Even if Tang Minghao had arrived, he shouldn't have rushed straight to the Grand Canyon; after all, our equipment wasn't ready, and besides, I still had things to ask Zhuoma Yangjin about—perhaps even the High Priest, to find out what Hu Bugui meant by a failed experiment. My intuition told me this was a crucial clue.

But Eighty-Seven flatly refused. The moment I was back to normal, he pulled me away from Zhuoma Yangjin. In his own words, he was terrified that my "bestial nature" might erupt and cause me to topple the dignified King of the Guge Kingdom, a consequence he couldn't bear responsibility for.

Hearing Eighty-Seven say this, Zhuoma Yangjin didn't press to keep me alone, but she still joined us for dinner and conversation. Though not overly familiar with me, she was at least comfortable in our company.

Tang Minghao wouldn't arrive in Nyingchi until evening, and that Fifth Brother had naturally returned to Yunnan. I was intensely curious about the personnel Eighty-Seven had arranged, so my conversation inevitably drifted toward inquiring about his subordinates. Eighty-Seven kept deftly avoiding the topic until, seeing my persistent interest, he couldn't deflect any longer. He sighed, "Kid, you've got quite the curious streak, but you're aiming your curiosity at the wrong target." He slowly blew on his left thumb, as if dusting it, carefully brushing away an imaginary speck before slowly continuing, "That Hu Bugui—he is the one you should truly be focusing on."

Zhuoma Yangjin knew very little about Hu Bugui. Could he possibly know—ah, right, I forgot he was Eighty-Seven. "You know a lot about him?"

Eighty-Seven turned to look at me, adopting the diligent air of a small merchant, and chuckled good-naturedly, "What if I told you he is immortal, and that some of his experiences might mirror yours? Would you believe me?"

I burst out laughing. "Haha! Like mine? Was he a soldier? Immortal? Do you think this is some cheap mythological novel? Where anyone can claim to be an immortal? Science tells us everyone dies. Every life has an end."

Forty-Three, Thirty-Eight, and Old Li, who were nearby, all voiced their disbelief. However, Zhuoma Yangjin remained silent, her brow deeply furrowed, and asked me, "You don't believe it?"

I recalled the concept of reincarnation they held dear. If I outright disagreed, it might offend her, so I quickly backtracked: "N-no, it's not that. It's just that I don't know that much, so from the limited knowledge I possess, that's how it appears."

Zhuoma Yangjin countered, "Then what about the doctor Ciren who appeared, and the extra memories in your head?"

I froze. Those were concrete things that had actually happened. Could it be that Hu Bugui really was immortal? But... he was just a Han Chinese man. How could he be connected to the reincarnation beliefs of Zhuoma Yangjin and the others? This seemed to have deeper roots than I imagined.

Before I could process it, a sudden, chaotic roar erupted from outside—men, women, old and young, shrieking in panic in various languages.

Something was wrong! I rushed to the window and saw a large crowd sprinting madly through the street below us, heading toward our building. Forty-Three tossed me a gun: "Take this! Act as you see fit!"

"What is happening downstairs?" Zhuoma Yangjin asked, flustered.

Eighty-Seven said gravely, "Trouble. Perhaps hostile agents are causing unrest."

Before his words faded, a familiar figure appeared behind the crowd: tall, broad, shouting loudly in Tibetan, chasing the people like a drover herding sheep. "Tang Minghao! How could it be him!" Old Li and I exchanged looks.

Eighty-Seven also seemed unprepared to find Tang Minghao leading the charge, asking us uncertainly if it really was him. Once we confirmed it, for the first time, a look of true panic crossed his face: "Something has happened!"

My first thought was that Tang Minghao had turned into a monster. "What do we do, Old Li?"

Old Li's face was grim. "Act as we see fit."

Everyone understood the meaning of those words: if he had truly mutated, no matter who he was, we would have to kill him.

"Princess, Princess!" In an instant, Wangmu burst in with her own people. Her face was ashen. She grabbed Zhuoma Yangjin, who was near me, and tried to pull her out. "Princess, something terrible has happened! Come back with me!"

Zhuoma Yangjin gripped my arm tightly, preventing Wangmu from dragging her away, and sharply commanded, "What is so urgent that you lose all composure!"

Wangmu looked at me pleadingly. "Luo Lian, please, let the Princess go! Something huge has happened; the Buddha is weeping, and chaos is about to engulf the world! Nyingchi is the first place affected. I must ensure the Princess's safety. Please, let her leave!"

I stared at the frantic Wangmu, bewildered. "Are you saying Tang Minghao has mutated?"

Wangmu ignored me and pleaded again with Zhuoma Yangjin to leave quickly, insisting she must return to the palace to maintain order.

In moments, deafening human noise rose from below—women screaming, children crying, people loudly chanting Buddhist verses, and hotel staff desperately trying to calm everyone down. Soon, someone dressed as staff ascended and reported to Eighty-Seven that the people downstairs were determined to storm the second floor, asking for instructions. All hotel security had been deployed but couldn't hold them back, especially since Tang Minghao was relentlessly pushing them upward—anyone who lagged even slightly, he would grab, attempting to bite their arms and faces!

Hearing this, a surge of hot blood rushed to my head. "This is intolerable! Old Li, let's go down; we'll deal with him first."

Old Li hesitated for a second, then raised his gun and charged down with me.

Indeed, the hotel lobby was filled with terrified people of all types—about two hundred individuals, Tibetans, Han Chinese, and foreign tourists alike—all screaming for their lives. The hotel security guards linked arms, forming a human barrier to hold them in the lobby as much as possible, but they were being driven back with nowhere to retreat by Tang Minghao alone, forcing them to desperately shove the guards toward the stairs.

"Bang!" I fired a shot into the air, hitting a small chandelier directly overhead. The chandelier instantly shattered into fragments that scattered everywhere, followed by a thick, acrid smell of burning. The crowd flinched, momentarily stunned by the display. I seized the opportunity and shouted loudly, "Don't be afraid, everyone! Calm down! Don't crowd upward; the upper floor can't hold many people. If you push up, it’ll be a death trap!"

As I spoke, Eighty-Seven arrived with Forty-Three and Thirty-Eight. The three of them stood before me and Old Li, shouldering submachine guns, their auras radiating lethal intent as they stared down the crowd. Intimidated by their presence, the crowd immediately fell silent. Of course, Eighty-Seven wouldn't actually shoot them; it was merely a scare tactic, but it was the only way to control the situation.

"Go! Bring Tang Minghao to me!" Eighty-Seven ordered Old Li and me. Two security guards immediately opened a gap for us to pass. The crowd started to stir; those in front hesitated and backed away. Just as the situation seemed resolvable, the damned Tang Minghao, completely insane, shouted, "You are killing them! Li Zeng, you are murdering people!" As he spoke, he snatched a small Tibetan girl, perhaps six or seven years old, from the front of the crowd, lifted her high, and made a show of threatening to smash her to the ground. "Let them upstairs! The aura of the Fangyuan Ding is here; it can ward off that thing; otherwise, they will all die! Hurry! Or I will smash her!" He wasn't bluffing; as he spoke, he raised the little girl higher, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at us, waiting for us to give permission for the others to ascend, or he would not hesitate to smash her!

Eighty-Seven, standing behind us, sneered softly and murmured, "He thinks he can hold someone hostage with such meager tricks." Then, a palpable killing intent surged toward our backs. "Luo Lian, be careful and move aside a bit; cover me." Eighty-Seven had decided to shoot.

"Don't!" Old Li suddenly pleaded in a low voice. "Let me try to reason with him; he's my brother..."

Eighty-Seven said coldly, "One minute."

Old Li immediately shouted loudly to Tang Minghao, "Minghao, it's Li Zeng. Put her down. What's happened? What exactly are you trying to do?"

I also called for him to calm down, while simultaneously searching for the optimal shooting angle. If all else failed, I would have to strike first; at least I could try to save him. Eighty-Seven's submachine gun meant instant death, and by his posture, one shot would end Tang Minghao.

Tang Minghao yelled hoarsely, "I am saving them! Saving people! You must let them all go upstairs! Keep everyone on the second floor! Otherwise, when those things attack, they will all perish! There's no time, are you letting them go or not! If not, I'll smash her immediately!"

His agitation was extreme, and the crowd began to surge again, trying to push upward. Eighty-Seven's voice boomed like a thunderclap: "If you move again, I will shoot!" As he spoke, the faint sound of a bullet being chambered could be heard.

Tang Minghao, being a former soldier, was acutely aware of such dense killing intent. "You will be the death of them!" He carefully set the little girl down on the ground, stamped his foot, and turned to walk out. After two steps, he stopped angrily, shouting for me and Old Li to follow him, claiming that Eighty-Seven and his group were untrustworthy and wouldn't save lives.

The crowd, which had quieted slightly, became even more agitated by his words and insisted on rushing upstairs. Just then, someone began reciting Tibetan prayers from behind us and walked down—it was Zhuoma Yangjin's voice. Her tone was crisp and loud, possessing a penetrating quality like metal and stone. Many Tibetans present fell silent upon hearing her words, then slowly sat down on the floor, chanting along with her—it was a scripture.

With this shift, the entire situation immediately fell under our control. Zhuoma Yangjin stood at the front, reciting loudly, her face solemn as she sat on the floor. I realized she was wearing an extraordinarily ornate Tibetan robe; people in the crowd who recognized it gasped in awe.

The Tibetans in the throng immediately prostrated themselves in reverence.

What remained were only a few dozen foreigners and Han Chinese, about forty or fifty people in total, who were very easy to placate.

Tang Minghao was also stunned, staring wide-eyed at Zhuoma Yangjin. After a long moment, he remembered to ask us, "Li Zeng, Luo Lian, why didn't you tell us the Guge Princess was here!"

Before I could answer, Eighty-Seven sneered coldly, aimed his submachine gun at Tang Minghao, and said, "You explain yourself first."

I was also puzzled. How could he, by himself, herd one or two hundred people—including strong young men—into the hotel lobby, making them so disorganized and panicked? No matter how strong he was, how could they all be chased so thoroughly?