Seeing everyone was ready, Master Bai finally drew a simple bronze bell from within his robes.

  This bell was different from the artifacts the others had brandished. No blazing golden light, no spiritual energy leaking out. It simply rested in his palm, its surface dark and dull, as if time had worn away all its edge.

  Yet it was precisely this unassuming quality that made the experts present draw a sharp breath.

  Return to simplicity.

  This was the real deal.

  Master Bai closed his eyes in concentration, his wrist trembling slightly.

  One ring.

  The chime was clear and piercing, as if penetrating some invisible barrier.

  Two rings.

  [Strong spiritual pulse detected. Recommend activating defenses…]

  The lights in the room suddenly began to flicker, accompanied by the crackle of electrical static.

  Three rings.

  [Pulse intensifying. Recommend activating shields to prevent psychic interference.]

  The man on the bed—Lei —snapped his eyes wide open and shot upright like he'd been electrocuted!

  The monitoring equipment beside him screamed with alarms. Heart rate spiked erratically toward human limits, then all the sensor pads fell off.

  "Beeeep—"

  The room erupted in shock.

  That face, gray as a corpse just moments ago, was visibly flushing with color before their eyes. As if a vital force was surging from within, refilling this withered husk.

  "It—it worked?!"

  "Master Bai truly lives up to his reputation!"

  "Just three casual shakes of the bell…"

  Exclamations of wonder filled the room.

  Master Bai stroked his long beard, expression serene, every bit the transcendent sage. He walked slowly to the bedside, giving the bronze bell another gentle shake, commanding in a low voice: "Lei Eugene—return!"

  Lei's head turned toward Master Bai with a "crack."

  The movement was stiff. Like rusted machinery.

  His eyes were hollow. Unfocused.

  Master Bai's brow furrowed slightly.

  The next second—

  Lei's newly flushed face suddenly reddened another shade.

  Then redder still.

  Redder and redder.

  Red turning to brown, then brown darkening to black, like a piece of raw meat thrown into boiling water, cooking before their eyes.

  "Hssss—"

  Thin white smoke began seeping from all seven orifices.

  A strange smell started spreading through the room.

  Savory char with a hint of sweetness—the scent of fat melting under high heat. Yet this aroma made stomachs churn, triggering an inexplicable urge to vomit.

  Several junior disciples with weaker cultivation couldn't hold it in, covering their mouths and dry-heaving.

  Lei's mouth opened as if trying to speak, but only produced rasping "heh, heh" sounds.

  His eyeballs began filling with blood. Capillaries burst one by one, the whites rapidly drowning in crimson.

  And that white smoke was now pouring frantically from his eye sockets, ear canals, and nostrils.

  As if his brain was being boiled alive inside his skull.

  Ling sniffed the air.

  "Burning human flesh. No pepper."

  Dax's expression hardened: "Shit!—"

  Before he could finish, Lei moved.

  His movement was inhuman. No windup to rise, no muscular transition. Just a "whoosh"—his entire body yanked upright by invisible strings, lunging stiffly at Master Bai.

  Master Bai's reflexes were impressive. His form blurred as he tried to retreat—

  But his wrist had somehow already been seized in Lei's death grip.

  The strength was terrifying. Master Bai's face contorted. Spiritual power surged as he tried to break free, but Lei's fingers seemed welded to his wrist bone. Immovable.

  "You—"

  Master Bai only managed one word.

  The next second, Lei's body burst into flames. Fire erupted from his eye sockets, mouth, every pore, instantly engulfing both of them.

  "BOOM—!"

  Master Bai didn't even have time to scream. His entire body ignited like a wick, "poof"—transforming into a human torch.

  Flames shot toward the ceiling, illuminating every terrified face.

  But at that moment—

  A sound rang out.

  "Happy birthday to you—"

  Electronic music.

  That cheap, off-key, tinny electronic music with the characteristic buzz of a low-quality speaker.

  "Happy birthday to you—"

  The melody drifted through the crackling flames, cheerful in a way that felt deeply wrong, eerie enough to make scalps tingle.

  "Happy birthday to you—"

  Ling whipped her head around.

  She watched the bedroom walls melting. Like an oil painting doused with turpentine, the European wallpaper, the lavish decorations, even the crystal chandelier on the ceiling—all dripping downward like wax, revealing another scene beneath—

  A cramped private dining room. Plastic floor tiles underfoot. A round wooden table covered with a thin plastic tablecloth, cheap balloons and streamers. On the table sat a large birthday cake with a candle shaped like the number 70.

  "Happy birthday to you—"

  The music kept playing. The sound came from all directions at once, different voices—men, women, old, young—as if dozens of mouths were singing together.

  She looked down.

  Cake everywhere. Trampled, burned, mixed with unidentifiable liquids. The frosting had turned charred black. The longevity peaches on top had melted into puddles of red syrup that looked like congealed blood.

  And dozens of long, thin candles, scattered haphazardly across the floor, the walls, even the ceiling.

  Every single one burning.

  Every flame dancing.

  Like dozens of eyes, staring at these uninvited guests.

  "This is…" Dax's voice was tight. He rapidly formed hand seals, casting a golden protective barrier, pulling Ling inside. "Close your eyes and regulate your breathing. No matter what happens, don't leave. Wait for my signal!" He then sat cross-legged, eyes shut tight, lips moving in rapid incantation.

  The moment he finished speaking, a scream came from behind.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  A burly man who'd just been waving his peachwood sword was now rolling on the ground, his entire body engulfed in flames. He slapped at himself frantically, but the fire burned strangely—no amount of beating could extinguish it.

  "Save me! SAVE ME!!"

  No one dared approach.

  Because everyone could see—something had appeared on the burly man's body.

  A pink, sequin-covered little girl's princess dress.

  The hem had already burned to ash, but the original style was still visible. A satin ribbon at the waist, cinched tight around the burly man's neck.

  "No no no no this isn't mine! This isn't mine!!" The burly man shrieked, desperately trying to tear off the dress, hacking wildly with his peachwood sword, but the dress only tightened further, impossible to remove.

  The flames traveled up the ribbon and quickly consumed his face.

  "AAAAAHHH—"

  The scream cut off abruptly.

  The burly man collapsed, curled into a ball, body charred black, frozen in the pose of desperate clawing. Still forever.

  "Happy birthday to you—"

  The music kept singing.

  "Happy—birth—day—to—you—"

  Like a broken record beginning to skip. The same lyrics repeating over and over, slower and slower, more and more distorted, until finally becoming one long, drawn-out sound—something between a sob and a mocking laugh.

  Ling surveyed her surroundings.

  Those "masters" who'd been so full of swagger moments ago now had faces the color of ash, huddled together, none daring to make a move.

  Someone was draped in a burned suit jacket.

  Someone wore a half-melted birthday-star hat.

  Someone found a balloon in their hand—"Happy Birthday" printed on it—slowly hissing as it deflated.

  Ling looked down at herself.

  In her hand, at some point, had appeared an unlit candle.

  "Happy… birthday…"

  That broken voice kept singing.

  "To… you…"

  Then it was the suit, the birthday hat—each time something foreign to this place burned, another person was dragged into the flames with it.

  "AAAH—" Screams suddenly erupted everywhere. One after another, they ignited. The room had become an inferno, making Ling nostalgic for home.

  Some rushed for the door, others for the windows, still others hurled artifacts wildly in every direction—

  "BANG—"

  The door wouldn't open.

  "CRASH—"

  The windows wouldn't break.

  They were like specimens sealed in a giant jar, and the jar was slowly being heated.

  From a corner, a voice giggled.

  Coquettish. Delighted. Like someone admiring a cage full of trapped mice.

  "Don't be in such a hurry to leave, 'Masters.'"

  The voice came from everywhere at once, too ethereal to pin down.

  "Grandfather's birthday party is just getting started."

  "Come—"

  "Let's all—"

  "Blow—out—the—candles—"

  The candle in Ling's hand suddenly ignited on its own.

  The flame danced, illuminating her face—calm to the point of unsettling.

  She pushed aside Dax's golden barrier, stepping out as if parting a curtain.

  The candle burned higher and higher. Desperate cries for help rose and fell, hoarse coughing mixed with despairing wails. Thick smoke made it impossible for those inside to open their eyes, and waves of searing heat turned every breath into swallowing embers.

  Someone was desperately pushing at the only door.

  But it would only open a crack—

  Through the gap, they could see bodies piled on top of each other.

  Some were still burning, skin charred and curling. Others had already turned to carbon, frozen in their final struggling poses. They were stacked like Tetris blocks, perfectly sealing the doorway, fused into a reeking wall of flesh.

  A Taoist leaned in to try to claw open a path. The moment his fingers touched that mass of charred meat—

  "AAAH—!"

  His skin instantly fused to it, torn away along with the flesh underneath.

  Ling looked down at herself.

  She was on fire too.

  Flames licked up from the hem of her clothes. The texture felt so real it made her frown.

  Looks like I really need to upgrade Ghost-Eye. Getting caught by such a weak illusion.

  She reached up, removed her glasses, and quickly scanned the room with her own eyes.

  …Okay.

  So it's not that Ghost-Eye is too weak.

  Even the Court's system got fooled. Stupidly "catching fire" right along with everyone else.

  In this entire inferno, only two people remained perfectly still.

  One was Dax, eyes half-closed, murmuring incantations.

  The other was Ling, sighing as she took off her glasses.

  The flames around them licked at their bodies but seemed blocked by an invisible barrier, dancing uselessly an inch from their skin.

  Ling was frustrated.

  Her soul knew this was all an illusion, but the problem was—she had no tools to break through.

  This body's sensory system had been hijacked by the illusion. She was like someone who knew they were dreaming but couldn't wake up, forced to watch "herself" burn.

  And she had to constantly deal with frantic pop-up notifications, forcibly blocking the body's attempts to activate sweat-cooling or coughing responses. Plus a flood of opportunistic ads—"Fire-Shield Pre-orders," "Water-Dragon Hotline"…

  What frustrated her most was how familiar this illusion technique felt.

  She and that scheming fox, Soran, had been fighting for centuries. The stinking tricks of their fox clan—Ling could smell them with her eyes closed.

  That method of prying open "obsessions," that sick hobby of excavating the most terrifying memories to use as a stage, that infuriating tendency to toy with prey slowly when they could kill with one strike.

  Same lineage. No question.

  But now?

  "Never thought I'd fall this low. Can't even flush out a little fox's true form. Stuck playing tourist in this illusion with the rest of the rabble."

  Ling complained, but her eyes were gleaming.

  She looked at that pile of "pairing request logs" from earlier, lips curving slightly.

  Just starting over, that's all. Little fox, you've washed all the ingredients for me. Be rude not to eat.

  In the inferno, a figure suddenly began to move.

  She wove between all the masters—some unconscious, some still struggling—and patted them down from head to toe. Her technique was practiced, her movements smooth. Clearly not her first time.

  Whatever she found, she crouched down and stuffed it straight into her mouth.

  Like a hyena prowling a battlefield's aftermath.

  Hard to imagine that a porcelain-doll face could twist so ferociously, stretching that rosebud mouth into a gaping maw.

  She came to a "charred" old man's side. Though temporarily unconscious, his hands still clutched something in a death grip, fingers nearly embedded in his palms.

  Ling crouched down and pried his fingers open.

  It was that bronze bell. That "return to simplicity" antique.

  Master Bai, even unconscious, was protecting his family heirloom with his life. Pry open one finger, another curled back. Pry open two, the remaining three clenched tighter.

  Ling lost patience.

  She jabbed, twisted, and yanked: "Drama queen—hand it over!"

  Bell acquired.

  She stuffed it into her mouth without hesitation, swallowing it into her soul's true form.

  Like cracking a walnut, she squeezed top and bottom. The bell "cracked" into pieces, revealing a small black metal bead at its core. Smaller than a sesame seed, yet accounting for ninety percent of the artifact's weight.

  "Oh? No wonder this old fart was so cocky. He actually had something good."

  Ling's spiritual sense carefully scanned the intricate script on the black bead. Clean, neat, not a single redundancy.

  "So it's a powerful High-freq Psio-Pulse Scanner with a packaged-object return function. No wonder it can 'ride the thunder home, nothing forbidden.' Though using it just for soul-summoning seems like overkill?"

  Looking further down, the last line bore the VFS logo.

  "Hm? How does a mere mortal Taoist have their gear? And… how come this one is written so damn beautifully?!"

  "Hmph… Ghost-Eye—time to earn your keep!"

  Ling swallowed the glasses whole, making Ghost-Eye shudder violently: "Ahhh Boss I was wrong, I don't know what I did wrong but I know I was wrong please spare me!"

  "Shut up. Just upgrading your hardware, you useless thing. Hanging on my face like a dead weight all day, only good for streaming video. Aren't you embarrassed?"

  Ghost-Eye immediately fell silent.

  The next second, Ling brutally embedded the tiny bead into the frame. Ghost-Eye didn't dare breathe, terrified this lady might accidentally or "accidentally" crush it to death.

  Fortunately, the whole process was quick as popping a pimple, and Ghost-Eye saw daylight again.

  Ling examined her "work," very unsatisfied with that unsightly bump, but her craftsmanship could only go so far.

  She could handle intensity fine; precision was the problem. One slip and she'd compress the whole thing into paste.

  "Whatever, as long as it works. Go tap that little tumor. Gently."

  With a "hum," the illusion began flickering under Ghost-Eye's newly installed pulse scanner, revealing glimpses of the underlying reality.

  Like filming an old CRT screen with a modern camera—scan lines appeared everywhere.

  The towering flames didn't disappear, but became semi-transparent.

  The private room walls, the narrow corridor, the piled corpses, the billowing smoke—all seemed to have their opacity lowered, fading into the background.

  And on the ground, wherever spiritual energy gathered on those scattered masters, Ghost-Eye sensitively picked it up. It even helpfully rendered bold, flashing red boxes around them in highlighted pixels.

  Those blurry figures instantly transformed into human display racks.

  Ling finally broke into a long-absent, comfortable predator's grin.

  "Good boy. You've got potential!"

  And so, Ling went about her work whistling and humming. Even more efficiently than before, striking at the heart.

  Master Bai's Interspatial Pouch sewn inside his drawers— talk about perfect timing. Collected!

  That dragon-coil pearl staff he'd been showing off all night—garbage! Swallowed!

  Thunder-strike talisman hidden in his sock—collected!

  But before she could gloat for long, Ghost-Eye started struggling to keep up. Getting laggier and laggier, nearly unable to run even 480p compression.

  Ling was in a good mood, so she generously fished out the freshly compressed essence from her mouth and smeared it directly on the glasses.

  Ghost-Eye dry-heaved in protest: "Dame!! This general absolutely refuses to eat this disgusting stuff!"

  "Don't pull that chuunibyou crap with me." Ling's face darkened. "Mama worked her ass off to compress this essence for you, and you're being picky? Weakling. Eat your food properly."

  And so, those artifacts the masters had treasured for generations, along with the spiritual power poured in through generations of lineage, were either mysteriously pilfered or directly compressed into raw energy, gone from them forever.

  The locust passed, leaving nothing but dust.

  "Urgh… can't take anymore… really…" Ghost-Eye was about to burst from this sudden influx of cold-forged essence.

  Ling ignored it completely. Like a granny force-feeding her grandson, insisting he needed just one more bite.

  "You've eaten so much, yet I have no clue how much you've actually gained... This isn't going to work… Looks like I really will have to pay that old thing a visit."

  Until she flipped over the last burly man. The BountyGo tag above his head was still asking if she wanted to redeem three sticks of incense.

  Ling unhesitatingly ripped the "Elder's Lost Property" from his neck. "Tigan, right? Since you made Dax so unhappy, I'll only take this one worthless thing."

  "Didn't the others also piss off that Jiang guy? Ghost-Eye muttered. "How come you didn't leave them any—BURP—thing…"

  "Phew~ Finally done cleaning up." Ling patted her newly acquired Interspatial Pouch, already bulging to the point of bursting. "How does the saying go? You rip what you saw."

  "Good grief. Looks like I'll be swamped when we get back."

  Ghost-Eye detected black energy beginning to swirl around the masters on the ground. The miasma of financial misfortune.

  She patted the glasses with satisfaction: "You've made some progress. I’m officially allowing you to roll with me now."

  "That was… this General's purity you just took…" Ghost-Eye protested weakly. "Burp… I was supposed to challenge the Demon Lord in the Raging Northlands. With all this positive energy, how can I face him now…"

  Ling ignored it, surveying her surroundings until her gaze finally settled on the bedroom doorway.

  There, a figure was cowering.

  Mrs. Lei.

  This noblewoman who'd been so composed and elegant moments ago was now curled up in the corner, face pale, body trembling slightly.

  But Ling noticed—

  Her hair and makeup were still perfect. Not a strand out of place.

  As if the inferno had never touched her at all.

  Ling walked slowly toward her.

  Flames danced at her sides, the semi-transparent illusion twisting and swaying like stage scenery about to collapse.

  Ling walked through the chaos, stopped in front of Mrs. Lei, and looked down at her.

  Then—

  She suddenly bent at the waist, bringing her face level with Mrs. Lei's, and smiled.

  A strange, dangerous smile, of a hunter who's finally cornered her prey.

  "Found you."

  "Little—fox—"