After the name Xie Wu emerged, all the White Membranes in the Broadcast Room began peeling away.
The walls, the floor, the old microphones, the cable channels on the ceiling—everywhere the faceless man had touched sprouted a thin white skin. Those skins curled up in midair like countless unfinished faces and lunged at True Shen Cheng's remnant soul.
Lu Wenchuan stood at the rear door of the ventilation shaft, his blade held across his body.
"Xu Zhihan."
"I see it."
Xu Zhihan stood aboveground, his hand pressed against the Monitoring Clasp as the Golden Mark in his palm lit up little by little.
Beside him, Song Zhixia watched the readings, her voice very low.
"Twenty seconds at most."
Xu Zhihan did not answer.
Inside the Broadcast Room, True Shen Cheng's tiny glimmer of golden light grew fainter. With the name revealed, the remnant soul seemed to have exhausted all its strength at once, and Xie Wu pressed it back into his chest.
Xie Wu raised his blank face.
The black fissure down its center remained, and his voice squeezed out through it, laden with deep hatred.
"Shen Cheng."
True Shen Cheng did not respond.
Xie Wu slowly stood up.
"You've been dead for fifteen years, and you still have to ruin things for me."
Lu Wenchuan stepped through the rear door.
Xu Zhihan's voice sounded immediately.
"One."
Lu Wenchuan smiled.
"You're still counting?"
"Two."
He said nothing more and charged straight toward the center of the Broadcast Room.
Xie Wu raised his hand, and the White Membranes throughout the room lunged at Lu Wenchuan. Lu Wenchuan swept his blade along the floor, burning a narrow path with Thunderfire. He did not touch the old skins bearing people's names, cutting only the nameless White Membranes. His blade was precise, every stroke