashed down hard on the crown of a Confucian disciple’s head.