The blood-stained rope of the woman in red—the very instrument that had taken her life—was steeped in malevolence. It held a sinister power: the moment Wu Xian looked up, the rope would lash out on its own, loop around his neck, and hang him just as it had once suspended her.
But as long as he kept his gaze low, the rope remained bound to her neck, far tougher than any ordinary hemp cord.
So—
Caught off guard, the woman in red had her neck snapped on the spot. Her body jerked violently, thrashing like a giant catfish hauled from water. Only then did she seem to remember she could control the rope herself. In a panic, she loosened it and crashed to the ground.
"I... cough... want to eat you forev—"
Before she could finish her sentence, Wu Xian rolled aside and sprang back, thumb pressing against his middle finger.
He snapped his fingers.
True Fire Talisman!
The red-clad ghost was still fumbling to straighten her head. Her unnaturally long tongue retracted in segments, like a snake slinking into its burrow. Just as the final length slipped back into her mouth—and before she could even close it—a streak of brilliant flame shot straight into her gaping jaws.
Terror twisted across her otherwise beautiful, death-pale face.
"Forever... forever…"
The blinding fire erupted from within, engulfing her body from the inside out. It burned with a sickly yellow hue, not overly hot, but utterly consuming. Strangely, nothing else in the room caught flame.
She writhed silently in agony, mouth open in a scream that made no sound—yet Wu Xian felt his eardrums ache as if pierced by invisible needles.
Clutching his ears, he slowly stood and cracked a grin.
"So there are real ghosts in this Blessed Land… But wasn't she a bit too weak?"
If everything in this cursed realm was only at this level, it wouldn't explain why all his fellow detectives had vanished. More likely, this long-tongued hanging ghost was just a low-level creature—a roadside horror, nothing more.
As the flames finally died down, all that remained was a dark red incense stick.
Wu Xian picked it up but didn't inspect it yet. Instead, he pressed an ear to the door, listening.
"Please… someone help me! I'm—"
The voice of that same woman rang out again. She was still knocking, still trying to lure other residents into opening their doors.
Which meant the brief fight had gone unnoticed.
Wu Xian exhaled in relief. "She's not even good at pretending. Hopefully there's no fool out there who'll actually open the—"
Creak.
Room 405's door slowly swung open.
Lu Yuzhu had opened the door in joy, hoping to find a fellow survivor to weather the storm together.
She, too, had witnessed the earlier bloodshed—but unlike Wu Xian, her heart lacked his resilience. Fear had already cracked her resolve. She was desperate for someone—anyone—to help her shoulder the terror.
Standing outside was a middle-aged woman in a black-and-white floral dress. Her face was streaked with blood, her expression panicked, and there was a bloody gash on her forehead.
But—she was alive!
Lu Yuzhu reached out like a drowning person clutching at a lifeline. "Come in quickly, I can't stand being alone anymore—"
Her voice froze mid-sentence.
Because the woman standing before her was nothing like what she had seen through the peephole.
Yu Yinghua stood at the threshold, drenched and caked in half-dried, gray concrete. Blood and mud mingled grotesquely on her face. Her eyes were swollen, vacant. Her mouth—stuffed full of sludge—curled into a terrifying smile.
"Dear girl, you really are a good person. And good people… always get what they deserve."
With those words, Yu Yinghua dropped to the floor and slithered away like a lizard, contorting across the corridor. Her limbs bent in impossible directions—no longer human. Behind her, she left streaks of ashen, watery sludge.
Lu Yuzhu's face turned deathly pale. Her expression went blank as she slowly shut the door, stumbled back to the bed, lay down, pulled the blanket over herself—and gave a hollow, senseless laugh.
And then she slept.
Her mind had snapped. She could no longer face reality.
…
Time passed. In her dreams, Lu Yuzhu felt a wave of warmth.
She was soaring through the sky, drifting among the clouds. Sunshine kissed her skin, and her heart felt light, peaceful. Her eyelids fluttered.
"Ah… so it really was a nightmare. I'm awake now. It's all over."
Smiling in relief, she opened her eyes—only to see a large, pale-blue hand.
The hand forced her mouth open and shoved in a funnel-shaped object. A warm, gritty liquid began to pour down her throat.
"No! Let me go! Help—mmph! Mmm—!"
Lu Yuzhu struggled with all her might, but her limbs had been pinned. Only her head could move. Compared to that massive hand, she was no more powerful than a baby chick.
The liquid was thick, grainy, and reeked of soil. It scalded her mouth and throat.
That "warmth" she'd felt earlier—was actually cement burning her skin.
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, merging into the concrete and vanishing without a trace.
…
Dawn broke.
Just the faintest hint of sunlight peeked over the horizon.
Wu Xian climbed out of bed, pulled back the curtain slightly, and peered outside.
The morning light was far from refreshing—just a dull, suffocating gray. The entire city looked drowned in ash. The streets were empty. Abandoned cars lay scattered at odd angles. Dried blood stained the pavement and walls in dark, rust-colored smears.
This was no dream.
This was the Blessed Land.
On the billboard of the building across the street, a male corpse hung limply, his abdominal cavity hollow and gaping.
He seemed to sense Wu Xian's gaze. The body lifted its head stiffly, extended a bloated tongue, and licked its yellow-black, decaying teeth—jerking spasmodically in Wu Xian's direction.
A chill ran down Wu Xian's spine. He rubbed his lips and muttered, "Maybe it's time to brush my teeth."
He'd once been consumed by an inexplicable obsession with the Blessed Land case—so much so that he'd pushed himself past exhaustion, eating irregularly, reversing his days and nights, and living at a standard even South American plantation masters might've considered inhumane.
But since entering the Blessed Land, though the dangers were undoubtedly greater, he felt… strangely at peace. That suffocating obsession had vanished. He no longer felt the urge to punish himself.
He'd spent most of the previous night in a shallow, restless sleep. He knew how dangerous sleep could be here—he'd seen enough already. But better to catch some rest while alert than collapse at the wrong moment from sheer exhaustion.
Still, even sleep brought no calm.
Outside the door, there had been a constant, sandpapery scraping sound. At intervals, someone knocked—always a woman—asking questions with varying tones and excuses. Wu Xian ignored them all.
Around 3 a.m., he heard it.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor—each one slow and deliberate. They halted outside one of the rooms.
Then came a thunderous crash, followed by a muffled wail of agony.
It was clear now: there were two monsters prowling the midnight halls.
One was the woman named Yu Yinghua, who appeared every night by midnight, wandering the corridor, obsessively trying to sniff out the scent of the living.
The other was something much larger. Its footsteps were heavier, louder. It emerged around 3 a.m., and the previous night, it had forced open a door… and slaughtered the person inside.
Understanding the patterns and behaviors of these two entities would be crucial to surviving within the Blessed Land.
Wu Xian wasn't naïve enough to believe either of these creatures would go down as easily as the hanging woman, dispatched with a single True Fire Talisman.
He was deep in thought when his expression suddenly changed.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door was being knocked on again.
But this time, the sound was different from the ones at midnight.