Chen Mo was woken by the subway station announcement.
He was curled up in the corner of the last train, and the bloodstains seeping from the hem of his suit bloomed into dark patterns on the seat fabric. His phone screen was shattered into a spiderweb, and the top right corner showed 00:47—only four hours had passed since the Bronze Box incident.
A pale blue light screen reading "Repair Progress 37%" hovered before his eyes. This thing was more drop-resistant than an iPhone. Chen Mo touched the scabbed wound on his lower back. The sensation of the system repairing his body with data streams felt like someone pouring liquid nitrogen into his bone marrow.
"Next stop, Chaoyangmen." The mechanical female voice echoed through the empty carriage. Chen Mo's fingertip had just touched the bronze fragment in his pocket when a blood-red warning suddenly exploded across his retina:
"Warning: Foundation Establishment Stage cultivator approaching."
"Distance: 200 meters."
In the reflection of the train window, a flap of cyan clothing flashed past behind a platform pillar. Chen Mo shoved the blood-stained payslip into his document holder—it was the only thing he had managed to take from the manager's office in the chaos, and Wang Defa's signed "voluntary resignation agreement" was still stained with brown blood.
The moment the subway doors were about to close, he squeezed his way out. Behind him came the alarm of the turnstiles being forcibly breached, and the cleaning lady on the escalator was still muttering, "These young people nowadays, doing cosplay to the point where even the security uniforms..."
Chen Mo's Oxford shoes slipped on the anti-slip strip. The system suddenly marked an escape route on his retina, with bright red arrows pointing toward the emergency stairwell. When he slammed open the fire exit leading to the surface, the scene under the neon lights made his breath catch.
Where an office building should have been stood an ornate memorial archway, and the neon sign of a "Pawnshop" was soaked in a sea of blood. A man in a blue cloth tunic squatted atop a stone lion's head, the jade pendant at his waist and the compass in his hand resonating with a humming sound.
"Fellow Daoist, why hide?" The man flicked his ponytail, and the moonlight illuminated the dark patterns on his cuffs—they were identical to the Taotie patterns on the Bronze Box.
Chen Mo took half a step back, his back pressing against the cold display window. Countless pale arms suddenly stretched out from the inside of the glass, and the model holding a hamburger on the fast-food poster was now smiling at him with empty eye sockets.
"Recommendation: Enable basic functions of Xuanming Mirror."
The instant the bronze fragment grew hot in his palm, the world suddenly lost its color. Chen Mo saw a deep blue flame leaping at the Dantian of the cyan-robed cultivator, and the core of those ghost hands was the black Qi entangling the archway. When he instinctively punched in a certain direction, the sound of cracking porcelain suddenly echoed through the void.
"Impossible!" The cultivator spat a mouthful of black blood, and the compass in his hand shattered into pieces. Chen Mo seized the opportunity to rush into the bakery at the end of the alley, knocking over the baguettes on the promotional stand.
The cashier was wearing earphones and scrolling through short videos, completely oblivious to the compass fragments rolling to her feet. Chen Mo crouched behind the refrigerated display case, watching the cultivator pace anxiously outside the shop door—that man seemed unable to see the glass door right in front of him.
"Remaining duration of Primary Invisibility Talisman: 02:59"
Chen Mo's gaze fell on the price list, where a 28-yuan strawberry cake was marked "Birthday Special." He suddenly remembered that today he was supposed to go to the bank to deal with his overdue mortgage. If he hadn't been dragged into this nightmare, he might be sitting in a convenience store right now eating clearance-item bento boxes.
The Xuanming Mirror in his trouser pocket suddenly vibrated. When Chen Mo touched the mirror surface with his scab-covered fingers, the reflection in the refrigerated case's glass was no longer his own—a little girl in a hospital gown was pressing her face against the cabinet door, with black chains wrapped around her neck.
"Big brother can see me?" Her voice sounded like a rusted radio. "An uncle with gold-rimmed glasses asked me to give you this."
In a palm frosted with ice lay half of a yellowed payslip. Written in Chen Mo's own handwriting: July 2023, overtime pay deduction amount: .5 yuan. Yet the blood-colored talisman on the reverse side was identical to the patterns on the Bronze Box.
"Karma contract detected."
"Task updated: Rescue the resentful spirit (Remaining time: 11:59:59)"
Sirens wailed from near and far, the blue light of police beacons piercing the street. Cursing, the cultivator formed hand seals and fled using an escape art. When Chen Mo rushed out the back door, he heard the dull thud of a heavy object hitting the ground—a figure was in free fall from the office building's rooftop, Wang Defa's gold tooth flashing a final arc of light in the night sky.
His phone vibrated at that moment. Above a collection text message from the bank lay a message sent by his landlord ten minutes ago: "Little Chen, your girlfriend just moved all her luggage away, saying it's some kind of... pre-marriage anxiety?"
Chen Mo aimed the Xuanming Mirror at the site of the fatal fall. Wang Defa in the pool of blood suddenly twitched and climbed to his feet, flashing a eerie grin at him with his neck bent at a right angle. His phone screen was still lit with the call log: the most recent contact showed "Professor Liu," and the call duration was precisely the day the Bronze Box was delivered to the auction house.
"Resentment pollution level: Grade C Upper"
"Immediate purification recommended."
Chen Mo turned and dashed into the subway station. The last train was pulling into the station, its windows densely plastered with pale faces, and the payslips of those passengers fluttered inside the carriage like soul-calling banners. He gripped the warm bronze fragment in his pocket, suddenly hearing the system prompt:
"Newcomer gift pack has reached critical trigger conditions."
"Claim or not: (Y/N)"
The draft wind in the tunnel swept up someone's muttered complaints: "Mortgage... betrothal gift... school district housing..." Chen Mo pressed the virtual confirmation key amidst the wails of those who had jumped onto the tracks. As the train roared past, he saw the reflection on the glass window give him a thumbs-up.