Crossroads

In the Mississippi countryside in 1930, the moon cast a deathly pale halo over the rutted dirt of a crossroads overgrown with withered yellow weeds. Robert Johnson held a wooden guitar worn to a shine, his fingertips covered in calluses.

"As long as you can make me play better than anyone else, make me famous, I'll give anything." He murmured to the deserted crossroads, his voice carrying the all-or-nothing resolve of a gambler with nowhere left to turn.

The moment he finished speaking, a figure slowly emerged from the old oak's shadow-a woman in a tight black dress, blonde curls falling over her shoulders, her lips painted the color of congealed blood. Her bare feet touched the dirt without picking up a speck of dust. She swayed toward Johnson, her fingertips lightly tracing the guitar's neck and his palm. Her voice was as soft as silk, yet wrapped in a bone-chilling cold. "Your soul in exchange for the finest guitar skills in the world. You get ten years, and when they're up, I come to collect. Deal?"

Johnson's Adam's apple bobbed violently. Looking into the woman's red-tinged eyes, he had already lost his head to the desire for fame and money. Gritting his teeth, his nails digging deep into his palms, he nodded hard. "Deal."

The woman smiled and lightly brushed her fingertips across the strings. Instantly, a flowing blues melody burst forth, carrying an uncanny allure. Even the moonlight seemed drawn to the sound, growing a little brighter. Johnson's eyes widened. He could not believe his ears-this was a level he could not have played at even in his dreams. As the woman turned to leave, she left him with, "See you in ten years."

In the present day, in a motel in St. Louis, Missouri, the television was showing the local news. Reporters crowded outside the police cordon around a skyscraper as the anchor spoke with professional composure. "Renowned local architect Sean Boyden fell to his death this morning from the top floor of the Skyline Building, which he designed. Police have preliminarily ruled it an accident, but according to the emergency dispatch center, the deceased called 110 before his death. The call lasted forty-seven seconds, throughout which he screamed, 'A black dog! A huge black dog! It's chasing me! Help!'"

Sean's photograph flashed across the screen. The once high-spirited man was now nothing but a cold corpse. Sam pressed pause, rustling through John's journal on his knees. "That makes two! Yesterday, Sylvia Perlman, a surgeon at St. Louis General Hospital, disappeared. Security footage caught her running frantically down a hotel hallway around three in the morning, barefoot, her dress torn, repeatedly shouting, 'A black dog! Stay away!'" He pointed at the screen, his brow knotted. "I pulled their records. Look at these two. Ten years ago, Sean was tending bar, unable to pay rent and borrowing money from people every day. Sylvia failed her medical licensing exam three times. Even the worst hospital in town wouldn't take her. Now they're both big shots in their fields. That's one hell of a suspicious comeback."

Bai Haorui leaned closer and took five strung-together Five Emperor Coins from his pocket, waving them above the photograph of the corpse on the screen. The copper coins immediately glowed a dull blue-black and spun faster and faster, pulling their red cord taut. "Extremely strong fluctuations of yin energy." He returned the coins to his pocket and bent to pack his bag, putting his peachwood sword, yellow talismans, and jars and bottles of black dog blood in their places. "We need to inspect the scene first."

Dean leaned against the sofa in a daze, his fingers unconsciously tapping his knee. He raised his head. "Sure. Beats sitting here smelling motel mildew. Let's check out where Sean died first."

The three went outside and climbed into the Impala nearby. In the passenger seat, Sam hammered at his laptop, its screen reflected on his face. "Found it! Sean and Sylvia both worked at Lloyd's Bar in St. Louis ten years ago. Sean was a bartender, Sylvia a waitress. They both quit in March 2005, and after that, it was like they'd activated cheats. Sean got anonymous funding to open an architecture firm, and not a single client along the way has complained about his designs. Sylvia passed all her certification exams in one go, joined the best hospital in St. Louis, and quickly became one of the country's top doctors." He turned toward Dean. "Something's definitely wrong with that bar."

Dean raised an eyebrow and turned the wheel to avoid a pothole. "That's a little too coincidental. Five bucks says there's some voodoo stuff or a demon altar buried under that bar."

In the back seat, Bai Haorui toyed with his peachwood sword, the Three-Five Evil-Slaying Talisman on its blade glowing faintly. "When things get strange, something's behind it. Their abilities improved far too suddenly. Odds are they made a deal with something-reminds me of that famous story back home, Judge Lu's head swap."

Sam nodded and continued going through the information. "I'll dig into the bar's background some more, see if there are any rumors."

The door to the skyscraper's rooftop stood ajar, creaking and rattling whenever the wind blew. The three put on latex gloves and carefully pushed it open. A cold gust carrying dust struck their faces. Dean instinctively narrowed his eyes and raised a hand to shield them.

The rooftop was empty apart from a few humming air-conditioning units. Besides the scattered footprints-their owner had clearly been panicked while running, taking enormous strides-there were several dark brown paw prints, more than twice the size of an adult German shepherd's. Their sharp edges had gouged the concrete, and a little thick black substance remained in their centers.

Bai Haorui crouched, his knee against the cold ground, and touched a fingertip to some black residue beside a paw print. He brought it to his nose and sniffed, immediately furrowing his brow deeply. "A mixture of sulfur and yin energy. This definitely wasn't an ordinary animal. It's connected to demons." He scraped up a little residue with his fingernail and put it into a small glass vial he carried. "We can confirm more back at the motel, but we can pretty much conclude this 'black dog' is working with a demon."

Sam took out John's journal, running a finger across the yellowed pages before stopping at a passage. "Dad wrote, 'Monsters directly associated with demons often leave sulfur traces, with a pungent odor and thick black residue.' But he didn't say what kind of monster." He looked up at the other two, anxiety filling his eyes. "Dad must have encountered one back then. Why didn't he write it down clearly?"

Dean paced along the rooftop's edge, where years of exposure had cracked the concrete underfoot. Looking down at the traffic below, he gave a derisive laugh. "Anything that can chase someone into jumping off a building dozens of stories high isn't just some 'black dog.'" He suddenly bent down and picked a black dog hair out of the weeds in a corner. It was much coarser and stiffer than ordinary dog hair, with a strange submetallic sheen. "Look at this. Stiff as wire. What normal dog grows something like this?"

Bai Haorui took the hair, laid it in his palm, and brought his Five Emperor Coins close. The coins immediately trembled slightly. "There's very little yin energy attached to it, but we can confirm that the owner of this hair left the paw prints and residue."

Leaving the skyscraper, the three drove to the hotel where Sylvia had disappeared. Police cars were still parked outside, the cordon remained in place, and several officers stood at the entrance smoking and chatting. Dean parked at the street corner and dug three federal agent uniforms out of the trunk. "Same as always. Go in undercover, make it quick."

The three changed into the uniforms, and Dean flashed a forged ID. "Federal Bureau of Investigation. We're investigating Sylvia Perlman's disappearance and need another look at the scene." The officers let them through without giving it much thought.

A seal still hung across the hotel room's door. Dean opened it. The room was a mess. The bedding had been dragged onto the floor, a pillow lay in a corner, and a water glass had tipped over on the table, its spilled contents already dry. Black blood on the floor had congealed into dark patches, noticeably thicker than human blood, with faint black vapor rising around the edges.

Bai Haorui brought his Five Emperor Coins near the bloodstains. They immediately shook violently with a faint hum, nearly snapping their red cord. "This was left when the victim was attacked. The yin energy is heavy, and I can sense traces of 'life energy being drained.'" He stood and surveyed the room, his gaze settling on the window. "The window was locked from inside, and there's no sign the door was forced. This monster appeared out of thin air. It had a clear target-it came for Sylvia."

Sam sat at the desk, opened his laptop, and typed rapidly. "I hacked the local police system and pulled Sean's and Sylvia's detailed files. After Sean quit, he suddenly received an anonymous transfer of five hundred thousand and founded an architecture firm. His designs used to be garbage, and clients tore him apart over them. After he quit, his very first proposal won a bid, and everything went smoothly from there. Sylvia's even more outrageous. After quitting, she passed the hardest medical licensing exam on her first try. Her performance in the interview crushed every other candidate, and she got into the best hospital in St. Louis. Her surgical success rate was frighteningly high. She could even handle complicated, hard-to-treat conditions. She was practically a different person."

Dean leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "They worked at the same bar, quit in the same month, then one suddenly got money and talent while the other passed an incredibly difficult exam and became a god of medicine? That's way too convenient. Who'd believe there's nothing supernatural involved?"

Back in the car, Sam took out a pen and listed the key points in a notebook, its tip scratching across the paper. "1. Both worked at Lloyd's Bar ten years ago; 2. Quit at the same time, then made their 'comebacks'; 3. Both saw a 'black dog' before dying or disappearing; 4. Sulfur, strange paw prints, and black dog hair at the scenes; 5. Residual energy indicates a demonic connection."

Dean slapped his thigh, his eyes lighting up. "I remember! This has to be one of those legendary crossroads deals! The Robert Johnson legend-trade your soul for a wish, and when ten years are up, the demon comes to collect!"

Bai Haorui nodded, swirling the residue in the little glass vial. "That fits. Sulfur is a demon's signature trace, and the 'black dog' should be its collector. Now we just need to confirm exactly what the 'black dog' is and where the deals took place."

Sam looked at the entry on "demon-related monsters" in the journal and bit his lip. "Dad didn't explain what this soul-collecting 'black dog' was. We need more clues."

Dean started the car and patted Sam's shoulder, his tone a little lighter. "Don't worry. We should find some clues asking around Lloyd's Bar. It's had the same owner all this time."

Lloyd's Bar stood in the old part of town, its facade weathered, half the paint peeling from the name on its wooden sign. As they pushed the door open, a mixture of alcohol, tobacco, and sour body odor hit them. The television behind the counter was showing baseball, while several bartenders bustled around in T-shirts bearing the bar's logo.

The owner was a burly bald man with a ferocious skull tattooed on his arm and a cigarette in his mouth, its butt nearly burned down to his fingers. Seeing the three come in, he raised an eyebrow. "What'll you have? Beer or whiskey?"

Dean flashed a forged press pass. "We're from Architectural Digest. We're doing a feature on 'rags-to-riches stories' and wanted to ask about Sean Boyden's past. We heard he used to work here?"

The owner blew a smoke ring and nodded, picking up a rag to wipe a glass. "Sean? That kid was flat broke back then. Spent every day slacking off and complaining he couldn't make money. Borrowed rent money from me several times, never paid any of it back." He paused, remembering something else. "There was a waitress named Sylvia, too. Much the same. Always wore this miserable, sour face. Said she wanted to be a doctor but couldn't pass the exams. Once told me she felt like there was no hope left for her in this life."

"Did they do anything strange before quitting?" Dean leaned against the counter, his tone casual, as though making small talk. "Like going somewhere often, or meeting anyone unusual?"

The owner thought for a moment, tapping the counter. "Around then, Sean always went to smoke at the crossroads behind the bar after getting off at midnight. Saw him there several times, standing alone, talking to thin air and grinning like an idiot. Told me, 'I'll be rich soon. I'll pay back that rent then.' I figured he was drunk and acting up, so I didn't think much of it."

Bai Haorui immediately grew alert, but asked without showing it, "Did people often go to that crossroads in the middle of the night?"

"Not many. Just him." The owner shook his head. "Pitch-black out there. Nobody but him wanted to go there at night."

Sam took the opportunity to slip into the back of the bar, where numerous boxes were piled up and an old filing cabinet stood in a corner, covered in dust. He opened it to find records of former employees. After searching for about ten minutes, he finally pulled out a file. "Found it! George Darrow, quit in March 2005. Used to be the bar's cleaner, then became a famous painter.

He took out his laptop and searched for George. "An abstract painter. His paintings sell for a fortune." He closed the file. "He's living in a studio outside town now. Let's find him. He must have made the same deal."

By the time the three found George Darrow's studio at the address in the file, it was already growing dark. The studio stood in an isolated stretch of countryside surrounded by woods. Weeds filled the yard, their waist-high blades swaying in the wind as though something were hiding among them. The studio's walls were covered in paintings of distorted black dogs. Some gaped with bloody maws, exposing sharp fangs; others clutched human souls in their claws, their vicious gazes striking terror into the heart.

George's hair was tangled and disheveled, looking as though it had not been washed in ages. Stubble covered most of his face, his eyes were bloodshot, and he clutched a bottle of whiskey.

"Mr. George, sorry to intrude. After seeing your paintings, I'll skip the rest. We're demon hunters."

At Sam's words, he froze for a moment, then smiled bitterly. "You're here about the deal, right? Sean and Sylvia are dead. I'm next." His voice was as rough as sandpaper, his breath heavy with alcohol.

Dean got straight to the point. "What exactly is that 'black dog'? Why is it killing you?"

George took a long swig, liquor trickling from the corner of his mouth onto his worn shirt. Leaning against the doorframe, he swayed as though he might fall at any moment. "A hellhound! A demon's 'debt-collecting dog'!" He pointed at the paintings on the wall with a trembling finger. "Ten years ago, I met a blonde woman at the crossroads behind Lloyd's Bar. Dressed real sexy, red eyes. She said she could make me a great painter, on condition that I give her my soul ten years later. I was so poor I was nearly starving. Couldn't even pay rent. I agreed without thinking."

He crouched on the ground, clutching his head, his shoulders shaking violently as tears and snot streamed down his face. "But I've spent these ten years living in fear every single day! Nightmares every night, full of that hellhound's howling. It chases me, claws me until I'm covered in blood! It only appears before the contract expires, and only those of us who made deals can see it. Nobody else can! It'll keep chasing you until it tears you apart and takes your soul!"

George looked at the paintings, shaking his head with a bitter smile. "I thought success would make me happy, make people respect me. But every day, I've been counting down to my death. This life really is worse than dying!" He suddenly grabbed Bai Haorui's trouser leg as though clutching a lifeline. "You said you're hunters, right? You can save me, right? I don't want to die. I regret it. I don't want to give my soul to a demon!"

Bai Haorui frowned and bent down to help him up. Taking a folded Soul-Subduing Talisman from his backpack, he gently placed it in George's hand. "This can temporarily block the hellhound's aura and buy some time. We'll see if we can help break your contract." His voice was level, without any audible emotional fluctuations. The various classics he had been studying lately and the notes he had read all mentioned "composing the spirit, clearing the mind, remaining unperturbed," keeping one's emotions steady.

George froze, looking at the yellow talisman in his hand. Intricate symbols covered it, and it gave off a faint sandalwood scent. A long-absent glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes, his voice trembling. "Really?"

Seeing him like this left Sam with mixed feelings. He said softly, "We'll try. We can't guarantee it'll work, but we'll do everything we can."

Dean nodded, his hands in his pockets. "First, we find that blonde woman-the demon-and see if we can force it to break the contracts. Think again. Were there any other people who made deals?"

George thought for a moment, then suddenly said, "Evan Hudson! He worked at Lloyd's Bar back then, too, as a bartender's assistant. Nice guy, always helped me with my work. He signed a contract with that blonde woman to save his wife from cancer. Counting the years, his time's almost up, too!"

The three drove toward Evan's home along a country lane, lush green farmland stretching to either side. The air held an indescribably odd mixture of fresh earth and foul fertilizer. Evan's home was a small white wooden house, with several pots of sunflowers blooming brightly in the yard and a few clothes drying by the door, giving it a warm, lived-in feel.

Evan answered the door. He looked to be in his fifties, his graying hair neatly combed, his face deeply lined, but his spirits seemed good. He wore a plaid shirt and an apron and held a watering can. Seeing the three, he paused and asked warily, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Sam took out his ID, his tone gentle. "We're investigating some matters connected to Lloyd's Bar. We heard you used to work there and wanted to ask you a few questions."

Evan's expression changed instantly. He instinctively glanced back into the house and lowered his voice. "Come inside, but don't let Lina hear."

The house was spotlessly clean. Plaid fabric covered the living room sofa, a steaming cup of tea sat on the coffee table, and a soap opera played on television. Evan's wife, Lina, sat on the sofa knitting a sweater, her complexion rosy and her smile gentle. Nothing about her suggested she had once had terminal cancer.

"Lina, I'm going into the yard to talk with these friends." Evan walked over and gently patted his wife's shoulder.

Lina looked up and smiled, her voice tender. "All right. Come back soon. Dinner's almost ready."

The three followed Evan into the yard. He closed the gate, his eyes immediately reddening. "You're here about the deal, aren't you? George told you?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. He said you signed a contract with a blonde demon to save your wife."

Evan sighed and sat on a bench in the yard, bracing his hands on his knees. "Ten years ago, Lina was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer. The doctor said she had three months at most. Chemotherapy and radiation wouldn't help. They told us to go home and let Lina do things that would make her happy." His voice choked. "I was almost out of my mind. Lina's the most important person in my life. I couldn't lose her."

He paused and wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. "When I saw Sean's and Sylvia's luck suddenly turn, I thought something was wrong. I watched them secretly and found they kept going to the crossroads behind the bar at midnight. I followed them twice and saw them complete their deals. Finally, I made up my mind and waited until that blonde woman appeared. She spoke to me first. Said she could cure Lina, on condition that she take my soul ten years later."

"I had no choice." Evan raised his head, his gaze firm. "As long as Lina could live, I was willing to pay anything. The day after I signed the contract, her condition began improving. A month later, at her follow-up, the doctor was stunned. Said the tumor was gone, as though she'd never had cancer at all. She's been healthy all these ten years. I'm already more than satisfied."

Bai Haorui took out his Five Emperor Coins, walked up to Evan, and waved them above his head. Faint black vapor rose from the coins as they turned slowly, as though meeting resistance. "The contract's energy is still on you, very firmly attached. The demon did keep its promise, but the price is coming due." He put away the coins. "Anything unusual lately? Strange barking, for instance, or feeling someone following you?"

Evan nodded, his face paling. "Yes! Started about a week ago. Every night after midnight, I hear barking outside the door. Very low, a whining sound that makes your skin crawl. I know it's the hellhound. It's looking for me." He paused. "I'm not afraid of dying. I just worry about Lina. I want to stay with her."

Sam took Evan's wife's medical records, which Evan had provided, from his bag. The diagnosis was shocking-late-stage lung cancer with multiple metastases, the doctor's signature and date clearly visible. "Medically speaking, there's no way someone in this condition could recover. This really was demonic power." He looked up at Evan. "We'll help you. Before the hellhound comes, we'll summon that demon and force it to break the contract."

Bai Haorui crouched and drew a crossroads in the dirt with a twig. "Summoning a demon requires the medium used for the deal. George said it was done at a crossroads with voodoo items. In Western legends, crossroads deals often use black cat bones, goofer dust-a voodoo powder-and the dealmaker's hair as mediums. Those three things can pinpoint the demon that originally made the deal." He stood. "We need to go to the crossroads behind Lloyd's Bar and find the original mediums to draw it out."

Sam immediately nodded. "I'll research the voodoo items and confirm the details of the summoning ritual, like the order of placement and any incantations. You and Dean go find the mediums at the bar."

Dean took out his car keys. "All right. No time to waste. Let's go now."

That night, the moon hid behind the clouds, and not a star was visible. Dean and Bai Haorui arrived at the crossroads behind Lloyd's Bar. There were no streetlights, only a faint glow reaching them from the distant bar. Bai Haorui took out his Five Emperor Coins and slowly walked across the ground, silently reciting Taoist formulas. When he reached the center of the crossroads, the coins suddenly shook violently, nearly snapping their red cord.

"Right here." He crouched, took an entrenching shovel from his backpack, and began digging. The soil was damp and soft. About half a meter down, the shovel struck a wooden box. He carefully dug it out, wiped off the dirt, and opened it-inside were three intertwined hairs, a small bag of grayish-brown powder, goofer dust, and a blackened animal bone, plainly a black cat's shoulder blade.

"Found it. These are the deal's mediums." Bai Haorui handed the box to Dean. "The three hairs should be Sean's, Sylvia's, and George's, left back then. Mixing them together strengthens the summoning energy."

Dean took the box and hefted it. "Pretty heavy. Didn't think demons were so big on ceremony."

Back at the crossroads near Evan's home, the three began laying their trap. Wearing glasses and holding his notebook, Sam checked the information he had found and directed Dean in arranging the voodoo items at the center of the crossroads. "Black cat bone in the middle, goofer dust scattered around it, hair wrapped around the bone. That'll summon the demon fastest."

Dean arranged everything as instructed, then took a bag of salt from his backpack and scattered a circle around them. "Salt can temporarily block a demon's movements. Even if it wants to run, it'll have to work for it."

Bai Haorui used a carpenter's ink reel to lay a Demon-Trapping Array inside the salt circle. Its line had been soaked in cinnabar and mugwort juice and glowed faintly red in the darkness. "This is a Taoist Demon-Trapping Array. It can temporarily suppress a demon's energy. Together with the salt circle, that's double protection." He also affixed Evil-Breaking Talismans to the array's four corners. "When it appears, the talismans will trigger automatically and burn it."

Evan hid behind a nearby bush, tightly gripping a rope soaked in Holy Oil, his palms slick with sweat. "What can I do to help?"

Sam patted his shoulder. "Just stay here and don't come out."

By the time everything was ready, it was midnight. A sinister gust suddenly swept through, rustling the leaves. The temperature at the crossroads plummeted until their breath showed white. The bar's lights began flickering wildly, brightening and dimming as though the power were about to fail.

"It's here," Bai Haorui said quietly, tightening his grip on his peachwood sword.

The voodoo items at the center of the crossroads suddenly emitted black smoke. It thickened, slowly coalescing into a woman's figure-the same blonde woman, wearing a tight black dress, her red lips vivid, her red eyes flickering, a seductive smile on her face.

"Hello, hunters." She walked up to the Demon-Trapping Array and raised an eyebrow at Bai Haorui. "Nice array. Unfortunately, it can't hold me yet." She lifted a hand slightly. The red-glowing ink lines snapped instantly, and the talismans gave off black smoke and turned to ash.

"Cut the crap. Break Evan's contract!" Bai Haorui gripped his peachwood sword, its point aimed at her. "Or you'll find out what I can do!"

The demon chuckled and ignored him, walking up to Dean and looking him over with a knowing gaze. "Dean Winchester. I knew you'd come looking for me sooner or later."

Dean's heart sank. His finger unconsciously tightened on the trigger, the Colt aimed at her forehead. "What are you talking about? Why would I come looking for you?"

The demon leaned close, her lips almost touching his ear. Her voice was as soft as a lover's whisper, yet wrapped in bone-chilling cold. "Your heart had stopped in that hospital. The doctors had given up. John Winchester traded his soul for your life."

She stepped back with a smile, watching Dean's shocked expression as she continued. "The instant the contract took effect, Hell's chains wrapped around his soul. After he was dragged into Hell, he really did suffer every day-torn by hellhounds, burned by flames. Endlessly. Every single day."

"You're dead!" Dean roared, about to pull the trigger as tears welled uncontrollably in his eyes.

Sam immediately rushed over, grabbed his arm, and hauled him back. "Dean, calm down! She's trying to provoke you!"

Bai Haorui took out Baleful-Energy-Breaking Liquid-black dog blood mixed with cinnabar-and hurled it at the demon. "Stop changing the subject! Break Evan's contract!" The liquid struck her clothes with a sizzling sound and black smoke. Her face instantly darkened, the red light in her eyes growing brighter.

"Provoke him? I'm only stating facts." The demon wiped the Baleful-Energy-Breaking Liquid off her face and sneered. "John Winchester abandoned his honor as a hunter and made a deal with a demon for you. The life you have now was bought with nothing more than your father's soul and suffering."

Dean struggled to break free of Sam's grip, his eyes red, his voice hoarse. "I'll kill every last one of you! Remember that! I, Dean, will kill every last one of you damned things!"

Bai Haorui stepped beside Dean and patted his shoulder. "John knew this would happen before he made the deal. He knew perfectly well how painful Hell's torments were, but he still chose you without hesitation. Dean, don't let his sacrifice go to waste. Our goal is to save people, not kill this demon right now."

Watching this, Evan clenched his fists and stepped out from behind the bush. "I understand John's choice. You'd give up anything for someone you love." He walked up to Dean. "I was the same back then. For Lina, even knowing I'd go to Hell, I was willing. Your father was a great man. He loved you very much."

Dean gradually stopped struggling. Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the ground. He looked at Evan and remembered his father as he had been in life, the anger inside him slowly giving way to pain. Taking a deep breath, he raised the Colt again and aimed it at the demon, his gaze frighteningly cold. "Break Evan's contract, or I'll kill you right now."

Looking at the now-calm Dean, the demon's eyes flickered with anticipation, and a seductive smile curled her lips. "Want to save your father? I can help." She walked up to Dean, her voice sweet as honey. "Your soul for his freedom. I'll give you another ten years to live-enough to hunt demons with Sam and Bai Haorui, enough to finish what you want to do. How about it?"

Dean's gaze wavered again. He wanted to agree immediately, wanted to free his father from Hell's torments. He could imagine his father suffering there, every second cutting into his heart like a knife. Looking at Evan beside him, he remembered Bai Haorui's words and his father's sacrifice-his father had wanted him to live well, not give up his life to save him.

"I won't make a deal with you." His voice was firm, carrying a slight tremor but not the slightest hesitation. "Last time! Break Evan's and George's contracts, or I'll kill you right now!"

The demon's smile froze, but the desire for Dean in her eyes only deepened. "Heh. Interesting." She turned toward Evan, lightly brushing her fingertips across his forehead. A faint wisp of black vapor drifted from him, circled in the air, then dissolved into the night.

Evan suddenly felt his whole body lighten. The oppressive feeling of being watched, of death looming over him, vanished. He instinctively touched his chest, an incredulous smile spreading across his face. "The contract... it's broken?"

"It's broken. Their souls are free," the demon said coldly, turning to look at Dean again. "Winchester, sooner or later, you'll need me. When you face a problem you can't solve, when you lose the person you care about most, you'll beg me to make a deal with you." The instant she finished, her figure dissolved into black smoke and vanished into the night.

After the demon disappeared, Evan could no longer hold back. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, kowtowing deeply three times to the three men until red marks appeared on his forehead. "Thank you! Thank you for saving me! I can stay with Lina!" Tears of joy and gratitude streamed all over his face.

Bai Haorui hurried forward to help him up. "No need to thank us. Don't make dangerous deals like this again. Living safe and sound matters most."

Hearing the noise in the yard, Evan's wife, Lina, came outside. Seeing her husband kneeling on the ground, she asked in confusion, "What's wrong? What happened?"

Evan stood and hugged his wife tightly, his voice choked. "Nothing. Met a few kind people who helped us solve a big problem." He looked down at his wife, his eyes full of how deeply he cherished her. "Lina, we'll always be together from now on."

Lina smiled and patted his back. "Silly. We were always going to be together."

The three did not linger, turning toward the Impala. Dean walked ahead, his back looking as desolate as though the whole world had abandoned him. His shoulders shook slightly; he was clearly still grieving. Sam and Bai Haorui exchanged a look and silently followed.

The car was deathly quiet. The AC/DC music had been turned down to its lowest volume, leaving only the engine's roar and the sound of tires against the road. Sitting in the passenger seat, Sam watched Dean's profile. Streetlights swept across his face, revealing his tightly pressed lips and reddened eyes. After a long hesitation, Sam gently patted his shoulder, his tone sincere. "Dean, we'll save Dad! Whatever it costs, we'll get him out of Hell."

Dean remained silent for a long time. When he spoke, his voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. "I know. We will." Veins bulged on his hands around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. There was only one thought in his mind-he had to, absolutely had to, free his father's soul.