Inside a research institute under the Science Council, Nois, dressed in a protective suit, watched a fingernail-sized piece of “flesh” through a glass container.

It was tissue from an alien life-form, made up of energy and other unknown substances. Its energy density was extremely high, and it even showed signs of being alive. To Nois, it was intricate and orderly, like a complex system that hadn’t yet been deciphered. He couldn’t understand why the institute called this life-form a “demon.”

As long as it was given enough warmth, the piece of flesh would grow. But without one of its most important components—a certain unknown substance—it wouldn’t gain any mass. That was why the “energy material” project remained stuck at the mass-production bottleneck.

“It’s so beautiful…”

Nois often imagined what this alien life-form looked like in its entirety. He’d always hoped the Science Council would provide a complete specimen for them to study more systematically.

“You’re wasting a priceless resource! What happened to the complete specimen you promised? I’m done working on applications!!”

Nois turned around and saw his mentor, Professor Addison, being held back by security guards, his face agitated. The gray-haired professor was glaring furiously at the institute director across from him. The director wore a suit and an expressionless face, his eyelids half lowered. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

“The protective suits can only shield us from demon energy beams. The need for the ‘Stasis Gun,’ which is being developed using demon tissue, is urgent. We’re conducting this research so we can capture demons as soon as possible, and we believe you’re the best person for the project, Professor.” The director spoke earnestly.

“I won’t do it!” The professor pointed at the director, his tone openly hostile. “I’ve already developed energy-resistant suits. What about your promise? Where’s the complete specimen? How can you understand how something works if you don’t understand its underlying principles? Anderson, I’m curious—how did you ever become director?”

The director’s expression twitched slightly, then settled back into calm. “Professor Addison, the Council’s need is urgent. If you insist on this attitude, then you’ll have to come with me. I’ll try to persuade you.”

“What, you’re going to torture me? Go ahead, then! Let everyone see your true colors!”

As soon as the professor finished speaking, the guards beside the director stepped forward and seized him, one on each side, then led him out of the lab.

Seeing this, Nois was deeply worried. But he knew that as an ordinary researcher, he had no standing to speak up. He agreed with his mentor: no researcher would turn down the chance to study an entirely new substance. On the other hand, he also understood the Council’s need to put new materials to practical use.

He hoped Professor Addison wouldn’t get hurt because of this.

By evening,

Nois finished recording and compiling data on how demon tissue grew under different conditions. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, ready to grab dinner—he had another experiment in the second half of the night.

As soon as he left the lab, he heard voices from the end of the corridor.

“Professor Addison, I’m glad you’ve reconsidered.”

It was the director’s voice.

Nois slowed his steps. Was the negotiation already over?

“It’s my honor to do my part for the Council.” His mentor’s voice sounded unusually gentle. Nois felt a pang of unease, a strange sense that something was off.

He softened his steps and walked past as if he hadn’t noticed them, hoping to get a better look.

Under the fluorescent lights, Nois saw his mentor, Professor Addison. The professor heard his footsteps too and turned to look at him.

Their eyes met.

Nois saw a pair of clear, innocent eyes. The professor’s expression was calm and gentle, and the corners of his mouth even held the faintest hint of a smile.

Nois froze. He’d never seen his short-tempered mentor look so mild and warm. It was as if the person standing there were someone else.

In a remote county town.

Wearing a black trench coat and leather boots, his eyes covered by a blindfold, Xu Fang appeared in front of a loft bearing a sign that read “Lingfeng Hall.”

He didn’t need to look around. The surroundings had already appeared in Xu Fang’s mind: the evergreen in the courtyard had withered, weeds had overrun the place, and the loft was empty.

This was what Xu Fang saw using “all-around vision.” Training this way of seeing wasn’t difficult. He only needed to memorize what he saw before closing his eyes and keep picturing it in his mind. His consciousness would then form an invisible connection with his surroundings. After training his “vision,” Xu Fang had completely adapted to seeing in 360 degrees. This perspective let him see things faster and more accurately, though it had a shorter range than normal eyesight.

During his practice, Xu Fang had felt his “Mind Sense” on the verge of advancing. Perhaps he could go from E-rank to D-rank without the Horror Novel Web’s help. Of course, that would come at the cost of his “Energy Sense” regressing. He could vaguely feel that he had less control over energy, so for now, he decided not to make any rash moves.

Xu Fang lightly leaped onto the second-floor railing, then took in more details inside.

A thin layer of dust covered most of the living room floor, but in the middle were many fresh, messy footprints. They led all the way to the entrance, with no sign of anyone coming back.

A scene naturally took shape in Xu Fang’s mind: the Daoist priest returned from the void to the real world, stumbled as he looked around, then walked out of the loft one step at a time, each step strangely measured. He went outside, kept walking, left the courtyard—and never came back.

Before the bizarre event ended, the Daoist priest had asked Xu Fang for a code phrase. That meant he’d hoped to contact Xu Fang in the real world. He should’ve gone looking for a way to communicate right away. There was a computer in the bedroom; he had no reason to walk outside, let alone leave and never return.

His actions were strange.

The Daoist priest’s tense face in the Immortal World appeared in Xu Fang’s mind.

“…The protagonist should already be dead, or have become the new Zhenkui…”

“…I suspect I’ve become one of Zhenkui’s followers too…”

The strangest demon from hundreds of years ago—

“Zhenkui.” Xu Fang spoke the name aloud.

As soon as he said it, he felt an intense gaze land on him!

Xu Fang whipped around. A flock of crows perched on a nearby utility pole. They scattered at the sudden movement, leaving just one crow behind. It stood there alone, staring back at him indifferently, with no fear of humans in its eyes.

Suddenly, the crow spoke in a hoarse voice. “I smell one of my kind…”

Xu Fang asked, “Where is Zhang Empty?”

“He went into the bizarre world.”

“How do you know?”

“Zhang Empty is afraid of me. He wants to run away.”

“What are you after?”

“I can help you…”

Before it could finish, several black strands of hair crept along the shadows and up the utility pole, quickly wrapping around the crow.

The strands snapped back, and Xu Fang caught the crow in his hand. It struggled, shedding several black feathers.

“I can help you find Zhang Empty.” Another crow landed on the utility pole and spoke hoarsely. “There are plenty of me. You can’t kill me.”

A duplicate ability…

Thinking this, Xu Fang released the bird in his hand, which had turned back into an ordinary crow. Then he asked the crow on the utility pole, “Are you Zhenkui?”

“You could call me that.”

“And how can I be sure you’re not lying to me?” Whether he looked through his energy vision or his destruction vision, all he saw was an ordinary crow. Xu Fang was curious about how the protagonist in the Daoist priest’s scripture, *The Demon-Slaying Sutra*, had defeated this demon.

“You can ask that website.”

Was Zhenkui familiar with the Horror Novel Web? That made sense. It had been following the Daoist priest for so long that it might know more about the site than most authors did.

“No need.” Xu Fang slipped a hand into his pocket. “I’m completely sure you’re lying.”

“Why?”

“First, the Daoist priest only suspected you existed. Otherwise, he would’ve told me in the Immortal World. So if he wasn’t sure, he had no reason to run. Second, he’d just been through the Immortal World and was afraid of bizarre events. He wouldn’t willingly walk into danger again. Third, if you wanted to help me, you didn’t need to wait until I found you to show yourself.” Xu Fang’s tone was unhurried. “So the Daoist priest can only be dead, or under your control.”

The crow didn’t move.

Xu Fang took out his phone. The settings page was already filled in.

“I want to see the Daoist priest within ten minutes. Otherwise, you can find out what a curse from that website feels like.”

A rough caw rang out in the distance, and the tension suddenly tightened.

“He’s in a basement ten kilometers to the east.”

With that, the crow flew away.

Owen had a few “author” friends on a certain VTuber forum, though he’d never met any of them in person. But after spending a year trapped in the Immortal World, he checked the forum again and found that its dozens of users had dwindled to just five.

Owen cursed them under his breath—“bunch of short-lived idiots”—then clicked on each remaining user to check when they’d last been online.

Six months ago… A year ago… Ten months ago…

Owen had almost given up hope, but then he saw that the last user, named “mimika,” had been online a day ago. They’d also made a post:

“Anyone still here? Can someone help me?”

Of course, nobody had replied. Most users couldn’t be bothered with pleas for help that offered nothing in return.

But when Owen saw the post, his eyes lit up. Authors often communicated with one another in subtle ways.

If “mimika” was an author, they might be in trouble and looking for help from other authors.

Owen replied beneath the post: “Where are you? If you’re still alive, DM me.”

Owen didn’t have to wait long before “mimika” sent him a private message:

“Hello, you there?”

Owen didn’t bother with small talk. He sent them an installer straight away:

“Let’s talk on another server.”

It was a chat app hosted on a private server. To log in and chat there, users had to answer three questions.

The three questions were:

“How many rules does that website have?”

“What’s your identity?”

“What happens if you break the last rule?”

To outsiders, these questions made no sense, but authors knew them by heart. Before long, a new user appeared in Owen’s private chat group.

As expected, this was an author. Owen just had no idea what kind of person they were.

The new user found themself in a group chat with only two people. They realized the person on the other end was an author too, changed their name to “mimika,” then tentatively asked:

“Are you an author?”

“Yes. Where are you right now? Do you need help?”

“Yes. I’m in Mexico. What about you?”

“The US. Looks like we’re pretty close.”

“What should I call you?”

“You can call me ‘Pacifist.’”

“…”

After a little small talk to break the ice, “mimika” soon revealed what they were after.

“I’ve run into a bit of trouble. Would you be interested in meeting up to talk? If you can help me, I’m willing to offer something of equal value in return. Of course, if you think I’m being presumptuous, you can say no.”

“Why not?” Owen wasn’t at all worried about meeting an online friend in person.

“Okay. Let’s pick a time and place.”