By the bonfire.
Chen Mu held up his right hand before his eyes.
Truthful Listening!
Hum!
A fist-sized black sphere emerged in the palm of his hand.
With a thought, the black sphere suddenly expanded and dispersed. Centering on Chen Mu, it swept through the dense forest like a breeze.
At the same time, an image in black and white appeared in his mind.
In the heart of the camp, Song Wujie rested with closed eyes; Liang Yi fiddled with some unknown potion; Mo Wuzhou cultivated with closed eyes.
Two miles east, a slowly writhing snake on a big tree.
Five miles south, a pig rabbit with more than half its body buried in the mud, only its legs kicking on the outside.
Above in the sky, an owl glided silently with a wingspan of one meter.
Even the Cold Moon Toad hidden underground could be faintly discerned.
After ten breaths, the image shattered and vanished.
"What a great Secret Technique," Chen Mu marvelled.
"Just a bit taxing on the spirit."