"Grandpa?"

Fang Cheng opened his mouth, tentatively calling out.

The shadow figure did not respond, remaining as stiff as a dead tree stump.

Fang Cheng swallowed a mouthful of saliva, forcibly suppressing the anxiety pounding in his heart.

He stepped forward, carefully sidestepping the toys on the ground, inching closer to the corner.

Five meters.

Three meters.

One meter.

When Fang Cheng finally reached behind the shadow, he extended his right hand, intending to pat its shoulder.

The hunched shadow suddenly twisted its head back at an angle impossible for any living person, rotating it one hundred eighty degrees.

At the instant Fang Cheng saw that face, his pupils shrank abruptly, his scalp tingling, and every hair on his body stood straight up.

It wasn’t a human face at all.

The sagging old skin was swollen and white, soaked in some liquid, while the eyes had rolled completely upwards, leaving only bloodshot whites.

The corners of its mouth curled into an exaggerated arc, dark brown liquid dripping between teeth, plopping onto the sweater.

Before Fang Cheng could retreat, the creature emitted a wind-leaking hiss from its throat, its two withered arms lunging straight as if pincers toward him.

Whoosh —

The rancid wind rushed in.

Fang Cheng’s frail body was struck hard by the enormous force, causing him to fall flat on his back.

The back of his head slammed against the terrazzo floor, blackening his vision.

The foul liquid dripped onto his face, while the pair of icy, rigid hands firmly clamped around his throat.

Oxygen swiftly deprived, his lungs burnt with agonizing pain as if about to explode.

The disparity in strength was overwhelming, leaving him unable to break free.

His vision began to blur.

But under the pressure of near-death, it was as if a string snapped deep in Fang Cheng’s mind.

A ferocious instinct not belonging to this frail body surged violently within him.

He abandoned trying to pry the arms from his neck and began groping the floor with his right hand, grasping a sturdy plastic toy car nearby.

Fang Cheng’s fingers tightened, the dark red lump on the back of his hand suddenly bulging with purple veins.

He channeled all the remaining strength left in his body into his right arm.

"Get away!"

Fang Cheng squeezed a hoarse roar from his throat.

Then he picked up the toy car and fiercely smashed it against the monster’s twisted face at the temple.

"Bang!"

A dull thud sounded, causing the monster’s movements to pause for half a second.

Taking advantage of this gap, Fang Cheng bent his knees and drove both feet forcefully into its chest, exerting sudden strength.

"Crash!"

The shadow figure flew away like a torn sack, crashing heavily beside the coffee table.

The glass cup on the coffee table toppled to the ground, shattering to pieces.

Just as Fang Cheng was ready to turn over, crawl up, grab the glass shards, and continue his relentless attack.

"Snap!"

The incandescent light overhead suddenly illuminated, flooding the entire living room with piercing light.

The snowflakes on the television screen flickered twice, promptly reverting to a normal drama scene.

"What’s happening? What’s happening? Did someone break in!"

The bedroom door at the end of the first floor suddenly flung open.

His father, clad in big shorts, rushed out holding a broom.

His mother followed closely behind, her face pale.

"Wah!"

His brother peeked out from the staircase in his pajamas, crying aloud upon seeing the chaos in the living room.

Fang Cheng gasped for air, his chest heaving violently.

He slumped on the ground, turning his head toward the coffee table, following his parents’ horrified gaze.

The figure he’d kicked away was nestled amidst the shattered glass fragments.

No upturned eyes, nor cracked corners of the mouth.

Lying there is an emaciated old man wearing a dark gray sweater.

Grandpa’s eyes are tightly closed, his face slightly contorted from the pain of being beaten.

Dark red blood is constantly oozing from his nostrils, pooling into a small puddle on the floor.

"Dad!"

Father drops the broom, rushes over to pick up the old man, and turns his head to shout at mother:

"What are you waiting for, quickly call an ambulance!"

Mother trembles as she rushes over and grabs the landline from the coffee table.

Fang Cheng sits frozen in place, his chest soaked through with cold sweat.

He looks down at his own slightly trembling hands, then at grandpa, lying unknown in the pool of blood, his mind plunges into utter confusion.

What’s going on?

Where did that powerful, terrifying creature go?

Could it be that all along, what he attacked was...just a paralyzed ordinary old man?

The lights remain bright, and the anxious cries of his family are distressingly real.

Yet Fang Cheng feels as if an invisible net is tightly encasing him.

The chaotic and eerie sense of unease climbs up his spine like a malignant growth.

.........

On the third basement level of the Special Search Team Headquarters, inside the interrogation room set for interviews.

Fang Cheng sits quietly, leaning against a metal chair in the center of the room.

His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling smoothly, as if he is in a deep sleep.

A black metal helmet rests on his head, thick black cables extend from behind the helmet, winding their way to the interrogation table several meters away.

A young examiner stares intently at the fluctuating data indicators on the notebook screen, his right hand gripping the mouse, occasionally scrolling the wheel.

"Director Chen."

He turns his head, lowers his voice to report:

"Candidate number 287 had a sudden peak in brainwave activity just now. The electrical signals in the amygdala region are unusually active, seemingly encountering some sudden danger in the Illusion Realm."

"However, his Alpha and Beta wave amplitude quickly completed a self-adjustment, and the brainwave frequency remains in a stable range of 8 to 12 Hz, without chaotic fluctuations symbolizing extreme panic."

Chen Bingzhong’s body is mostly hidden in the shadow of the chair back, his gaze glued to the silent Ancient Bronze Bell.

He picks up the thermos cup by his hand, unscrews the lid, and takes a sip of strong tea, his tone calm:

"Normal phenomenon. This kid has practiced martial arts for years, his vitality is robust, naturally his will is resilient."

"Even if his Strength is suppressed inside by the Law, his instinctual intuition is far keener than the average person, not easily knocked out."

The young examiner hears this, nods slightly, and refocuses on the glowing computer screen.

Chen Bingzhong swallows the warm tea, his deep gaze sweeping over the dim, enclosed room.

The design of this ring-shaped main building of the Special Search Team isn’t based on architectural aesthetics but stems from compelling reasons.

At the center of the entire building deep underground, lies a highly dangerous and high-pollution special sealed object.

The Ancient Bronze Bell on the table, used as an examination tool, merely extracts a trace of aura emitted by that sealed object, acting as its derivative, possessing unimaginable Strength.

Speaking of, the original site of this Special Search Team Headquarters was once an underground sacrificial pit of the Ancient Yue Kingdom a thousand years ago.

Thirty years ago, East Capital underwent urban expansion.

A construction engineering team, during the excavation of the foundation, accidentally pierced the top layer of the sacrificial pit, touching that colossal buried in the depths of history.

That night, hundreds of workers in the entire construction team fell into collective madness.

They bit, slaughtered each other, and eventually died violently in utter frenzy.

Because that extraordinary object was too enormous, then-existing technology and Extraordinary Power couldn’t safely relocate it.

Ultimately, it was Director Li, the highest authority of the Special Search Team at the time, who personally made the decision, mobilized the core combat force of the entire team, seemingly conducting suppression.

Then directly poured tens of meters thick of anti-radiation concrete walls at the original site, completely sealing that area, and built this ring-shaped Special Search Team Headquarters above.

It wasn’t until recent years that the research department of the Special Search Team began to slowly explore some rules of that sealed object and cautiously utilized them.

This "Illusion Realm" used to test candidates is one such instance.

Chen Bingzhong glanced at the young examiner watching the screen intently, a hint of complexity flashing in his eyes.

Some confidential information, even high-ranking cadres within the Special Search Team are not privy to.

For instance, the sound created by the Ancient Bell is fundamentally not some fake "Illusion Realm."

But through specific frequency of Spirit resonance, forcibly pulling the consciousness of the subject, projecting it into a fragmented world naturally evolved by that sealed object itself.