Lin Yi’s back pressed tightly against the stone wall. The cold sensation seeped through his thin clothing into his skin. It wasn't ordinary cold, but a living, icy chill with a faint, sucking pull. He tried to channel a sliver of spiritual energy. As a faint glow just began to gather at his fingertips, that cold intensified abruptly, like countless tiny, greedy mouths sucking at that pitiful bit of energy. His heartbeat pounded like a drum in the deathly silence. Before him stretched a straight, deep corridor. The walls on either side and the floor underfoot were seamless, carved with dull, flickering runes that seemed on the verge of snuffing out at any moment. The light came from an unknown source—dim, viscous, like congealed grease. The air smelled of stale dust, beneath which lingered a faint metallic tang, like blood rusted for years. An exit? There was none. Behind him was the entrance he had stumbled through in his panic moments before. Now it was completely sealed by flowing stone, smooth as if it had never existed. He forced himself to slow his breathing, observing with his naked eyes alone. The runes on the wall brightened and dimmed in rhythm with his heartbeat. Bright, dark, bright, dark. As if syncing with his pulse, or perhaps... *reading* it. He couldn't stop. Keeping close to the wall, he began to move slowly. His fingertips traced the grooves of the runes. Besides the cold, there was a subtle, grating friction, like scraping against some hard, horny material. The feeling of weakness from the continuous drain of his spiritual energy rose from every limb and pore, like tidal flats exposed after the tide recedes—empty and dangerous. He had just counted to his seventh step when the air ahead distorted without warning. The familiar outline of upturned eaves and bracket sets materialized from the void. It was the main gate of the Lin Family Manor. The vermilion-lacquered doors were tightly shut. The beast heads on the door knockers gleamed with a cold, hard metallic sheen in the dim light. Every detail was terrifyingly precise, even down to the crack on the plaque above the doorframe—the very same chip he had knocked out as a child. But it was too quiet. No wind, no insect chirps. Even the sound of his own breathing seemed pressed back into his chest by some force. Then, black fire seeped out from the crack between the doors. It had no heat. No crackling sound. The flames spread like viscous ink, creeping silently over the door panels, the pillars, the eaves tiles. Wherever they passed, color was devoured, leaving only charred, dead outlines. A suffocating sense of "annihilation," transmitted through the distorted air, gripped Lin Yi's heart. *This is an illusion!* he roared inwardly, his tongue jamming hard against his teeth before he bit down fiercely. Pain and the taste of blood exploded in his mouth, like a basin of icy water thrown onto a pot of oil about to boil. The scene before him wavered. The spread of the black fire seemed to stutter for half a beat. It was working! Pain could briefly anchor him to reality. He no longer tried to look away. Instead, he gathered his dwindling spiritual energy and poured it into his eyes, staring fixedly at the burning gate. Look at the details, find the flaw. This thing must have an energy core— Within the black-fire illusion, the door slowly swung inward a crack. A blurred figure stood in the shadows inside the doorway. The silhouette was slender... Mother? She seemed to turn her head, her lips parting as if speaking something urgent. But Lin Yi "heard" it. Not with his ears, but something deeper within him being pried open directly, flooded with silent screams and despair. Something cracked in his chest. A cold, bitter ache surged into his throat. The impulse to drown in it wrapped around his consciousness like seaweed, dragging it down, down... A suppressed growl rumbled in his throat. Without further hesitation, he channeled the last of his strength into his left palm and slammed it hard against one of the runes on the wall beside him, one that was flickering with particular urgency! The moment his palm made contact with the rune, an explosive pain—a mix of searing heat and needle-like stabbing—erupted. The dormant, alien power within his left arm seemed to awaken with a jolt, surging violently and crashing headlong into the cold, sucking force transmitted from the wall. Tiny electrical sparks burst between his palm and the stone, illuminating his face, which had turned deathly pale in an instant. The illusion fluctuated violently, emitting a high-pitched, grating noise like glass being scraped by something hard, stabbing at his e This realization chilled him to the bone, yet it also felt like groping in the dark and finally touching a cold, loose thread. The black flame illusion, after persisting for what felt like an eternity—perhaps a dozen breaths—finally began to fade and dissipate. The corridor returned to its unsettling dim yellow hue and deathly silence. Lin Yi staggered back weakly, his spine once again colliding with the cold wall as he gasped for air. From his palm to his forearm, his left arm transmitted a strange sensation alternating between numbness and a scorching pain. The dark patterns beneath his skin seemed to have deepened further. Spiritual energy… nearly thirty percent depleted. The cost of merely resisting one round of illusion was this severe. He raised his slightly trembling right hand, wiped the trace of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, and fixed his gaze on the few key rune nodes he had just memorized. They were still pulsating rhythmically with light and shadow, as if nothing had happened. But Lin Yi knew something had been triggered. This Forbidden Corridor, this living trial ground, had already "tasted" his presence. Almost as if to confirm his thoughts, the runes on the walls on both sides, which had been dim, simultaneously lit up with a dangerous, ghostly blue glow without any warning. The air abruptly became thick as glue. The sound of his heartbeat was amplified infinitely—thump, thump, thump—pounding against his eardrums, pounding against the space that seemed to be closing in around him. Directly ahead, the wall writhed like melting wax. A stream of shadowy light, composed of countless flowing runes and radiating an aura that seemed to devour everything, slowly extended out, locking onto his position. From the corner of his eye, Lin Yi glimpsed a narrower side corridor entrance not far to the side, one he hadn't noticed before. The runes there were dim, seemingly inactive. He pushed off the ground fiercely, his body lunging sideways, narrowly skimming past the edge of that dark light stream as he rolled into the narrow side corridor. Looking back, he saw the stone wall at the entrance he had just come through close rapidly like a living creature, sealing off his retreat. Simultaneously, the previously dim runes on both sides of the side corridor, as if awakened by his intrusion, lit up one by one from near to far. A ghostly, heart-palpitating radiance instantly filled this even more oppressive passageway. The air was so thick it was almost impossible to breathe. His heartbeat, in this absolute silence, became the only sound—heavy, slow, carrying an ominous echo, as if every step he took brought him closer to some gaping maw that had long been open. There was only a muffled, stifled *thump*, like a ripe fruit rotting and bursting from within. Immediately after, a chaotic torrent of energy erupted from the node's center—not flame, not light, but a viscous, dark vortex reeking of metallic blood. Where the vortex passed, the flowing glow of the runes on the walls seemed splashed with ink, rapidly dimming and annihilating. On the left, the phantom of Patriarch Xuan Yin twisted. His face, cold as carved stone, cracked with fine lines before silently dispersing into drifting ash. On the right, the corrupted reflection in the mirror let out an inhuman, sharp shriek. The mirror surface *cracked* and shattered. Black mist surged back, disappearing deep into the wall. The ground was no longer just shaking; it began to tilt. Lin Yi's right hand, pressed against the node, was flung back by a tremendous force. His entire arm went numb and sore, his fingertips stung as if pierced by countless tiny needles. He staggered backward, his back slamming heavily against another wall. The cold runes dug into him, drawing a muffled grunt. A low hum emanated from all directions—no longer a warning, but a kind of mechanical roar of utter fury. On the ceiling, cracks spread wildly like spiderwebs. Gravel and dust pattered down, stinging his face. In the distance, at the originally sealed end of the corridor, the walls began to writhe and reconfigure, emitting a grating sound of grinding stone. New, more complex rune arrays emerged within the ghostly light, radiating an aura far more dangerous than before. A violent, ice-and-fire intertwined spasm shot through Lin Yi's left arm. He looked down. The pitch-black, aberrant patterns had already crawled across his entire arm, spreading to his shoulder and neck. Even below his collarbone, fine black veins had appeared. The raised surfaces on his skin, resembling runes, had become hard, feeling like rough bark to the touch. Worse, three fingers on his left hand—the index, middle, and ring fingers—had completely lost sensation. He tried to bend them, but only saw the Lin Yi clenched his teeth, using his still-movable right hand to brace against the wall. Dragging his left side, which had nearly lost all sensation, he staggered toward that passage. Every step felt like treading on cotton; the hollow emptiness brought on by completely depleted spiritual power made his head spin, while the stabbing pain from his injured soul felt like a chisel constantly hammering against his temples. His left arm was as heavy as if bound with raw iron, swinging powerlessly with each running step. Large chunks of rock peeled away from the ceiling, crashing to the ground with thunderous roars. Rune arrays exploded one after another, chaotic spheres of energy bursting forth, casting the dim corridor into flickering, alternating light and shadow, like the end of the world. That low, droning hum grew louder and closer, as if some colossal entity was being roused from the slumber of the ruins, locked onto his aura with offended fury. Underfoot was a sloped, rubble-and-crack-strewn ramp. He practically tumbled and scrambled downward, his knees and elbows constantly striking the rough stone walls, leaving fresh scrapes and bruises. The passage was short, ending in a blinding glare of daylight. Momentum sent him pitching forward, crashing heavily onto a relatively flat, hard ground covered in fine sand and gravel. Dust billowed, choking him into violent coughs, his lungs burning painfully. Daylight shone on his face, carrying the long-missed warmth of the outside world, yet it was so glaring he couldn't open his eyes. He barely managed to roll over onto his back, lying flat, his chest heaving violently like a broken bellows. His vision blurred, his ears ringing, mingled with the faint, distant, continuous muffled booms and hums from deep within the ruins. The icy numbness in his left arm was still spreading, the skin at his shoulder and neck taut, transmitting a strange, bloating pain as if something inside was pushing outward. A rough, incredulous, urgent voice came as if through a layer of water. In his blurry field of vision, a tall, burly figure silhouetted against the light was charging over from behind a rocky ledge nearby. Heavy footsteps sent gravel flying. It was Shi Meng. His face was smeared with dust, a fresh bloodstain on his temple, but his eyes were wide, fixed on the collapsed Lin Yi on the ground, especially that bizarrely shaped left arm crawling with pitch-black patterns. "Fuck!" Shi Meng rushed close, squatting down, wanting to touch but not daring. "How did you get like this?!" His voice was loud, making Lin Yi's eardrums ache, yet it strangely dispelled some of the lingering chill and deathly silence. Lin Yi opened his mouth; his throat was parched, emitting only a faint breathy sound. He tried to raise his hand, his right arm twitched, but had little strength. Shi Meng's gaze shifted from Lin Yi's pallid face to that terrifying left arm, then to their surroundings—they were in a relatively open gravel flat, behind them the half-collapsed ruin wall still emitting ominous hums, ahead a rugged valley extending into distant mist. His expression changed, clearly realizing the danger of their situation. "Enough talk!" Shi Meng stood up abruptly, his tone resolute, carrying the direct, brutal pragmatism of someone who had struggled at the bottom to survive when facing crisis. He bent down, one thick arm slipping under Lin Yi's armpit, the other scooping up behind his knees, "We're getting the hell out of this place first! Something's wrong in there!" His body lifted into the air, draped over Shi Meng's broad, solid back. Jostling came immediately as Shi Meng began to run, each step landing heavily yet swiftly. Rough hemp cloth rubbed against Lin Yi's cheek, bringing a slight sting and transmitting the other's strong scent of sweat and body heat. The smell wasn't pleasant, but it was undeniably real, full of the breath, struggle, and warmth of a living person. Lin Yi's consciousness began to drift. The icy numbness in his left arm, the stabbing pain in his soul, the aching soreness throughout his body as if his bones were coming apart, and the extreme weakness from depleted spiritual power—all intertwined, almost dragging him into darkness. Only the friction of the rough cloth against his cheek and the steady, powerful rhythm of the body beneath him as it ran acted like a thin thread, barely holding him, keeping him from sinking completely. Shi Meng ran fast and steadily. He deliberately chose rocky, treacherous paths that wouldn't leave clear tracks, glancing back at the ruin wall from time to time, his gaze wary as a startled beast. Carrying a grown man, his breathing grew increasingly labored, sweat streaming down his bronze neck, soaking his collar, but his running speed didn't slacken in the slightest. He didn't know Shi Meng panted heavily, wiped the sweat from his face, and crouched down before him. The light within the rock crevice was dim, only a faint glimmer of sky seeping in from the fissure opening, illuminating the undisguised worry and gravity on his sharply defined face. He stared at Lin Yi’s left arm for a few seconds; the black patterns and the grotesque bulges on the skin appeared even more sinister in the gloom. He simply undid a grimy leather waterskin from his waist, pulled out the stopper, and brought it to Lin Yi’s lips. "Drink," he said, his voice lowered, still coarse, but carrying a trace of barely noticeable, clumsy care. "Slowly." The clear water touched his cracked lips, bringing a cool, stinging sensation, followed by an indescribable sweetness. Lin Yi swallowed instinctively; the water flowed down his burning throat, alleviating the suffocating thirst. He drank too hastily, choked, and began to cough violently, water spilling from the corner of his mouth. Shi Meng frowned, pulled the waterskin away, waited for him to catch his breath, then offered it again. "Slowly!" he repeated, his tone a bit harsh, but his movements still careful. This time, Lin Yi took small sips. The cold water flowed into his stomach, slightly dispelling some of the chill of exhaustion. With great effort, he lifted his heavy eyelids and looked at Shi Meng. Seeing that he had drunk, Shi Meng’s expression eased a little. He then pulled out an oilpaper packet from his robe, opened it, revealing half a piece of dark, hard-looking flatbread. He broke off a small piece and handed it over. "Eat," he said succinctly. "Regain some strength." Lin Yi looked at the coarse flatbread, then at Shi Meng. The other man’s face held no surprise, no fear, no probing questions—only the most direct, survival-focused actions: giving you water, giving you food, keeping you alive, then facing the dangers ahead together. There were no comforting words, no investigation into this terrifying left arm. Only this rough yet solid sense of responsibility, born from a companion’s instinct. Lin Yi extended his trembling right hand and took the hard piece of flatbread. His fingertips brushed against Shi Meng’s rough palm, feeling the thick calluses and the warm body heat. He lowered his head, stuffed the bread into his mouth, and chewed with effort. The bread was hard, dry, coarse with bran, and carried a faint salty taste—not tasty at all. But with each swallow, it was as if a faint warmth spread through his icy body. Outside the crevice, the wind moaned. In the distance, the faint hum from the direction of the ruins seemed not to have ceased; instead, it came in waves like a tide, sometimes strong, sometimes weak, carrying an ominous rhythm. Shi Meng crouched nearby, also taking a few gulps from his waterskin and gnawing on the remaining flatbread. He ate quickly, his eyes constantly alert, fixed on the light outside the crevice, his ears pricked up, catching any unusual sounds. Occasionally, his gaze would sweep over Lin Yi’s mutated left arm, his brow furrowing, but he would quickly look away, focusing on vigilance. Swallowing the last bite of bread, Lin Yi felt something solid in his stomach. The sense of exhaustion receded slightly. Though his entire body still ached and felt weak, at least his mind was a bit clearer. Leaning against the rock wall, he slowly raised his right hand, trying to touch the spreading patterns on his left shoulder and neck. As his fingertips just touched the skin, a cold sensation, as if touching something non-living—hard and rough—transmitted through, making his fingers tremble slightly. Deeper within, the numb parts felt like a cold stone that did not belong to him. "Brother Shi..." he spoke, his voice terribly hoarse, almost inaudible. Lin Yi’s left arm felt as if it had been thrust into an out-of-control forge. From shoulder to fingertip, the patterns beneath the skin were no longer a slowly spreading undercurrent but a raging wildfire. The searing heat instantly swallowed all sensation, followed by an even more terrifying cold—like the ashes left after a fire, carrying a lifeless chill that froze along the bones, tendons, blood vessels, and flesh inch by inch. He looked down and saw the little finger and ring finger of his left hand curling slightly in an unnatural, stiff manner. No matter how hard he tried, his fingertips felt as if separated by a thick layer of ice, utterly motionless and unresponsive. A hoarse cry of pain was mostly choked by the bloody sweetness rising in his throat. He knelt on one knee, his right fist pressed hard against the cold ground, knuckles white He understood—or rather, his body, his mutated left arm, understood before his consciousness did. It was an extremely overbearing, unreasonable logic of operation—not yielding, not pleading, but at the most precise node of energy flow, inserting in the most brutal way a “foreign object,” a “mistake,” a tiny “discordant note” that belonged to “me.” Like jamming a grain of sand that didn’t belong to the system into the precise moment of gear rotation. What he had just done was to forcefully simulate, with the out-of-control mutated energy of his left arm, the subtle “essence” of “seizure” and “reversal” carried by that runic fragment, and then… “shove” it into the nearby foundational runic node responsible for powering the illusion. An extremely faint yet exceptionally clear cracking sound came from the node he had “contaminated.” Ahead, the illusion of Patriarch Xuanyin delivering his cold judgment twisted violently, like an ink painting splashed with water, features melting into blurred blobs of color. To the right, the fully mutated, sneering “self” in the mirror also fluctuated wildly before shattering with a “pop” into countless points of light, like shattered glass. The suffocating pressure of illusion that had enveloped the entire forbidden corridor vanished instantly. The light returned to the dim, dead glow of the runes. The flowing runic light on the walls also dimmed noticeably, as if having lost its power source. The runic node he had “contaminated,” after a brief silence, suddenly erupted with a blinding, unstable crimson light! Immediately after, as if in a chain reaction, dozens, hundreds of runes on the surrounding walls, ceiling, and floor lit up with crimson light in sequence, flashing madly! A low, rumbling hum, as if rising from the depths of the earth, no longer carried a warning tremor but had become the fully enraged, mechanical roar of something furious, filled with destructive wrath. The entire corridor began to shake violently. Dust and small fragments of stone rained down from above. The wall closest to Lin Yi, amidst the frantic flashing of crimson runes, suddenly collapsed inward, revealing behind it a twisted, writhing “flesh-like” inner wall composed of more complex, ancient runes. A suction force far purer and more violent than the earlier illusion surged forth—no longer a slow drain, but a voracious devouring! The spiritual energy already nearly depleted in Lin Yi’s body gushed uncontrollably toward the collapsed opening like a breached flood. The moment this thought exploded, his body reacted faster than his mind. He had no time to check the specific condition of his left arm’s mutation, nor to consider the further information brought by that dark golden runic fragment. The instinct for survival overrode everything. He pushed off the ground with all his remaining strength and lunged toward the direction he had come from—the original entrance sealed by flowing walls! The collapse spread behind him, the crimson light and terrifying suction following like a shadow. The ground cracked beneath his feet, revealing a bottomless darkness below, where similar crimson runes flickered faintly. He scrambled and rolled, dodging a beam of pure alarm energy that shot from the side. The beam grazed his right shoulder, instantly charring the fabric, his skin burning with searing pain. The originally smooth wall at the entrance was now also fluctuating violently, its runes in disarray. Without hesitation, Lin Yi channeled the last bit of spiritual energy he could muster—energy not yet completely devoured by his left arm’s mutation—into his right fist and smashed it toward the point of most intense fluctuation! The moment his fist struck the wall, what he felt wasn’t recoil but a sticky, almost dissipating sensation. The wall caved inward like melting wax, revealing behind it a narrow, roughly hewn stone passage sloping upward. Almost the instant his entire body entered the passage, an earth-shattering roar erupted behind him. In the last glimpse of his vision, the ceiling of the entire forbidden corridor collapsed completely. Violent energy turbulence, shattered runic fragments, crimson alarm light, and that heart-stopping devouring suction—all were buried under thick rock and dust. The stone passage wasn’t long, sloping upward, covered with rough marks of artificial carving, completely different from the precise, eerie style of the forbidden corridor. It seemed like an emergency escape route left by the builders of the ruins, or… an incompletely covered “old wound.” Lin Yi scrambled on all fours, his lungs burning with pain, each breath carrying a metallic taste. His left arm had completely lost sensation, heavy like a cold stone pillar that didn’t belong to him, dragging at his side and swaying weakly with his climbing movements. Gritting his teeth, he used the strength of his right arm and knees to drag himself up the final stretch. The light was blinding. He tumbled out of the stone passage exit and collapsed onto the hard, cold ground, coughing violently. Each cough tugged at the wounds in his chest and abdomen, and his vision swam with black spots. This seemed to be a larger natural rock chamber. The air was thick with the smell of dust and stone, and in the distance, the faint sound of dripping water could be heard. This thought had just surfaced when it was interrupted by a series of low, deep hums coming from far away. The hums didn't originate from the collapse behind him, but from deeper within, from the direction of the ruins' core. Like the heartbeat of some awakened giant beast, it carried a regular, ominous rhythm, growing stronger then weaker, faintly transmitted through the rock layers. The alarm had not been silenced. It had merely changed form, echoing within the vast depths of the ruins. Something had been thoroughly activated. Lin Yi lay on the cold ground, not wanting to move even a finger. His spiritual power was utterly depleted, his meridians empty and burning with pain. His soul felt as if it had been torn apart and roughly stitched back together, transmitting a continuous, dull, throbbing ache. Most critical was his left arm. The aberrant dark patterns had spread past his shoulder, crawling up a small portion of his neck. The cold, stiff sensation beneath his skin was seeping toward his torso. Aside from his thumb and index finger, which could barely sense their existence, his other three fingers had completely lost connection. He raised his still-mobile right hand, blocking the overly dazzling light spots filtering down from the cracks in the rock chamber ceiling above. The price was... half an arm, and possibly more. Heavy, urgent footsteps, carrying a clear sense of vigilance, sounded from a passage on the other side of the rock chamber, rapidly approaching. Lin Yi's body stiffened. His right hand instinctively reached for his waist—there was nothing there but dust. He barely had the strength left to lift his head. A burly figure charged into the rock chamber entrance, sweeping his gaze around warily, a crude but heavy stone rod gripped in his hand. When his eyes fell upon Lin Yi—sprawled on the ground, covered in dust and bloodstains, his left arm displaying bizarre dark patterns and hanging limp—the guarded expression on his face instantly morphed into shock. Shi Meng's eyes widened. He took a bounding step forward, the stone rod tossed aside without a second thought, landing with a loud *clang*. He crouched down, reaching out to help Lin Yi up, but his hand froze mid-air when he saw the clearly abnormal patterns on Lin Yi's left arm and neck. A muscle twitched in his face. "Fuck…" he cursed under his breath, his voice laced with shock and a barely perceptible panic. "How the hell did you end up like this?! What the hell was in that damned corridor?!" Lin Yi tried to speak, but only a hoarse, breathy sound escaped his throat. His lips were parched and cracked, smeared with bloody foam. Shi Meng hesitated no longer, nor did he take a closer look at the eerie patterns of aberration. His thick, strong arms slid under Lin Yi's armpits and behind his knees. With a forceful heave, he directly scooped Lin Yi up in a horizontal carry—the motion wasn't gentle, even a bit clumsy, but it was exceptionally steady. "Save it!" he cut off any syllable Lin Yi tried to utter, his tone decisive, carrying the directness and fierce courage born from scraping by at the bottom and facing crises head-on. "We're getting the hell out of this damned place first! This commotion isn't right. The whole damn ruin feels like it's waking up!" Holding Lin Yi, he turned and strode quickly toward the passage he had come from. The passage was wider than the previous stone corridor, but still dim and winding. Shi Meng was clearly more familiar with the terrain here. His steps were fast and steady, and despite carrying someone, his speed didn't diminish in the slightest. Lin Yi's head rested weakly against Shi Meng's solid, broad chest. The coarse hemp fabric rubbed against his dust and blood-smeared cheek. It carried the scent of sweat, rock, and earth—not pleasant—but it held a tangible, living warmth and texture. The stable rise and fall with each of Shi Meng's steps, the heavy, powerful thump of his heartbeat transmitted through his chest, the focused intensity radiating from his taut muscles, wholly concentrated on the task of "getting his companion out of danger"… These rough, direct, unadorned sensations washed over Lin Yi's nerves, which had just endured the erosion of illusions, the backlash of power, and teetered on the brink of collapse. They flowed like a tepid yet tenacious stream, slowly scouring away the icy tension. The string pulled