The bone-piercing, chilling aura instantly filled the entire bedroom. The red wedding curtains hung suspended in midair for a moment, then, as if violently yanked by an invisible hand, wildly rolled back toward the center of the formation.
The figure suspended in midair fully solidified.
Almost the instant he saw that face clearly, Yu Huaiting raised an eyebrow.
“Gloomy ghost?”
This face was the one from the black-and-white funeral portrait!
Hearing Yu Huaiting’s address, Fu Songcheng also guessed who this player before them was: the eldest daughter of the Lin family, already dead.
Before Fu Songcheng could speak, Yu Huaiting flipped his wrist, and the greatsword materialized in his palm out of thin air.
“Don’t care if you’re dead or not—I’ll send you on your way!”
Yu Huaiting’s body, previously sitting cross-legged on the floor, abruptly exploded upward. Both hands gripped the sword hilt, his waist surging with power, and with a terrifying howl that tore through the air, he swung a horizontal slash mercilessly at Chen Yu’s waist and abdomen in midair!
The sword was incredibly fast, carrying a whistling wind.
Chen Yu clearly hadn’t expected that Yu Huaiting—the one who’d trapped him—would attack the moment they met.
His body instinctively tried to float backward, but under Yu Huaiting’s storm-like assault, it was too late.
Shh—
Yu Huaiting’s sword passed straight through Chen Yu’s body without any obstruction.
The greatsword’s residual force slammed viciously into the step-up bed behind him, slicing the solid wooden bedposts clean in two like cutting tofu.
The bed curtains collapsed, wood chips flying everywhere.
“So he really is a ghost?”
Yu Huaiting steadied himself, looking at the completely unharmed Chen Yu—whose form had only dimmed for an instant—and regretfully slashed a few more times.
He hated this kind of monster most—no physical body, hits landing soft and mushy, immune to physical damage.
Taking advantage of the moment when Yu Huaiting had drawn all of Chen Yu’s attention, Fu Songcheng quietly retreated to the round table.
What he needed now was just the most basic, most practical talisman. Though he didn’t have Yu Huaiting’s clever mind or extraordinary talent, what Fu Songcheng wanted to do, he would always do well.
With his hands behind his back, Fu Songcheng picked up the weasel-hair brush and dipped it full of cinnabar.
He took a deep breath, casting all distracting thoughts from his mind, focusing all his attention on the brush tip.
A low-level “Tracking Talisman.”
The brush moved like a dragon and snake, completed in one breath.
The final stroke fell. The cinnabar on the yellow paper suddenly flickered eerily, taking on a faint dark red glow, then quickly settling back to calm.
It worked.
Fu Songcheng silently chanted the incantation at Chen Yu without showing anything, until the talisman paper caught fire on its own.
He closed his eyes and carefully sensed it—sure enough, somewhere in the unseen, he felt a faint, tenuous thread, one end connected to his palm, the other tied dead to Chen Yu, who was dodging the greatsword.
No matter where the other fled, as long as it was within this instance’s bounds, he could vaguely sense their direction.
“Keep guiding the soul.”
Fu Songcheng, who’d had almost no presence up to now, finally spoke.
Chen Yu’s form was still fading—not because of Yu Huaiting’s attacks, but because the formation wasn’t being maintained. They had to trap this person first.
“He’s bound by this formation, and physical attacks are useless. See if you have any items.”
Fu Songcheng analyzed rapidly in a low voice.
At the same time, he tilted his head slightly, quickly glancing at Yu Huaiting.
Chen Yu had just breathed a sigh of relief, preparing to seize the chance to widen the distance and find an opportunity to break the formation.
However, before he could make a move, Yu Huaiting’s wrist flipped again. A small, eerily delicate black wooden box appeared in his palm.
Yu Huaiting looked at Chen Yu with a cheerful smile.
Inside the box lay a silver needle, resting quietly.
[Swallow-a-Thousand-Needles of Falsehood].
Just as Chen Yu made out what it was, the rusty silver needle suddenly transformed into a dark red streak of light, instantly sinking into Chen Yu’s brow.
At the same time, a warning immediately popped up on Chen Yu’s player system panel:
[System Warning: You have been locked onto by the special item ‘Swallow-a-Thousand-Needles of Falsehood’!]
[Abnormal Status: For the next two hours, you must answer all of the opponent’s questions and may only speak the truth. If a lie is detected, the designated target will be forced to swallow a thousand physical steel needles, causing irreversible internal organ piercing damage!]
[Note: This item has high priority and cannot be dispelled by conventional purification skills.]
Chen Yu, being a soul, had an originally gray complexion—now it looked even worse.
Should’ve known better than to come to the Yu residence looking for clues—got caught red-handed!
These two players, who seemed to be wandering the Yu residence like headless flies, had not only inexplicably dragged him here by force—they even had interrogation items on them.
Chen Yu bit down hard on his teeth, staring warily at Yu Huaiting.
After a long pause, he offered a thoroughly unconvincing struggle: “I won’t say anything!”
“Laughable.”
Yu Huaiting couldn’t help it. He stopped chanting and made a snarky remark.
The moment Chen Yu finished speaking, he seemed unable to hold it in himself, his head lowering as his form trembled.
“Alright.”
Fu Songcheng walked slowly to Yu Huaiting’s side and reached out to knock him on the head, signaling him to rein it in.
Then Fu Songcheng lifted his head, looking directly at Chen Yu in midair, his tone ambiguous.
“Who are you, and what’s your current state?”
Chen Yu didn’t want to answer a single word, but under the item’s effect, he spilled out his information cleanly anyway.
“The Lin residence’s deceased eldest daughter. A ghost.”
“Second question.” Fu Songcheng continued, his pace still unhurried. “Yesterday’s wedding procession and funeral procession—what was that about?”
“We entered the instance early and altered the departure time and route of the Lin residence’s funeral procession, deliberately colliding with yours.”
Fu Songcheng’s eyes showed confusion. “Why?”
Chen Yu covered his mouth, unwilling to speak. Then he suddenly remembered something and, still reluctant, continued explaining: “Great joy and great sorrow colliding at a specific time and place produces an extremely heavy malevolent qi that nourishes soul bodies.”
Fu Songcheng understood. The red-white collision of the opposing faction—as the dead one, Chen Yu—had brought more malevolent qi.
“And how did you attack me and Yu Huaiting?”
He was somewhat curious. The opponent’s attack through the paper money had been too sudden; it didn’t seem premeditated.
If they were facing two players well-versed in metaphysics, they should have struck earlier, not after Yu Huaiting’s attack.
Nor would Chen Yu have been caught this easily.
“The system judged that we successfully triggered a scene mechanism and rewarded us with a ‘Story Fragment.’”
“We used that story fragment to launch the attack on you.”
Chen Yu didn’t mention the love value he and Lin Feng had mortgaged. Everything he said was true—but the item couldn’t force him to tell the whole truth.
“How do you obtain more story fragments?”
Fu Songcheng pressed.
“I don’t know.” Chen Yu answered cleanly. “The system gave no hints whatsoever. That fragment was triggered purely by accident.”
Fu Songcheng stared into Chen Yu’s eyes for a few seconds, frowning in thought. The other had entered the instance before him and Yu Huaiting, even possessed a special identity, and had obtained a story fragment in advance, gaining the first-move advantage.
He didn’t think a fair instance would design two opposing factions this way.
“Who’s your teammate? What’s his identity?”
Chen Yu frowned. Compared to himself, he was even more resistant to revealing Lin Feng’s information—but forced by the silver needle that could cost Lin Feng his life, he still answered truthfully.
“Lin Feng.” Chen Yu said. “The Lin residence’s eldest young master.”
Yu Huaiting couldn’t help interrupting Fu Songcheng’s questioning, pointing at Chen Yu. “Your teammate is called Lin Feng, the Lin residence’s eldest young master. You’re called Chen Yu, the Lin residence’s deceased eldest daughter.”
Yu Huaiting rubbed his chin and analyzed with perfect seriousness: “Were you picked up from a trash can by the Lin family’s old master?”
The corner of Chen Yu’s eye twitched violently. He tried to understand the thought chain of the white-haired youth before him.
Attempt failed.
“Focus on your chanting.”
Fu Songcheng was almost unsurprised by Yu Huaiting’s reaction—his hand ached from knocking him.
Yu Huaiting pursed his lips and muttered aggrievedly, “Just asking. You’ve asked him so many questions already.”
Fu Songcheng felt like he was raising a child—Yu Huaiting had to stir up trouble from time to time to grab his attention.
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