A raging wind howled.
Rain poured in torrents.
Slanted droplets struck the glass with relentless force, the splashing water blurring the silhouette of the person inside.
The figure was that of a man in a dark grey overcoat. He was thin, with slightly curly hair and well-defined features, but his face looked haggard. Heavy dark circles sagged beneath bloodshot eyes.
He stared intently at the digital clock in front of him, silently counting down with the numbers flashing on the screen.
"58… 57…"
This might very well be the countdown to the end of his life.
The man's name was Wu Xian, a third-rate private detective. This cramped space was his makeshift office. He usually took on trivial gigs—catching cheaters, exposing affairs, snapping photos of celebrities, buying train tickets for clients—whatever paid the bills.
But those were just odd jobs to keep his household running. The case he had truly devoted himself to, the one he had pursued relentlessly, was an investigation commissioned by a mysterious employer.
It was called the "Blessed Land Case."
An unfathomable mystery—global in scope, with an alarming number of people disappearing without a trace. The victims came from all walks of life, selected seemingly at random. A massive disappearance case of unprecedented scale.
According to the data Wu Xian and his fellow detectives had compiled, the number of people who vanished each year because of this case was terrifyingly high.
Yet, strangely enough, the world's population balance remained steady. Social order held firm. There was barely any media coverage, no public outcry, and few calls to investigate.
To Wu Xian's knowledge, only their ragtag team of hired sleuths had dared to look into it.
But as their investigation deepened, his teammates began to disappear one by one. Those who remained quit in fear, as if they had seen ghosts.
In the end, only Wu Xian persisted.
And now—today—it was his turn.
Yesterday at noon, he received a text message.
The sender's name: "City God of Fuyuan."
The message: "You will enter the Blessed Land at midnight on February 26. Please prepare accordingly."
His former teammates had received similar messages. Most of them had vanished. The few who hadn't were too afraid to continue.
"27… 26…"
The time ticked closer.
Fear shimmered in Wu Xian's eyes—but more than that, there was excitement, anticipation.
Unlike the others, he wasn't in it for money. He had no missing loved ones. No grand ideals. Just a burning, uncontrollable curiosity—an obsession, even—with the Blessed Land Case.
He had wasted three years on it. Poured everything he had into the investigation. His health had deteriorated. He'd exhausted every resource, every ounce of brainpower.
And now, finally, he was about to see the truth with his own eyes.
His shabby little office was rigged with twenty-eight surveillance cameras and over a hundred hidden traps. In his hand, he clutched a trigger. If he pressed it, the pre-planted explosives would blow the whole place sky-high.
With all these precautions, he was certain—no one could take him without a trace.
"Let's see what trick you're going to pull—hypnosis, drugs, cyborgs, high-tech gadgets… hell, maybe even aliens."
3… 2… 1.
Click.
All the lights went out at once. The monitor dissolved into static.
The last thing Wu Xian saw was a pair of pitch-black hands reaching from the shadows, covering his eyes.
"Damn… This is way more insane than I thought."
Cold crept into his bones, paralyzing him before he could press the switch. Regret surged through him.
"I should've prepared some talismans or something…"
Click.
The lights came back on. The room was empty.
The remote control lay forgotten beneath the chair.
Cold hands withdrew.
Wu Xian opened his eyes and looked around.
He was no longer in his office.
Instead, he stood in a vast, pitch-black wasteland.
Three colossal statues surrounded him. Red candles flickered before them, casting a dim glow in the center. Beyond that, everything was swallowed by darkness.
In his hands were two objects he hadn't held before.
In his left hand, a burning stick of incense.
In his right, a booklet titled:
"Register of the Chosen."
Opening to the first page, he read:
"Chosen One Wu Xian, you have arrived in the Blessed Land. Please choose a deity to worship. Divine protection is the key to survival here."
The booklet contained six more pages:
Talismans, Divine Abilities, Sacred Artifacts, Blessings, Curses, Miscellaneous Items.
He flipped through each.
Only the Blessings and Miscellaneous pages had entries.
On the Blessings page, a line of glowing green text read:
Blessing of an Unknown Immortal: [Trinity Split] — Receive two additional reward choices when selecting divine gifts.
The Miscellaneous page listed two items:
Register of the Chosen: Proof of identity for Blessed Land entrants. Required for access.
Incense of Reverence — an ordinary-looking stick of incense, used for worshiping the gods.
Wu Xian carefully read every word written in the Register of the Chosen, finding it all absurd. After three years of relentless investigation… was the truth really something supernatural?
And yet, deep inside, he felt a strange sense of relief.
This place—it felt… good. Comfortable, even. Like a weary traveler returning home after years of struggle, finally stepping back into the warmth of his hometown. A place where he could finally lay down his burdens.
Suddenly, Wu Xian noticed something unsettling.
Movement—subtle, but growing—was stirring in the darkness behind the statues. Crimson eyes began to appear one by one, glowing ominously as they crept closer. In his hand, the incense burned faster, its smoke curling urgently into the air.
What happens when the incense finishes burning?
His gaze snapped toward the three statues before him.
One wore flowing yellow robes, its head adorned with a ceremonial crown. Its limbs and features were indistinct, blurred by radiant light. The robe was covered in dense script, ancient Chinese characters written in small, neat rows.
The second resembled a beast, with black fur and bony spikes protruding from its body. Twin dark horns curled into the shape of a crown upon its head.
The third was a mosaic of dozens of blue, translucent orbs. A glowing halo hovered above it like a crown, and within each orb floated a mysterious, divine artifact.
Before each statue stood an altar table, bearing two red candles and a single incense burner.
There was no doubt—these statues held meaning. Power. But the incense was burning too quickly; there was no time to overthink. Wu Xian stepped forward and planted the stick into the burner before the yellow-robed statue.
There wasn't any particular reason for his choice—only that this one looked the most human.
The moment the incense was placed, the other two statues vanished, and the tension in the shadows receded. Smoke from the incense drifted upward, swirling into three talismanic symbols above the altar table.
"Three talismans… is this the effect of the Blessing of Trinity Split? I was only supposed to get one!"
Wu Xian held his hand just above the smoky talismans. As he did, streams of information flooded into his mind.
Truefire Talisman – Summons a burst of real flame. Uses remaining: [3/3]
Defilement Rune – Imbues an item with a trace of "filth." Can corrupt or disable spiritual artifacts. Consumed after use.
Doublecast Charm – The next non-doublecast talisman will trigger twice. Uses remaining: [2/2]
Wu Xian had no idea where or how to use these talismans—or how effective they were—but he knew one thing: he had to choose before the incense finished burning.
"Doublecast requires another talisman to combo with… Defilement sounds kind of dirty… I'll go with Truefire!"
He reached into the smoky projection of the Truefire Talisman, and a yellow charm materialized in his fingers. The other two talismans dissolved into nothingness.
As soon as the selection was made, the final statue disappeared as well.
Wu Xian pinched the charm between his fingers, examining it and wondering how exactly one used it.
But before he could figure it out, a pair of dark, icy hands emerged from behind him—and once again covered his eyes. The cold surged through him, even deeper than before.
And faintly, almost like a whisper in his mind, he heard a chant:
"Praise the Mother of Anomaly,
Offer flesh and bone,
Blind the eyes to save the soul,
Clap hands to honor the master…"