Outside the old quarter.
The man who had just unfurled the interdiction field sat beside a notice board, cast a glance at the half-frozen old city lying motionless like a painted tableau, sighed, and fished out his phone to play a match-three game.
"Brother, what are you doing out here in the dead of night glued to your phone? Aren't you afraid the cold will seep into your bones?"
A passer-by crossed the street and laughed.
The man looked up for a moment, then resumed tapping. "Nothing else to do—bored stiff."
The passer-by chuckled, produced a cigarette, and offered it.
He waved it away. "On duty—no smoking."
"On duty? Squatting by the roadside playing games counts as work?"
"It does."
"Whatever you say." With a shrug the passer-by started toward the street behind him.
"Where are you headed?"
"Home."
"You can't go back yet—at least not now."
The passer-by arched a brow. "Meaning?"
"That road is closed. When it reopens, you may return." He pointed at the notice board.
Following his finger, the passer-by saw the sign planted in the middle of the street. Just as he was about to retort, the four characters—Passage Forbidden Ahead—glimmered faintly.
His gaze went vacant. Seconds later he pivoted stiffly, retracing his steps, eyes clouded with bewilderment…
The man seemed unsurprised. He was about to resume his game when a voice crackled in his earpiece.
"Zhao Kongcheng!"
He sprang to his feet; indolence vanished, replaced by uncompromising gravity.
"Here, Captain. What happened?"
"Problem. One of the Masked Ones evolved into a Masked King. While we were culling the others it struck, gravely wounded Hong Ying, and escaped through the sewers beyond the interdiction zone."
"Masked King?" Zhao's expression darkened. "Which direction? I'll intercept!"
"No, Kongcheng—you're not a combat specialist. You can't defeat a King. I'll pursue it."
"Then I—?"
"After the King fled, two more Masked Ones slipped into the sewers. The rest of us are tied up finishing the purge."
"Direction?"
"Southeast."
"Understood."
A sharp light flashed in Zhao's eyes. He sprinted to the far end of the street, dove into a black van, slammed the accelerator, and roared away. On the passenger seat lay a neatly folded black-and-crimson cloak—and a sheathed straight blade.
…
"All right, I'm turning here. See you." Wang Shao halted and spoke to the four behind him.
Just then Li Yifei seemed to remember something. "Wang Shao, isn't your house by the old quarter?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Nothing… just be careful on your way back."
Wang's mouth twitched. "Spit it out—half a warning only makes people uneasy."
Li hesitated. "Heard the old quarter's been unsafe—there's a deranged killer."
"A killer? Really?" Jiang Qian sounded doubtful.
"Absolutely," Li whispered, glancing around. "Over a dozen people have died there these past few days."
"A dozen? Impossible. The news would be all over it," Wang scoffed.
"Would it? Word's been gagged from the top. If my dad didn't work at the precinct, I wouldn't know either."
"Gagged? Why?"
"They say…" Li lowered his voice. "The victims' faces were flayed clean off—nothing left but bloody pulp and protruding eyes. The brutality is unspeakable."
A cool night breeze stirred. At his words, a chill shot from their soles to their scalps.
"Li Yifei, are you insane? Telling horror stories at this hour!" Jiang, pale, glanced at the silent street in alarm.
This area abutted the old quarter, a neglected corner of Cangnan. Evening classes had run late; near ten o'clock not a soul was in sight, and Li's tale was unnerving.
Even Wang Shao and Liu Yuan felt a twinge of dread. Wang eyed the narrow alley he was about to take and wavered…
If Li's account merely frightened them, Lin Qiye's next words made their scalps prickle outright.
After a moment's thought, Lin murmured, "Are you certain… a human did this?"
"Qiye, you—" Jiang shuddered.
Wang and Liu twitched; their look toward Lin turned oddly wary. Who would have guessed the mildest among them hid the deepest secrets?
Li stared, astonished. "You think so too?"
"Shut up!" Jiang pinched Li's arm, making him yelp. "No more ghost stories! I still have to walk home!"
Li clutched his arm, whining, "It's not a ghost story…"
Wang shrugged. "I'm done with this nonsense. I don't believe in spooks or monsters. I'm out." His figure vanished into the narrow lane.
Jiang shot Li another glare, walked a few steps, then stopped. She sniffed the air, brows knitting. "Do you smell something foul?"
"Foul?"
"Like something rotting."
"I don't. Liu Yuan?"
"Me nei—ugh!"
Before Liu and Li could finish, their faces changed. They clamped their noses, eyes wide with fear.
Lin was about to speak when a stench more vile than any he had known flooded his nose—like carrion steeped in sewage and stirred with a dozen spoiled eggs. His stomach lurched.
It was the vilest odor he had ever encountered.
For Jiang, whose sense of smell was keenest, it was too much; she crouched and retched.
"What the hell reeks like this?" Li shouted through his fingers.
"No idea," Lin muttered, frowning. After a beat he pointed down the alley Wang had taken. "But judging by the way it's drifting, it comes from there."
The next moment, a blood-curdling scream pierced the still night, echoing beneath the dark sky.