The drive out of Milan stretched longer than usual—not because of distance, but because of the terrain. The city lights thinned, replaced by narrower roads that wound through darkened outskirts and heavily wooded patches. By the time the car slowed near its destination, even the faint trace of urban life had disappeared.
Ahead stood the residence of Grandmaster Wei Shewu.
It did not resemble a conventional estate.
It resembled a fortress.
High stone walls enclosed the property.
And inside it operated the Serpent clan—an organization that had survived decades not through power alone, but through absolute discretion.
The car came to a stop.
The guards approached immediately. They did not speak or ask questions; identification was never handled verbally in situations like this. Instead, they used pre-arranged signals and coded checks, exchanging them carefully. Only after everything was confirmed did the gates slowly open with a low, heavy sound.
Yang Lingyun stepped out.
