That pale white "full moon" was no longer a cold symbol hanging high in the sky. Instead, it pressed down like an overheated giant solder bead, grinding against the invisible barrier overhead. Where they met came a skin-crawling sizzling sound—like a red-hot iron branding pig skin. The air filled with a pungent smell of burning plastic.

  The barrier wall began to deform, caving in. That "moon" grew brighter and brighter, so bright it seemed to carry physical weight, hovering over everyone's heads, ready to crash down at any moment.

  The backyard descended into complete chaos.

  Villagers let out shrill screams—this exceeded their understanding of "gods." Some knelt kowtowing for mercy, thinking this was divine punishment for unmet quotas. Others laughed maniacally, arms spread wide to welcome the destructive light, eyes full of longing for release.

  The Chief and Zhang each cradled a newborn—the boy-girl twins Gao had just delivered. They stumbled out of the corner room, looking up at the terrifying white light pressing down from above, both faces white as paper. Even the babies were too frightened to cry, only trembling.

  Zhang stood in the center of the courtyard, slapping his thigh, frantic.

  But his first reaction wasn't to save the ghosts or patch the sky—instead, with astonishing speed, he whipped out his phone, expertly opened the video function, and even remembered to turn on the beauty filter. He struck a forty-five-degree angle selfie pose against the apocalyptic scene about to collapse above:

  "Dear shareholder daddies! Emergency situation! This is Zhang Ranch No. 455! We've encountered extreme force majeure—suspected illegal dumping by the Court causing spatial collapse!"

  While maintaining professional pacing, he still found time to adjust the camera angle, getting the terrified ghost crowd in the background:

  "Due to this impact, this year's output is projected to drop 50% compared to last year! We may even face asset liquidation! But I—Regional Manager Zhang—have rushed to the scene immediately for asset preservation! I plan to urgently access corporate accounts for risk hedging, hereby documenting via video! Board of Directors, please note—this is absolutely not an operational accident!"

  Video done, hit send—but he didn't even notice the progress bar that refused to complete. Zhang's "dutiful and responsible" elite mask had already been instantly torn away.

  "Fuck, this is a disaster!"

  He stuffed the phone back in his pocket, randomly grabbing several sloppy ghosts nearby he'd long found annoying—the worst performers. Those unlucky ghosts hadn't even reacted before Zhang lifted them like chickens.

  "Where's the thing I planted in you?!"

  Zhang roared at the still-dazed Chief, face twisted:

  "Make that beast come out! The barrier's about to break—at a time like this, you're still hiding it? Hurry up and call it out, sacrifice these wastes to fuel the formation! Now!"

  The Chief held the baby, body shaking like a sieve, but didn't move.

  "Are you deaf?!"

  Zhang completely lost it. He charged forward, knocked the baby from the Chief's arms, then roughly grabbed the old man's collar.

  "I'll say it one more time—wake it up! If this place gets exposed, we're all doomed for eternity!"

  Zhang yelled while violently yanking open the old man's worn Tang suit collar, then roughly tore open his back. The wrinkled skin covered in age spots had nothing he was looking for. In desperation, he even lifted the old man's hem, trying to strip him completely.

  But the next second, Zhang's roar cut off abruptly. He froze in place like he'd been struck by lightning. On the Chief's shriveled belly, there was still no greenish birthmark hiding the formation's core.

  In its place was a gruesome, bloody cavity. The flesh at that spot looked like it had been forcibly torn away. The surrounding tissue had blackened and necrotized, revealing pale fascia beneath—like a freshly fired gun barrel, still wisping black smoke.

  "You…"

  Zhang gaped, pointing at that bloody hole, fingers trembling:

  "You knew that was the formation fulcrum?… You… you dug out the formation fulcrum? When?!" He stared in disbelief at this normally subservient old man: "Are you insane? You want to drag everyone down with you?"

  The Chief looked at Zhang's terrified expression and suddenly stopped shaking.

  He slowly straightened his back, a bitter yet relieved smile spreading across his face:

  "The moment you stepped into this village… Being what we are, what's the point of talking about life and death."

  He reached out to touch that empty bloody hole, tone terrifyingly calm:

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "I've been the watchdog here for over a hundred years. Village Chief in name, prison warden in truth. I've seen enough. You think I didn't know? Every time you came to collect goods was the window when the barrier's energy shifted—also when that parasite living on me was at its weakest and most fearful."

  The Chief looked up at that teetering "moon" overhead, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes:

  "I'd actually planned several schemes, figuring out how to trick that monster down so I could completely gouge out its parasitic nest. But who knew—heaven-sent opportunity! That 'variable' who broke in today… that outsider ghost woman, there must be something on her that scared that monster out of its wits."

  Zhang's pupils contracted sharply.

  "See, even heaven is helping me." The Chief laughed more and more maniacally, pointing at his own belly. "It ran away, went looking for a new home. Now this ranch's key is gone, the lock is broken. Haha—hahahaha…"

  He stepped forward, looking at Zhang's ashen face:

  "Manager Zhang, this hell without respite—it's time for it to fall."

  The barrier beneath that terrifying "moon" overhead finally couldn't take anymore, reaching its fatigue limit.

  With a sharp hiss like a pressure cooker venting, that invisible barrier tore open like burnt plastic wrap.

  White plasma cascaded down like a waterfall. Instead of scattering like ordinary liquid when it hit the ground, it instantly gained terrifying sentience—like greedy silver pythons, frantically slithering across the ground, hunting for anything carrying yin energy and karmic stains.

  The courtyard instantly became a slaughterhouse.

  Those "villager" ghost workers gathered in the yard were now like sardines being hunted. Where the white plasma passed, ghosts couldn't even scream before being devoured, broken down, reduced to primordial formless particles.

  Ling struggled to prop up the still-numb Teon. Just then, Jann—wearing the bright red Chinese wedding outfit, face full of terror—came limping in from outside to join them.

  "Holy shit holy shit holy shit! Help! What the hell is this stuff!"

  Jann was practically crying. That invisibility talisman was still stuck to his forehead, but against this white plasma, it was completely useless. These things didn't rely on vision—they locked onto energy frequencies.

  The three of them barely had time to steady themselves before several "silver snakes" followed them in. So the trio performed a clumsy tap dance through a minefield, leaping left and right, dodging the white death swimming at their feet.

  "Don't step on the white! Don't step on the white!" Jann screamed.

  But you can't think of everything.

  Most of the thick white plasma was hunting the plump fierce ghosts in the center of the courtyard, but some thin streams escaped like fish through a net, darting everywhere.

  A chopstick-thin stream of white plasma suddenly shot from a crack between flagstones, catching Jann's ankle without warning.

  "AHHH—!"

  Jann let out a pig-slaughtering scream. The white plasma didn't bite off his flesh—instead, it was like a high-voltage current instantly piercing through all his meridians.

  Pfft!

  Jann's head snapped back, two streams of nosebleed fountaining out. Not only that, he felt every hidden ailment accumulated in his overworked body since childhood—herniated disc, allergic rhinitis, especially the arrhythmia from staying up late—all being violently "purged" by this domineering energy in an instant.

  His eyes rolled back, nearly dying on the spot. If Ling hadn't given him that Qi Restoration Pill earlier as compensation, protecting his heart meridian, this unlucky kid could have logged out and rerolled a new character right then.

  "Useless trash!" Ling cursed, grabbing Jann's collar to keep him from collapsing and becoming fertilizer.

  In the extreme chaos, Ghost-Eye caught a pattern.

  She noticed that although the white plasma was fierce, it could only conduct through tangible matter.

  Floor tiles, pillars, tables and chairs, even human bodies—all were conductors. Once they tried to leap and attack, if they missed, exposure to air would cause them to dissipate like smoke in the blink of an eye for lack of a medium.

  "They conduct through matter!" Ling shouted the warning. "Don't get near walls! Don't touch furniture! All this junk is their stepping stones!"

  She yanked the still-dazed Teon, roaring: "Head for open ground! Don't walk along the edges! One—two—three—GO!"

  The three of them stumbled out of the cramped room, moving toward the relatively open space in the courtyard.

  Teon, propped up by Ling, was now mostly lucid—but he wished he was still unconscious. He simply couldn't imagine how someone of his social standing had somehow been dragged to this godforsaken backwater, being chased by snake-like monsters.

  And look at the company he was keeping: on his left, some loser in bizarre Chinese wedding clothes, face covered in nosebleed, looking like a basement dweller; on his right, a violent, greedy con woman who couldn't stop bullshitting.

  "This must be a dream… this isn't scientific…"

  But no matter how much he wanted to "wake up," he remained in this insane yet real scene, fleeing under the pale moonlight with these two in an absurd "midnight escape."

  Teon gritted his teeth, trying to shake off their support and run on his own legs.

  But that familiar, despairing sensation hit—like being trapped in that sticky nightmare where you're desperately anxious, monsters chasing behind, brain screaming commands, but your legs are filled with lead, or stepping on cotton, uselessly pushing off the ground, unable to run. That deep powerlessness, mixed with the reeking air and blinding white light, was giving Teon's materialist worldview an unprecedented compound fracture.

  "Hey! What are you spacing out for! Trying to exhaust me?!"

  Ling slapped his back, interrupting his philosophical contemplation. "If you want to die, don't die here—bad feng shui. You'll get downgraded in your next reincarnation!"

  The firmament overhead was no longer sky, but a piece of rotting skin. The dark clouds that had released the first wave of white plasma had temporarily sealed the breach like a healing scab. But this was just an illusion—deep within the clouds, a massive "abscess" was swelling, seemingly brewing for one final assault.

  There was nowhere left to stand in the courtyard. White plasma churned like boiling water, purifying all negative energy.

  Zhang was cornered. Behind him was the sealed barrier, before him the white death closing in step by step. In his hand, a black talisman had burned to nothing. Frantic, he pointed at the Chief collapsed on the ground, nearly deranged:

  "You were the one who begged me to help you get revenge! You were the one who begged me to drag them down with you! It was you! All of this was your choice!"

  Zhang's voice warped with extreme fear, like nails on a chalkboard:

  "Everything I did—wasn't it to help you?! I gave you eternal time, gave you the power of revenge! Now you want to play saint, want to repent—and drag us all into eternal damnation?! Who do you think you are! You ungrateful old dog!"

  The Chief sat slumped on the ground, cradling that baby who had long gone silent. Looking at Zhang's hysterical state, the last glimmer of light in his eyes extinguished.

  "Give it up, Zhang." his voice was soft, yet cut through the surrounding chaos. "This rotten account—I'll carry it alone when I get to hell."