Zhang Shan and Qiao Jiajin studied the bare doorframe for a while. After finding no passage, Zhang Shan walked away on his own to examine other things in the room.
But Qiao Jiajin remained fixated on the doorframe. He slowly closed it, then abruptly opened it again.
He repeated the same motion five or six times, leaving Zhang Shan, who was standing farther away, utterly baffled.
“Tattoo kid, what the hell are you doing?”
Qiao Jiajin shut the door once more. “Big guy, don’t you think it might have something to do with the way we open it?”
“You think so?” Zhang Shan shook his head skeptically.
“I’ve tried several different ways,” Qiao Jiajin said, “but there’s still just a wall on the other side.”
“That’s obvious, isn’t it?” Zhang Shan shot back. “Qing Long didn’t do anything special when he opened it earlier.”
“Right…” Qiao Jiajin nodded, then closed the door again. “If it’s not about how we open it, then it must be about timing. I’ll keep it shut longer this time.”
“You’re impossible…”
Before Zhang Shan could finish, a shadow suddenly flashed before him, followed by a violent gust of wind.
“Big guy!! Watch out!!”
Zhang Shan instinctively raised his arms to block, but his limbs felt as stiff as if they’d been cast in concrete.
The next second, a powerful palm strike slammed into the side of his neck. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he was sent flying. Qiao Jiajin, though not thrown back, also coughed up a mouthful of blood.
Forcing himself to stay conscious, Qiao Jiajin looked up and saw Qing Long’s grinning face.
Without waiting for Qing Long to strike, he immediately leapt up, aiming a flying knee—but Qing Long vanished again, reappearing behind him and delivering a crushing punch to his side.
Qiao Jiajin tried to twist his body midair, but his imagined movement didn’t match reality—his fist instead swung at empty air.
“『Soul Snatch』…”
Helpless, Qiao Jiajin could only brace for the impact. Zhang Shan, still on the ground, let out a pained groan.
Within seconds, both were knocked down by Qing Long. Struggling to their feet, they saw that Qing Long’s condition had become even stranger—his hair disheveled, his body drenched in blood, wounds on his forehead and arms refusing to heal. His eyes burned crimson, and his expression was wilder than before.
“Now there’s no obstacle…” Qing Long laughed. “You really underestimated me…”
The two swayed as they stood, barely steadying themselves before Qing Long reappeared in front of Zhang Shan.
Expecting another attack, Zhang Shan hastily raised his arms in defense—but Qing Long merely lifted a hand toward his forehead. A moment later, a golden glow emerged from Zhang Shan’s brow, floating into Qing Long’s palm. Zhang Shan’s head drooped, his eyes glazing over.
“Your sanity… I’ll be holding onto it,” Qing Long sneered. “Mere mortals…”
Horrified, Qiao Jiajin rushed forward to help, only for Qing Long to materialize before him again.
“And yours.”
Wide-eyed, Qiao Jiajin watched as a golden light was pulled from his own forehead.
…
More and more people in the corridor were being touched by invisible threads on their foreheads, then freezing in place.
Only a rare few could sense the threads’ presence—and in this inescapable train carriage, even knowing their location didn’t guarantee evasion.
Even in the vast expanse of the “Land of Finality,” a single “Pegasus Moment” had claimed countless lives. How much worse would it be in this cramped train?
Di Hou and Di Ji peered through the door crack, curiosity gnawing at them.
At some point, the outside had fallen eerily silent—as if the “rebellion” had already ended.
“Holy shit… See that?” Di Hou pointed at Aunt Tong and the others standing motionless in the distance. “They look possessed…”
“What’s happening?” Di Ji asked, bewildered. “Some kind of ‘immortal magic’?”
Di Hou paused, then narrowed his eyes, activating his “Spirit Sight.”
He had hoped to discern what “spell” had befallen the “participants”—but what he saw nearly made his soul flee his body.
The entire carriage was filled with glowing, translucent threads, writhing like venomous snakes in midair.
“What the hell…” Di Hou’s voice trembled. “A ‘Celestial Moment’?!”
“What ‘Celestial Moment’?” Di Ji pressed.
Before Di Hou could determine whose “Celestial Moment” this was, the threads suddenly changed course—charging toward a “Earthly” in the corridor.
A single thread shot into his forehead unnoticed. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the “Earthly” went limp, head bowing.
“Holy fuck!!” Di Hou screamed. “This isn’t just a ‘Celestial Moment’… It’s killing even ‘Zodiacs’!”
“What’s going on?!” Di Ji demanded.
“Di Ji! The entire corridor is—”
Before he could finish, several threads seemed to notice them. Like eagles spotting prey, they twisted toward the room—then shot forward.
Di Hou barely had time to react, tackling Di Ji aside as something slammed the door open with terrifying force.
The two rolled in opposite directions, tangling in the threads that had once bound Tian Hou and Tian Ji.
Ignoring the disgusting strands, Di Hou looked up—the translucent threads were now homing in on them.
Whose “Celestial Moment” was this?! The one who unleashed “Tracking” couldn’t possibly be unaware that “Zodiacs” were allies!
The threads adjusted their trajectory, locking onto Di Ji.
“Di Ji!! Dodge!!” Di Hou yelled, knowing he couldn’t reach her in time.
But Di Ji, sprawled on the ground, was utterly lost.
Dodge? Dodge what? Where?!
She couldn’t see a single thread. Instinctively tilting her head, she suddenly felt something pierce her forehead—her mind went blank, her eyes dulling instantly.
“FUCK!!” Di Hou roared in helpless fury. With no way to counter the threads, he seized the distraction to weave past them, bolting into the corridor.
What he saw there chilled him to the bone—countless threads writhed in the air, ensnaring both “Zodiacs” and “participants” alike.
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