A huge oil painting as tall as a person hung on the wall of the Ghost Post Office's fifth-floor lobby.
The painting depicted a landscape.
It was a strange old forest beneath a black moon.
The trees in the old forest were sparse and leafless, standing on the ground like dried corpses, twisted and warped as if they had endured a great fire. What was worth noting, however, was that amidst that forest of black, withered trees, a charred arm protruded from the ground.
It seemed to be trying to crawl out from underground.
But the charred arm did not move. It merely stood there quietly. If one did not look carefully, it would be overlooked as nothing more than a tree branch.
The strange call continued to sound.
The voice carried a powerful allure that made people unable to resist walking into the painting.
Yang Jian's mind was clear. He was now an anomaly and could not feel its influence. Yet the terrifying part was that his body still walked in that direction of its own accord.
As he drew closer,
the charred arm in the sparse old forest within the painting suddenly moved. At that moment, the scenery in the painting seemed to become real. The charred arm stretched longer and longer, as though the image itself had been distorted. In the end, several charred fingers ignored the barrier of the painting and reached directly out.
Night had fallen.
The supernatural force within the oil painting had begun invading the fifth floor of the post office.
Yang Jian's expression changed drastically at the sight. He immediately used Ghost Shadow to forcibly control his body, stopping in his tracks while isolating the supernatural influence.
Black Ghost Shadow enveloped his body, and the sensation of losing control immediately vanished.
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