Lin Shen's fingers still held the blank paper slip, its edges soaked through, the ink smeared into a grey blot. Just as he was about to turn it over, the palm of his right hand suddenly felt a searing heat, and the Iron Tattoo on it twitched as if alive.
The System interface popped up silently, two crimson characters hovering in the center of his vision: 【WARNING】.
There was no audio alert, no vibration feedback—the System could no longer actively speak after its energy was depleted, relying solely on visual prompts. But this single word was more glaring than any alarm.
He looked up towards the dormitory door.
The liquid seeping from under the door crack had dried, leaving behind a dark red smear, like someone had wiped it with a cloth but hadn't cleaned it thoroughly. On the center of the door panel was a blood-red handprint, fingers spread wide, the palm lines twisted and deformed, as if still wriggling slowly.
Lin Shen held his breath, tucked the paper slip into his inner jacket pocket, and his left hand stealthily reached for the iron nails in his pocket. The instant his fingertips touched the cool metal, the Iron Tattoo on his palm twitched again.
It wasn't an illusion.
This blood handprint was aimed at him, some kind of mark, like a brand a hunter puts on prey.
He took half a step back, wanting to increase the distance to observe, but as soon as he moved, his chest suddenly felt heavy, as if a chilling aura poured straight down his nostrils. He gritted his teeth and stabilized himself, resting his right hand on the wall, his knuckles turning white.
He couldn't retreat.
The tattered scroll was still in his embrace; if he fled now, the Evil Cultivator would track him using the mark, and everyone in the building would be in danger. Chén Pàngzi was inside, and Yè Zhīqiū hadn't gone far yet.
He closed his eyes and pulled out the freshly carved Soul Suppressing Talisman from his pocket. The edge of the talisman paper was a bit rough; it was his first official Talisman, completed after three attempts using the virtual carving tool on iron nails. A faint blue light flickered, and a very subtle spiritual aura hovered on the surface of the talisman paper.
He placed the talisman on his chest, and the chill immediately receded by a degree.
"Alright," he whispered. "At least my mind can still function."
He raised his hand and lightly rapped three times on the door panel.
Knock, knock, knock.
There was no response from inside.
Suddenly, a shout came from the end of the hallway: "Bro Shēn! Behind you!"
It was Chén Pàngzi's voice, tinged with a sob.
Lin Shen spun around abruptly.
At some point, all the lights in the corridor had changed color, shifting from white to red, the light seeming as viscous as congealed blood. The dormitory doors on both sides were shut tight, and the peepholes on each door reflected the same dark red glare.
Even more bizarre were the mirrors on the wall.
There were four in total, originally just ordinary student dormitory mirrors, but now each one reflected his figure. However, the reflections remained still, their eyes vacant, each of them holding an iron nail and slowly raising their arms to aim at him outside the mirror.
One of the reflections grinned, a smile spreading across its face.
Lin Shen immediately closed his eyes.
Illusions often invade the sea of consciousness through visual input; he dared not gamble whether these shadows had physical substance. He sank his consciousness into the System, bringing up the virtual carving tool interface. A light blade appeared, and in his mind, he reconstructed the structure of the Talisman from the tattered Taiping Jing, comparing each stroke.
Horizontal as the guide, vertical as the lock, the bends concealing the intent to break sha—this was the core trajectory of the Soul Suppressing Talisman. If it was indeed a collective hallucination triggered by the resonance of Yin Fiends, the Talisman's path would resonate with the environmental fluctuations.
As expected.
When he was simulating the third stroke, a faint tremor echoed in his sea of consciousness, as if something had been touched.
He opened his eyes sharply, pulled out the Soul Suppressing Talisman, and took a step towards the nearest mirror, raising his hand to slap the talisman paper onto it.
The instant the talisman paper touched the mirror surface, a blue light exploded, and a ghostly green flame ignited along the runes. The reflection in the mirror let out a piercing shriek, its body twisting and deforming, its features elongating, finally coalescing into an unfamiliar face—gaunt, pale, its mouth split open to the ears, its eyes devoid of pupils, only a patch of murky grey.
"The game has just begun..." the face said, its voice sounding as if it came from the bottom of a well.
Before the words fell, the mirror surface shattered with a roar. As the fragments hit the ground, they turned into black ash and scattered with the wind.
Lin Shen gasped, cold sweat beading on his forehead. This strike had depleted his already limited mental energy, and the Iron Tattoo on his palm began to ooze blood, trickling down along the lines.
"Bro Shēn!" Chén Pàngzi scrambled over, his face pale, holding the Peach Wood Handled Selfie Stick in front of him as a shield. "I... I wasn't looking at anything else, I kept my head down... but it appeared on my phone screen too!"
He tremblingly raised his phone. The screen was black, but the residual image lingered, replaying the scene he had just witnessed—countless Lin Shens walking towards him from all directions, iron nails dripping blood in their hands.
Lin Shen didn't reply, his gaze sweeping over the other three mirrors.
They had all returned to normal reflections, showing his exhausted figure. But he knew this was only a temporary suppression.
The real Evil Cultivator had yet to show himself.
Just as he was about to speak, a jingle suddenly sounded in his ear.
Clear and melodious, yet devoid of any warmth.
Yè Zhīqiū stood at the other end of the corridor, the hem of her moon-white robe fluttering in the wind, a bronze bell on her waist jingling softly. She strode over, her eyes falling on the pile of black ash on the ground.
"Don't touch anything that falls," she said, her voice calm. "That's the catalyst for the 'Inverted Five Elements'; if you touch even a bit of it, you'll be pulled into the formation's core."
Lin Shen nodded, asking no further questions. He knew she wouldn't appear without reason; she must have sensed something.
"Can you break it?" he asked.
"Yes, but I need to find its true form first." She stared at the mirrors. "He's using multiple projections to disrupt spatial perception; the real point of attack isn't here."
As soon as she finished speaking, the last intact mirror suddenly cracked.
A bronze bell flew out from within.
Ancient and mottled, its clapper long gone, its surface engraved with a reversed Eight Trigrams diagram. It hovered in mid-air, spinning slightly, then let out a resonant hum.
Lin Shen's ears throbbed, and the floor tiles beneath his feet suddenly cracked, spiderweb-like fissures spreading rapidly, extending all the way to the center of the corridor. Bricks and stones lifted, revealing the earth below, and a complete Eight Trigrams pattern slowly emerged, with red and black halos glowing in the positions of the Yin and Yang eyes.
"This is bad," Yè Zhīqiū said softly. "The illusion formation has taken shape."
Lin Shen summoned his strength, his right hand clenched, his will probing into the dormitory room. The screws of the bed frame loosened, and three iron nails popped out from between the mattress layers, flying into the air and forming a triangle, piercing towards the three sides of the bronze bell.
The bronze bell vibrated violently, emitting a piercing screech.
He gritted his teeth, maintaining his Iron Control state, even as blood flowed from his palm. If he could just hold on for one more second, he could seal the bell.
But just as the iron nails were about to hit, the bronze bell suddenly exploded.
An impact wave swept out, the entire building shaking violently, plaster falling from the ceiling, and light tubes in the corridor bursting one after another. The cracks in the floor expanded, the Eight Trigrams diagram lit up completely, faint pillars of light appearing at the eight cardinal directions, enveloping the entire space.
From a distance came the screams of students, chaotic footsteps, someone trying to rush upstairs but being repelled by an invisible barrier.
Lin Shen knelt on one knee, supporting himself with his left hand to avoid falling. He looked up at the center of the Eight Trigrams diagram, where nothing was visible, yet it seemed to hold a pair of eyes.
"You... cannot escape this small space," laughter echoed from all directions, directionless, its authenticity unknown.
Yè Zhīqiū retreated to the stairwell, taking out the Yin-Yang Mirror but not unfolding it. She stared at the center of the formation, her brows furrowed.
"The formation's core is moving," she said softly. "It's waiting for us to make a move."
Lin Shen wiped the blood from his face and took out half of a Sha Breaking Talisman from his embrace. This was his last trump card, not yet fully inscribed, its edges still blank.
He didn't speak, merely clutched the talisman tightly in his hand.
Chén Pàngzi slumped by the dormitory door, the selfie stick horizontal in front of him, his hands gripping it tightly, his eyes fixed on the cracks in the floor. He saw, beneath the Kan position of the Eight Trigrams, something moving in the soil, like a rope, or like... a finger.
Lin Shen slowly stood up, the Iron Tattoo on his right palm faintly bleeding from the excessive use of his sea of consciousness, dripping onto the talisman paper and smearing a corner.