The outside world fell silent for a moment; Lu Zong had no idea how much time had passed, but it felt like an age, agonizingly slow. He couldn't hear any sound from beyond, uncertain if Fatty was still trying so hard to save him.

Lu Zong felt the pressure intensifying, his consciousness gradually fading, slipping into a near-ethereal state. All sorts of things zipped and swirled through his mind; he couldn't make out their distinct shapes, only sensing the incredible speed and vivid colors.

Still no sound from the outside, yet a strange calm settled over Lu Zong; in fact, he seemed to have forgotten what anxiety felt like. He felt profoundly peaceful, the kind of tranquility just before sleep takes hold. His eyes remained tightly shut, while those fleeting visions continued to circle in his head. He desperately tried to focus, to see clearly what these things were, but his sight remained frustratingly blurred.

Just as things dissolved into mist, his vision suddenly brightened, as if a scarlet sun hung high in the sky, illuminating the entire land with piercing clarity. Everything was steeped in the color of gore. He saw that the things flying overhead were, impossibly, blood—blood spraying from human necks.

He jumped, spinning around in alarm, only to find himself in an entirely unfamiliar setting. He couldn't distinguish between illusion and reality. His thoughts, beyond the initial shock, were filled only with sheer wonder.

Following the trails of sprayed blood, he slowly tracked forward. Soon, the sounds of clashing steel, agonizing screams, and widespread moans assaulted his ears. He clearly saw countless warriors ahead, clad in heavy armor, battling on the crimson field, clutching spears or short blades, desperately hacking at their opponents. This was clearly a fight to the death, a battle where one side must perish for the other to live.

Lu Zong’s astonishment rivaled that of stepping into another realm. He couldn't help but wonder: Had he, too, transmigrated to a different world or perhaps traveled back to ancient times?

To test his theory, he swept his gaze across the battlefield again, more carefully this time. In one corner, he noticed several red flags scattered sparsely on the ground. Lu Zong frowned. In ancient warfare, standard-bearers were considered the most critical positions; the banner never fell until the unit was utterly annihilated. Even if the bearer died, others would immediately step forward to raise it again. Yet, looking at the scene, there were no signs of heavy fighting near the flags—no corpses, not even a smear of blood.

What was going on? A surge of intense curiosity propelled Lu Zong toward the few scattered standards. At least there seemed to be no immediate combat near them, making that area the quietest spot on this blood-soaked field.

In actual ancient combat, the opposing banners would always be primary targets, leading to ferocious fights around the standard-bearers. But the situation suggested this battle was highly peculiar.

The armored warriors continued to hack away mindlessly, as if executing a grueling, rote task—simply following orders, utterly detached from the concept of self-preservation.

No one above seemed to notice Lu Zong’s presence, perhaps because he was well concealed, or perhaps because he was merely experiencing a hallucination. But that hardly mattered now; even if it were a phantom scene, he had to discover who was fighting whom.

As he drew closer to the flags, he finally made out the characters inscribed upon them. A Cao written in classical Han characters stood clear and distinct on the fabric, partly obscured by the mud, then momentarily uncovered by wind-whipped dust, only to be covered again—a simple, repeating cycle.

Lu Zong quickened his pace, reaching the flags. When he stood among them, he noticed they were pristine, seemingly crafted only recently.

Lu Zong grew even more puzzled. Banners were typically replaced only after a decisive victory, serving as a signal for soldiers to reorganize. Yet these flags looked startlingly new.

With the character Cao on the flags, and realizing he was within Cao Cao’s tomb complex, it was undeniable that these were the banners of Cao Cao’s army. However, considering how new the flags looked, Lu Zong speculated: Had Cao Cao’s forces, immediately following a victory, run into another powerful enemy?

Even if Cao Cao’s army was superior, it seemed unlikely they could sustain prolonged conflict against two such formidable foes back-to-back. Lu Zong found himself genuinely worried for the Cao forces.

He looked up at the battlefield, trying to spot the flags of the opposing army to gauge the strength of the enemy Cao Cao faced.

He scanned the horizon, but the result brought him surprise mixed with disappointment: The battlefield displayed only the military standards of Cao Cao’s faction. The flags of the opposing side had vanished entirely.

“What in the world?” Lu Zong rubbed the back of his head. If his assumption was correct, the opposing army’s banners were paramount. Historically, there was no record of both sides forgetting their standards before battle. Had the standard-bearer of Cao Cao’s opponent been so excited for the engagement that he forgot to bring the flag into the fray?

The thought made him unconsciously smirk, but then he froze. He realized that on the battlefield, he couldn't actually distinguish which side was Cao's army and which was the enemy. Every single combatant wore identical clothing, right down to the bronze metal plating etched onto their armor, all of the same grade.

“What is happening?” Lu Zong was now utterly bewildered. Why did they all look the same? How was it possible for two armies to wear perfectly matched uniforms? Even more incredible was the implication: if they were dressed identically, there was only one logical conclusion—this was an internal conflict, a civil war.

Following this line of thought, he surveyed the battle again. This time, he noticed a critical detail: it seemed neither side was actually killing the other. Each warrior appeared locked in combat with the same opponent throughout, never changing adversaries. Furthermore, their opponents never seemed to fall, even after being struck; they simply continued fighting, just as a famous saying went: At this moment, he was not fighting alone; he represented the ultimate fate of the broadest mass of the Chinese people.

Growing even more perplexed, he walked closer. He had completely forgotten his own precarious situation, feeling like an external observer watching an exquisitely staged drama.

He walked nearer and nearer. The sounds of clashing, the warriors’ groans, and the sickening sounds of flesh being torn mixed and reached his ears. He listened intently to the horrific symphony; his only feeling was that it was more thrilling and addictive than any 3D movie.

Now close enough, he could clearly see the faces of the fighters. He scrutinized them, trying to discern what they were actually doing.

Their movements possessed a curious degree of uniformity. Lu Zong even began to wonder if they were merely drilling. But the pervasive blood and incessant screams served as a sharp warning: this was a genuine battlefield, not a film set or a drill exercise.

He examined the face of the warrior closest to him: a high nose bridge, thick lips, and a sloping forehead suggested that if this creature were fully covered in hair, it might still be in the process of evolving into a human.

Then he looked at the opponent this warrior was fighting. Lu Zong’s expression froze. His mouth fell open in shock, remaining agape for a long time; he was so stunned he forgot everything around him, simply staring blankly at the fight.

After a long pause, he snapped back to awareness. His gaze swept over every face on the battlefield. Each time his eyes landed on a new fighter, his mouth threatened to split open, so utterly astonishing was the scene before him.

“What is this?” he muttered in amazement, touching the back of his head, whispering to himself. This situation surpassed the limits of his imagination. Could this battlefield not be a conflict taking place in the mortal world? What war in history involved such extreme coincidences?

“Lu Zong, what do you see? Tell me quickly!” Suddenly, a voice resonated inside Lu Zong’s mind. He remembered then that Fatty had been maintaining a connection with him—their minds linked by tacit understanding.

Lu Zong stammered, “Fatty, I’ve found something bizarre. This is absolutely a world-shaking discovery. Forget the Terracotta Army; that’s nothing. Do you know what I’ve found? The most coincidental war in the world. A war that doesn't exist in this world.”

Fatty cursed back, “Damn it, Lu Zong, don’t go crazy. Tell me what you actually see right now!”

Lu Zong continued mumbling, “It’s too unbelievable. This can’t be real. Fatty, tell me I’m in an illusion, that none of this can be true. Fatty, what is happening to me right now?”

Fatty’s words slowly echoed from deep within his mind: “Lu Zong, you are possessed. Everything you are seeing is something that entity experienced in its life; it must be real. Now tell me what you see so I can save you. Hurry up; time is running out. His thoughts are being forcibly injected into your mind right now. If too much time passes, your own mind will be completely locked down, and you will obey the commands of a ghost. Tell me quickly what you see!”

Lu Zong murmured, “I saw the most incredible war imaginable. You couldn't dream up a battle like this; you wouldn't believe it even if you were killed.”

Fatty seemed to grow impatient, his voice noticeably harsher. “Are you going to tell me or not? If you’re too stingy to speak, then keep it in your belly. You can tell me when you’re ten months pregnant. I’m leaving now.”