Sam and Dean exchanged a glance but did not ask further.
They had long grown accustomed to Wu Heng's elusive comings and goings and mysterious way of doing things.
They had almost blind trust in Wu Heng's abilities and judgment, though they sometimes felt uncomfortable with some of his overly ruthless methods.
"Alright. Keep in touch." Sam nodded.
Wu Heng left the motel alone. Some things truly were not suitable to do in front of the Winchester Brothers.
They had firm moral boundaries. They were the kind of "good people" who strove to hold onto the light even in darkness. Even after being turned into demons, their souls twisted, they still relied on instinctive willpower to preserve that final shred of kindness.
Wu Heng appreciated that quality and was willing to work with people like them, but that did not mean he would allow himself to be constrained by it.
His path was destined to be more direct, and more... unscrupulous.
With senses far beyond those of an ordinary person, Wu Heng moved through the city streets like the most precise bloodhound.
He was searching for a particular "scent"—not sulfur, nor the stench of decay, but a nauseating spiritual filth mixed with hypocritical piety, greedy material desire, and dirty lust.
Half an hour later, he found an old-looking community church at the end of a relatively quiet street.
The church itself was fairly tidy, but an indescribably thick spiritual pollution seeped out from within, even spreading into the surrounding streets.
"This is the place." Wu Heng lowered the brim of his hat, put on a mask, and walked straight in.
The church interior was dimly lit, and the light filtering through the stained-glass windows looked murky.
A middle-aged man with meticulously combed hair and neatly pressed priestly robes was coming