What Kind of Singing Is This? This Is a Massive Spellcasting Ritual, Isn't It?

Early winter had come to the capital. Cold winds swept up fallen leaves, adding a touch of desolation to the prosperous city.

Yet that chill seemed utterly incapable of extinguishing the blaze called "X" in the entertainment industry.

There were still two hours until the recording of The Masked Singer.

But in the living room of the Huo Household Villa, a solemn "pre-departure security inspection" was underway.

"Ningning, take this."

Jian Xiu held a string of prayer beads that looked like they had been obtained from some ancient temple. Without allowing any argument, he slipped them onto Jian Ning's wrist. "I had someone rush to Mount Wutai overnight to have these consecrated. They ward off evil. That X is weird as hell. Better safe than sorry."

Jian Ning looked at the heavy sandalwood beads on his left wrist, then at the ring Huo Si had given him earlier on his right hand. He felt like a walking display rack for magical artifacts.

"Bro... I'm going there as a judge, not to catch ghosts. If I wear this much stuff, I won't even be able to hold a microphone."

Jian Xiu looked utterly exasperated. "So what if you're a judge? The entertainment industry these days is more dangerous than a haunted house! Look at X's fans—they all act like they've been cursed. What if they riot at the venue?"

Huo Si sat on the sofa, flipping through a financial magazine. Without even looking up, he added calmly:

"I've arranged for fifty bodyguards to blend into the audience. If anyone tries anything, they'll secure the venue immediately."

Jian Xiu rolled his eyes. "What's the use of bodyguards? That's physical defense! I'm talking about magical defense! What if X can cast curses?"

Caught between two older men worrying themselves sick, Jian Ning sighed helplessly.

System, look at these two.

One believes in mysticism, the other believes in violence.

Does no one believe in me, a cheat-user with a high-tech system?

The system came online gloomily:

[Host, although I would like to agree with you, the latest big data analysis indicates that X's singing does indeed contain a certain low-frequency infrasound capable of disrupting brainwaves. Jian Xiu's prayer beads may be useless, but... I recommend bringing a pair of earplugs like Huo Si's.]

Jian Ning: "..."

Three in the afternoon, Capital City TV studio hall.

The nanny van slowly drove into the underground parking garage.

Even through the car windows, Jian Ning could sense the extraordinary frenzy outside.

The entrance to the television station was packed solid.

Thousands of fans held light signs bearing the letter "X." Though they shivered in the freezing wind, their faces carried an almost pathological flush of excitement. Rather than screaming and cheering like ordinary fans, they hummed an eerie melody in perfect unison.

"Mmm... mmm mmm... X..."

Those deep hums, as though squeezed from the depths of their throats, gathered together and created a resonance that made one's scalp tingle.

Jian Ning listened through a gap in the window and instantly broke out in goosebumps.

Holy shit... what kind of underworld music is this?

It makes my skin crawl, like ten thousand ants are crawling inside me.

Su Mo sat in the passenger seat, her expression equally grave.

As a top-tier agent, she had witnessed countless insane fan scenes, but this... this was too sinister.

"Jian Ning, once you're inside, speak as little as possible aside from your comments. Especially don't make eye contact with X," Su Mo warned. "I looked into it. Anyone who has met his eyes somehow turns into one of his die-hard fans."

Huo Si held Jian Ning's hand, gently rubbing his thumb across Jian Ning's palm and conveying silent strength.

"I'll be in the VIP seats below the stage. Only five meters away from you."

"If anything feels wrong, take off your earpiece and leave the stage immediately."

Jian Ning took a deep breath, nodded, adjusted his expression, and switched into "cool, aloof judge" mode.

"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

Backstage lounge.

The moment Jian Ning entered, he immediately sensed that something was wrong.

The usually bustling backstage area was especially quiet today. The staff all kept their heads down as they worked, but there was something mechanical about their movements.

A stagehand approached Jian Ning with the program rundown.

"Teacher Jian, here's today's schedule." The stagehand's voice drifted strangely, his eyes staring blankly ahead and bloodshot veins filling them.

Jian Ning took the rundown. Before he could speak, he heard the stagehand muttering under his breath:

"Lord X... perfect singing... salvation..."

Jian Ning's hand trembled.

System! Scan him!

System: [Ding! Scan result: This target is in a mild hypnotic state. Mental sanity value reduced by 20%. It is recommended that the host avoid prolonged contact.]

Jian Ning hurriedly sent the stagehand away and shut the lounge door, feeling a chill run down his back.

What kind of show recording was this? He had clearly walked into a spider demon's lair!

"Looks like Lin Yu—if it really is him—came prepared this time."

Jian Ning sat before the makeup mirror, staring at his reflection as his gaze gradually turned cold.

"He used to rely on system-powered charm. Now he's gone straight to mental contamination?"

"He wants to turn the entire entertainment industry into his personal harem? Did he ask me, the boss's wife?"

The recording began.

The studio hall glittered with lights, and every seat was occupied.

Jian Ning sat in the center seat of the judging panel, the C-position. To his left was Sister Na, the grand dame of the music scene, and to his right was Teacher Ding, a famous sharp-tongued music critic.

Although he occupied the center seat, Jian Ning could tell that the audience's attention was not on the judges at all.

Everyone stared fixedly at the lifting platform slowly rising at the center of the stage.

The lights abruptly dimmed.

Only a ghastly white beam remained, shining on the center of the stage.

The singer codenamed "X" appeared.

He wore a pure white robe and the signature half-face mask. His figure was lean and upright, while the exposed lower half of his face was pale without a trace of blood.

There was no accompaniment.

And no opening remarks.

He raised the microphone and began singing a cappella.

"In the darkness of the soul..."

The instant his singing began,

Jian Ning felt a buzz in his head, as though a fine needle had viciously pierced it.

The voice was ethereal and distant, yet carried a suffocating sense of oppression. It did not sound like singing—it sounded more like dancing directly on one's cerebral cortex.

[Warning! A mental attack is invading!]

[The system has automatically activated the Absolute Clarity Shield. Cost: 100 points per minute.]

With the system's protection, Jian Ning's nausea and dizziness instantly vanished.

His mind cleared, and he turned to look at the two judges beside him.

Sister Na had initially frowned, ready to pick apart the performance. But her brow gradually smoothed out, her eyes became dreamy, and she even began nodding lightly to the rhythm.

As for Teacher Ding, renowned for his vicious critiques, he did not even notice when the pen in his hand fell to the floor. His mouth hung slightly open as he stared at X like a puppet on strings.

Then Jian Ning looked at the audience behind them.

All five hundred audience members, without exception, had fallen into an eerie silence. Some were crying, some were smiling, but every pair of eyes was hollow.

Everyone got hit?

Isn't this too ridiculous?

Jian Ning shifted his gaze toward the shadowed VIP section below the stage.

Huo Si sat there.

The man wore sunglasses and sat ramrod straight, seemingly unaffected. But the hand resting on his knee tapped in a steady rhythm.

It was the signal he and Jian Ning had agreed upon:

"Safe. Continue."

Jian Ning let out a breath of relief.

It seemed Huo Si's willpower truly was beyond that of ordinary people.

The song ended.

The venue remained silent for a full half-minute.

Then deafening screams and applause erupted.

"X! X! X!"

"God! You're a god!"

X stood onstage, basking in the tidal wave of worship. He gave a slight bow, his gaze piercing through the layers of people and landing precisely on Jian Ning at the judges' table.

Behind the mask, the corner of his mouth curved into a strange smile.

The host stepped onstage, his voice trembling with excitement.

"That was... that was too shocking! It was practically a voice that cleansed the soul!"

"Next, let's hear the judges' comments."

Sister Na and Teacher Ding rushed to grab their microphones, breaking from character as they offered perfect praise.

"Perfect! I've never heard such a pure voice!"

"This song let me see heaven! Full marks!"

Finally, it was Jian Ning's turn.

The entire venue focused on him.

Jian Ning slowly picked up the microphone.

Rather than wearing the intoxicated expression of the others, he pulled out a bottle of mineral water from beneath the table, unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and then let out an extremely ill-timed—

"Burp—"

That loud burp was especially piercing amid the sacred atmosphere.

The fans glared at him furiously.

X's smile stiffened for a moment.

Jian Ning wiped his mouth and looked at X, revealing a smile that appeared sincere but was actually mocking.

"Um... Teacher X, right?"

"You sang quite well, really. Full marks for technique, full marks for emotion."

"But..."

Jian Ning paused, then suddenly covered his nose and fanned the air with a disgusted expression.

"Why does your singing have this smell... like an uncovered sewer?"

"Did you eat something unclean before coming onstage? Like... a dead rat?"

Dead silence.

The audience's jaws nearly hit the floor.

What was he saying?

A sewer? A dead rat?

Was he commenting on the god of song, or picking a fight in the street?

X's body suddenly trembled.

Not from anger, but fear.

The words "dead rat" had struck directly at his sore spot—the terror of being ruled by snakes in the castle dungeon.

"You..." X's voice distorted slightly, and the microphone released a piercing shriek.

But Jian Ning gave him no chance to strike back.

He stood, his gaze blazing as the Gossip System spun wildly.

[Ding! Extreme emotional fluctuations detected in the target!]

[A weakness has appeared!]

[The mask on the target's face is not made of ordinary material. It is Biomimetic Skin.]

[Recommendation: Expose his true identity directly!]

Jian Ning pointed at X, his voice cold as it carried throughout the venue.

"Drop the act, Lin Yu."

"Even if you changed your face, even if you poisoned your voice hoarse and retrained it..."

"I can still smell that sour stink of fermented green tea on you through the mask."

"What? The Everyone's Favorite System stopped working, so you switched careers to become a con artist?"

The entire venue erupted.

Lin Yu?

The wealthy family's abandoned son who had already "disappeared"?

X—Lin Yu—stared at Jian Ning.

He suddenly stopped pretending.

He let out a chilling, low laugh, slowly raised one hand, and gripped the edge of his mask.

"Jian Ning, Jian Ning..."

"Why do you... always have to ruin my plans?"

"Click."

The mask came off.

But beneath it was not Lin Yu's familiar face.

Instead, it was a horrifying face covered in strange black patterns, as though shattered porcelain had been pieced back together.

"Aah—!"

The audience in the front rows screamed in terror.

Wearing that horrifying face, Lin Yu flashed Jian Ning a savage grin:

"Since you recognized me, there's no point playing anymore."

"Landlady, you were right."

"Fight the Landlord is boring."

"This time... let's play something more exciting."

Before he finished speaking, the studio's exit doors suddenly crashed down with a boom.

They locked automatically.

In an instant, the entire studio became a massive sealed room.