After Qin Shou left, the small courtyard of the welfare home was left with just two people: Chen An and Chen Xi.
Chen Xi was zoning out.
And Chen An… was watching her zone out.
After a while, faint, distant screams floated into the courtyard.
Then came the sound of hurried, chaotic footsteps.
Chen Xi blinked her vacant eyes and waved her hand vaguely in the air.
Chen An understood, and gently held her hand.
Her lips moved without making a sound, but Chen An knew what she was trying to say.
She was asking—What's going on?
Chen An replied, "Sounds like a group of people filming a drama outside."
"Filming?"
"Mhm. Filming."
The girl was skeptical. "Dramas are this noisy nowadays?"
"Maybe the actors are a little more dedicated. If it's not realistic, they probably feel bad about it."
Oddly enough, that explanation seemed to convince her. Chen Xi nodded and let the matter drop.
Still, she frowned slightly. "They're really loud."
The chaos outside was clearly disturbing the quiet moment she shared with Chen An—and that made her a little unhappy.
So Chen An thought for a moment, then picked up the heavy firewood stick lying nearby.
He stood up and glanced at her silky smooth hair. Then, with absolutely no warning, he reached out and messed it up into a tangled bird's nest.
"Wait here for a bit. I'm going to go ask them to quiet down."
The girl said nothing. She simply reached under her skirt and pulled out a small wooden comb, quietly beginning to fix her hair.
Brother An always liked to tease her like this. When she had been even more withdrawn as a child, he used to bully her all the time. But after growing up, she has gotten used to it. She couldn't even be bothered to complain anymore.
It wouldn't do anything anyway.
Chen An turned and headed toward the front gate of the welfare home.
Behind him came the girl's gentle voice, "Brother An… talk it out, okay? Don't fight people for no reason."
Chen An paused mid-step, then responded with a soft, "Alright."
—
"Run!"
"Run for your lives!"
That was the only thought left in the minds of those who could still move.
Most of them were already injured—arms torn open, legs half-chewed—thanks to those monstrous, blood-red hands.
Only Zheng Qing and Lin Jingqiu remained untouched.
A thin jade-green barrier shimmered around them, shielding them from the attacks. But it wouldn't last long.
Zheng Qing, who was maintaining the spell, could feel her spiritual energy draining rapidly.
At this rate, she had less than three minutes left—then they'd meet the same grisly fate as the others.
Thankfully, the demonic cultivator didn't seem in a rush to kill them. He was slowly following behind, not using any additional spells or techniques to block their escape.
During that time, Wang Que and the others had tried using their firearms.
The results?
Next to useless.
The only thing bullets managed to do was slightly delay the cultivator's advance.
It was laughable to think hot weapons could harm someone like that.
They weren't even operating on the same plane of existence—like different species from different worlds, separated by an unbridgeable chasm.
Suddenly, Lin Jingqiu let out a cry.
Already weakened by fear, her legs gave out. She tripped and fell flat onto the ground. Blood oozed from her scraped knee, and sharp pain surged up her leg.
Worse still, her ankle had twisted. She couldn't walk.
Zheng Qing's heart sank. She stopped and rushed back to her side.
And just like that, the blood-red hands closed in again—grotesque mouths wriggling open in anticipation.
Zheng Qing quickly formed a seal with her hands. A towering green tree materialized beside them, and the barrier thickened slightly.
It held off the blood hands.
The others? They just ran faster. No one even thought of helping. In a life-or-death situation, who had time to care about anyone else?
Only one man, the burly Zhang Yong, hesitated. A flash of resolve lit up in his eyes.
He turned abruptly, ready to pull Zheng Qing and Lin Jingqiu up—
—but the very next second, dozens of blood-red hands surged toward him like maggots on flesh, reaching for his legs.
Zhang Yong's scalp tingled. Whatever courage he'd summoned drained away in an instant.
He turned back and ran like hell.
Compared to this literal hellscape, that quiet little welfare home looked like the last pure land on earth.
Surrounded by creeping horror, Zheng Qing stared at Zhang Yong's fleeing back. Bitterness welled up in her chest. A hint of despair flickered in her eyes.
She didn't blame him.
Didn't blame anyone for not helping.
In times like these, everyone was just trying to save themselves. And as ordinary people, what could they possibly do against something like this?
"Senior Sister, just leave me," Lin Jingqiu said through tears. She sat on the ground, wiping her eyes with a trembling hand.
Stupid! Why did I even come here? This whole mess is going to get me killed!
Boohoo… I should've just ignored Chen An. I didn't even get to see him one last time…
And who knows? He might not even be at the orphanage right now. He's probably off relaxing somewhere…
Her nose was running. Despite being more mature than most girls her age, she was still just a teenage girl. This kind of nightmare would've shaken even a seasoned adult, let alone her.
Zheng Qing, by contrast, kept her calm. She knew things were bad—but not yet hopeless.
"Jingqiu, don't panic," she said. "With this much commotion, Master will surely sense it."
"And you can channel spirit energy now. If we take turns activating the barrier talisman, we might just survive until help arrives."
—
Elsewhere, Wang Que and the others were still running.
The orphanage was just up ahead now.
But would getting inside even help?
Wang Que didn't know and didn't want to know. Fear had overtaken everything. All they could do was run and hope. Even if they knew this was a trap, what choice did they have?
Stay behind and get torn to pieces?
They reached the gate of the welfare home—and stopped. Because there, at the entrance, stood a boy holding a stick. A crooked, blackened piece of firewood, no doubt fished from some kitchen stove.
He leaned against the gatepost, calm and composed, looking up at the blood-red sky overhead.
Behind him, the old iron gate stood wide open.