Bang!
The ever-reliable Stage Sword pierced the fragile windowpane, but this time it failed to open an escape route for Ji Li.
Though the blade had passed clean through the glass, the window showed no sign of shattering. Instead, it swallowed the blade like a deep pool.
A powerful suction surged in from outside. Ji Li flicked his wrist and retreated into the Living Room.
Now, when he looked around Ye Ping's home again, everything had changed.
The split-open abdominal cavity of the corpse on the coffee table was releasing an even stronger, more pungent floral fragrance that made his head spin.
Ji Li drew a deep breath and held it, covered his nose and mouth with a cloth, and shook his head to force himself alert before surveying the room again.
In the dim Living Room, the blood trailing from the corpse twisted grotesquely across the floor, resembling an enormous winding snake, or perhaps an unfamiliar pictograph.
As for the blood that had spattered from Ye Ping's corpse, the red spots on the walls, the sofa, and elsewhere were also changing and moving.
Inside Ye Ping's home, the blood seemed to have formed a man-devouring barrier, radiating an unfamiliar, eerie supernatural power.
Ji Li found it increasingly difficult to breathe. His mind began to cloud as well, and the hand gripping the Stage Sword grew weak.
He bit down on the tip of his tongue and spat blood onto the cloth, hoping to force himself awake through pain, but it had no effect.
The pain in his tongue should have been sharp and overwhelming, yet all he felt was a faint tingling numbness, like an ant's bite.
"Anesthesia..."
Cold sweat soaked the hair at Ji Li's temples. He propped himself up with the Stage Sword, barely remaining upright, and