Lin Yun fought back her tears. At last, she nodded, turned, and hurried away.
Jiu Jia Yi took a slow breath, scenes from countless past missions flashing through his mind. It wasn't that he felt no fear. Fear had simply become a fact of life. His survival had always hung by a thread.
The lights suddenly flickered—Lin Yun's signal that she had thrown the breaker.
The entire backstage area plunged into darkness. Only the Bronze Lamp remained, its deep-blue flame wavering. The black-robed figures faltered for an instant, then chanted faster, trying to hurry the ritual along.
Now.
Jiu Jia Yi burst from behind the curtain and leaped into the ritual area like a shadow. The Short Blade flashed in his right hand, while his left gripped a Tear Gas Grenade hidden in his sleeve. He moved like the wind. Before the black-robed figures could react, he had slit one throat and severed another's wrist. One fell dead; the other collapsed screaming.
"An intruder!" a black-robed figure roared, his voice as rough as grinding stone.
"You took this too far." Jiu Jia Yi gave a cold laugh and hurled the Tear Gas Grenade toward the lamp. "It's over."
A soft pop sounded. White mist billowed out, throwing the black-robed figures into a panic. The Bronze Lamp rocked violently amid the smoke, its flame growing unsteady.
Jiu Jia Yi charged the altar, raised the Short Blade high, and brought it down hard on the floating Spirit-Guiding Lock.
Crack!!
The instant the metal shattered, an invisible shock wave exploded outward. It hurled him several meters into a prop rack, and blood trickled from his mouth. But he saw it: the black threads twitched and snapped in midair like a torn spiderweb. The light of the Bronze Lamp flickered wildly, then went out. Deathly silence swallowed the theater.
The black-robed figures lay scattered on the floor. Some convulsed, some went limp, and some still tried to rise. But their strength was gone, as if the lock had been their heart—and now that heart was destroyed.
Jiu Jia Yi struggled to get up. His ears rang, and his vision blurred. His spine screamed in protest, and several ribs felt broken. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself against the wall and slowly rose.
The theater doors suddenly flew open. Lin Yun rushed in, saw him covered in blood, and ran toward him with a cry. "Are—are you all right?"
He looked at her and forced a faint smile. "Don't cry yet... I'm not dead."
Lin Yun threw herself into his arms, nearly collapsing. He said quietly, "Contact He Zhong. While he takes control of the engine, have him check the guest records for every VIP room. I suspect... the real priest hasn't shown himself yet."
Tear gas and the acrid smell of scorched metal still lingered in the theater. The air felt thick as sludge, blood and smoke woven through it like an invisible net over everything. At center stage, the Spirit-Guiding Lock that had once floated in midair lay in twisted metal fragments on the shattered stone altar, like a dead eye closed forever.
Jiu Jia Yi leaned against the theater wall, breathing hard. Sweat and blood ran down his jaw, and his shirt clung to him, soaked through. He still gripped the engraved Short Blade, his knuckles white.
Lin Yun knelt beside him and fumbled to tear open the fabric at his shoulder. A gash deep enough to expose bone came into view, still bleeding and staining her palm red.
"Don't move. I... I'll try to stop the bleeding!" Her voice trembled with fear, and her fingers were cold.
Jiu Jia Yi only shook his head, his voice still calm. "Don't worry too much about a flesh wound. What worries me is that the real priest may have been right under our noses all along."
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