For a moment, everyone around was drenched in cold sweat.

  That confident, assured swagger they'd had walking in had evaporated completely. In its place: faces struggling to stay calm but failing to hide the panic.

  As for the "false starter" himself—the short Taoist was now being supported by his fellow disciples as he shuffled out, cradling his hand that had curled into something resembling a chicken's claw. Face ashen, lips purple, legs like noodles.

  As he passed through the crowd, everyone instinctively parted to give him a wide berth, afraid of catching whatever bad luck he was carrying.

  Schadenfreude, pity, secret relief—all kinds of looks tangled together as they bid farewell to this "pioneer."

  For a moment, no one dared to take the risk.

  Seeing the atmosphere cool down, Ling felt a bit disappointed. She hadn't had nearly enough of the bizarre spectacle of these mortal cultivators and their backyard-furnace-style operations.

  She hadn’t realized how much she thrived on drama back in the Abyss. She’d always figured she was just born cold and detached—a natural loner.

  Ling tilted her head and leaned close to Dax's ear, whispering: "That short Taoist's water bowl technique was pretty interesting. What exactly happened to him? Everyone was blocking my view."

  Dax was amazed by the creature's sheer shamelessness, yet he still couldn't help but start grumbling:

  "The magical artifacts in this world come in all shapes and sizes. Some talismanic scripts—you have no idea why they work, but they just achieve certain effects through bizarre methods."

  He paused, searching for an analogy: "It's like a three-legged chicken. It can still run and jump, but you never know where it'll trip up, or what weird conditions need to be met for it to work at all."

  Ling: "…?"

  "What I mean is—that water bowl isn't special. What's special is the talisman script carved on it."

  He lowered his voice: "The officially licensed stuff from our Court is actually pretty simple—just a spiritual signal amplifier. For cases of soul loss like this, you just need to let the remaining living soul make contact, match the unique frequency signature, and you can retrieve the lost parts pretty quickly."

  "Sounds convenient."

  "It is convenient. But—" Dax's expression turned meaningful. "It costs extra Merit. Sometimes it's more cost-effective to just use your own power and search manually, bit by bit."

  Ling got it immediately: "So people try to freeload."

  "Exactly." Dax nodded. "Nobody wants to pay the usage fees, so all kinds of knockoffs keep popping up."

  "Problem is, after being pirated so many times, this rune is already unrecognizable. The first generation is usually barely functional, but later versions start to mutate just to dodge the Court’s anti-piracy systems, stuffed with a mess of obfuscated garbage arrays. By the end, even the underlying spiritual chains have collapsed—the whole thing is held together by a few fatal bugs. God only knows how that thing still functions."

  He jerked his chin toward where the short Taoist had exited: "You saw that guy's bowl—the script was so distorted, who knows why it specifically requires three 'well-seasoned' old bamboo chopsticks to activate. The later generations actually had to spend twenty or thirty years specially training in this 'chopsticks standing in bowl' technique."

  Ling looked thoughtful: "That's… pretty absurd… So, just now, he must have been hit by a backlash from one of those hidden bugs."

  Dax："…"

  After that little episode, the crowd that had been packed three layers deep around the bed finally thinned out. Nobody wanted to stand too close—what if that "thing" went off again and they got caught in the crossfire?

  Ling took the opportunity to inch forward a couple of steps, finally squeezing through a gap to see Lei himself.

  Ghost-Eye helpfully zoomed in, focusing on that blackened face. At the center of Lei 's brow, a wisp of black smoke was faintly swirling. The smoke was extremely faint, barely there, like a ghost about to disperse, or perhaps silk threads spun by some parasite, slowly coiling around what remained of his spirit.

  "Ding—"

  【System Alert】

  Mortal soul data loss detected. Opportunity for redemptive miracle available. Initiate "Celestial Maiden's Call" to retrieve lost data packet?

  【Notice

  Retrieval speed dependent on spiritual network bandwidth. Spiritual energy sparse in this location.

  Signal strength: ██???????? (12%).

  Recommend preparing signal-amplifying artifact.

  

  【P.S.】

  If lost data packet cannot be retrieved, recommend using VFS's newly developed zero-complaint "Auto-Fill"

  Side effects: Generates new personality, permanently loses partial memories. Lost portions will permanently forfeit identity legitimacy.

  Interesting.

  The system came with all sorts of "rescue" functions. At first glance, it seemed pretty compassionate.

  But these features… looked suspiciously like premium services that required a membership upgrade. Bad signal? Please bring your own artifact. Can't retrieve it? Then "Auto-Fill"—and whether the person is still the same person afterward, well, no guarantees.

  In short: not our problem, your responsibility, thanks for your patronage.

  The Court's salvation is reliably shitty as always.

  "Salvation? Data completion? What a joke." Ling scoffed.

  In the eyes of this professional "gourmet," a soul that had been "Auto-Filled" was an insult to her professional ethics.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  It was like forcing a three-Michelin-star chef to cook instant ramen, or welding a stainless steel prosthetic onto the Venus de Milo.

  This kind of tasteless, pre-packaged slop… isn't even worth getting stuck in my teeth. Ling pursed her lips, silently grumbling.

  Ling decisively closed the notification.

  But the notification stubbornly refused to go away, tirelessly continuing its sales pitch:

  【?? Warning: You are about to miss the peak of your career!】

  Are you sure you want to pass up the five-star recommendation of a million exorcists?

  

  【User Testimonials】

  "After using VFS Auto-Fill, my client's breadwinner no longer suffers from midlife crisis depression. Work efficiency increased 200%, money transfers home on time every month, and long-term repeat purchases of my healing crystals. VFS Auto-Fill—your career's best partner, a name you can trust! —Exorcist Zhao Dabao"

  ? This project is part of the 'Heavenly Court Fifth Era Key Initiative: Soul Resource Recycling Program'! Order now for doubled retrieval speed PLUS a 20% Merit tax rebate!

  Data loss? Don't despair—Auto-Fill helps you win out there!

  Click the link below now to claim your exclusive 'Divine Miracle Gift Pack'! (づ￣ 3￣)づ

  What the hell! All that fancy talk—it's just a predictive model based on lifetime karma logs. A habit amplifier getting hyped up like this.

  Ling rolled her eyes internally.

  That Wei really knew how to hustle. No wonder he'd made it big. He understood exactly what the Court liked.

  One simple click, and one's self-awareness will be replaced by a flawless algorithmic script. Lei Eugene will become the most powerful NPC in the script of his own life—stable, efficient, cold, and eerily self-consistent.

  For the Court, this maintained mortal-realm stability and conserved deductive resources.

  For the family, this preserved their loved one's core functions and maximized benefits.

  As for that original "soul" that could laugh and cry, struggle and suffer?

  Who cared?

  It was Master Bai who stepped past the stunned crowd, nodding politely to the woman in the qipao by the bed, his tone carrying just the right amount of concern:

  "Mrs. Lei, your husband's symptoms are quite clear—he has suffered a fright and lost his soul. We are prepared to open an altar and perform a soul-summoning ritual. Please step away temporarily, lest you be affected."

  The woman called "Mrs. Lei" rose gracefully and nodded, her voice gentle: "In that case, I shall trouble the masters."

  With that, she drifted away, seemingly unbothered by the earlier commotion from start to finish.

  As she passed Dax, Mrs. Lei's gaze flicked toward him.

  Just a glance.

  Brief. Discreet.

  Then her lips pressed together unnaturally, and her steps quickened slightly, as if she were eager to leave this place.

  Ling caught that subtle movement with sharp eyes.

  At the same time, the Kasaya suit jacket in her arms seemed to squirm faintly.

  She looked down and quietly tapped her glasses with a finger:

  "Hey, see anything off?"

  Ghost-Eye swiveled left and right, then answered in confusion: "Nope, nothing at all."

  "Sure?"

  "Positive. That qipao lady is… pretty good-looking?"

  "…Useless trash."

  Was this Mrs. Lei really just an ordinary person?

  Ling was still thinking when Master Bai began his performance.

  "Fellow practitioners!"

  The old man cleared his throat, voice booming, full of vigor— clearly someone accustomed to public speaking:

  "I have observed that fellow Taoist’s condition just now— Mr. Lei's soul has very likely been captured and imprisoned by that evil creature! Shortly, my junior disciple and I will perform the 'Nine Heavens Mysterious Thunder Soul-Release Technique' to rescue and recall Mr. Lei's soul. When that happens, I ask all of you to bring out your best skills and hold the four corners!"

  He paused, his gaze piercing as it swept the room: "Today we cast an inescapable net. If that beast dares show itself—we'll make sure it never leaves!"

  Gasps circled the room. This was supposedly Master Bai's signature technique, utterly domineering. Ordinary soul-summoning merely called out—whether the soul returned depended on the victim's own fortune and will to live. But his Soul-Release, regardless of the soul's condition, once located, could bulldoze through any obstacle and ride the thunder home.

  "Master Bai is mighty! With you leading the charge, any demon would lose half its life before the fight even starts!"

  "Today we'll show that creature what we're made of!"

  What followed was a cacophony of rattling and clanking.

  The masters all brandished their equipment. In an instant, the entire bedroom transformed into a exorcism expo.

  At the same time, Ling was nearly blinded by a cascade of pop-up notifications.

  She took a look—good lord, out of the twenty-odd people in the room, a full seventeen unsecured pairing requests had been detected.

  The pairing sources varied wildly. Some were "Hundred-Pace Resonance" signals, others were "Spirit Light Interface" requests, and there were even some "Heart Communion Technique" pings.

  Ling tentatively asked Dax: "Hey, you sensing anything?"

  Dax looked confused at first, then instinctively went on guard: "Huh? Sensing what?… Wait, what do you mean? What are you up to now?!"

  Ling quickly replied: "Nothing, just asking…"

  But inwardly, she understood: so this body of hers wasn't completely useless after all. With all the patchwork development it had undergone, she was basically a Frankenstein Vessel now—equipped with interfaces from nearly every product line, compatible with spiritual frequencies across the spectrum.

  Come to think of it, not all these artifacts were cheap imitations. Ling picked out a few that seemed passable and scanned the room:

  Someone drew a peachwood sword, its blade ink-black, gleaming with cold light—clearly an old piece that had been consecrated and seen blood. The burly man swung it with great vigor, but his form was pure firewood-chopping, nothing but brute force.

  Someone produced an antique bronze mirror, its back swirling with cloud patterns, emanating a faint soul-shaking pressure—but the fat Taoist used it like a flashlight, waving it up and down at Lei 's face while muttering: "Bronze cold as frost, light sharp as blade; reveal what is not human, and turn it to dust."

  There was also a scholarly-looking fellow sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, holding a writing brush made of pure white jade. The brush emitted an exceptionally pure spiritual glow, ancient seal script flowing along its shaft—wherever its tip touched, it could pierce the veil between yin and yang.

  Even Ling couldn't help taking a second look.

  The next second, that guy dipped his brush tip in cinnabar and began drawing a rune on Lei’s quilt, stroke by painstaking stroke, with the utmost seriousness.

  Ling craned her neck and squinted for a good while before she finally made out what was going on.

  This guy had clearly half-assed some technique from who-knows-where. The talisman logic actually read: "If match result = 'NOT Lei Eugene,' then 'cast net.' Otherwise, continue scanning."

  Ling opened her mouth, deeply pained, but ultimately said nothing.

  It wasn't like Lei had lost all his "raw data"— if he had, he'd have gone cold ages ago.

  There was still some soul-data left in his body. So the instant this chicken-scratch talisman activated, it immediately plunged into an infinite loop.

  Like some dim-witted security guard checking Lei ten thousand times per second—finding him each time, then checking again. At this point, an evil spirit could saunter right past him and he wouldn't have time to stop it.

  The talisman-master watched his handiwork blaze with golden light, nearly scorching the blanket into smoke. He nodded with satisfaction and mentally gave himself a thumbs up.

  "…"

  Ling and Dax exchanged glances. Both saw profound resignation in the other's eyes.

  The more Ling watched, the more irritated she became.

  She shot Dax a vicious glare:

  "No wonder people say they'd rather cry in a Mercedes than laugh on a bicycle!"

  Her tone dripping with sourness: "A proper Earth God Temple, and you're not even as well-equipped as these quack doctors… And look at me—my dress is literally torn!"

  Dax silently turned his face away. "You probably ripped it yourself running too fast to watch the show."

  "Bull—shirt! It's because I'm not getting fed properly following you around!"

  Ling withdrew her gaze, seething with bitterness. These showoffs were really getting on her nerves now.

  The masters remained lost in the excitement of their imminent heroics. They had no idea they currently resembled a bunch of two-year-olds clutching gleaming gold, waving it around in front of a career criminal.

  What made it worse was that this particular criminal happened to be short on cash, short on gear, and short on scruples…

  Dax:

  )]()

  Ling: "Do I look like I'm laughing?"

  Dax: