The Fatty spoke with utmost seriousness to Lu Zong, "We cannot win by brute force now; our only path is through cunning."

Lu Zong nodded, glancing at the towering brute before him and the desolate, bleak Gobi expanse surrounding him. A chill crept into his heart. What could he possibly use to fight this man in armor? Cunning, yes, but how could he contrive a scenario where he would emerge victorious? That brief clash with the armored figure had already revealed the vast gulf between them; if he insisted on a head-on collision, he was certain to be crippled under that opponent's might.

He sent a thought via telepathy to the Fatty, "Fatty, what tactic can I use for a strategic victory? I feel utterly desperate right now. Give me specifics."

The Fatty scratched his head. He understood Lu Zong’s predicament perfectly, yet he had no concrete plan either. He could only take things one step at a time. Since his own approach hadn't worked to breach that spatial barrier, he naturally deflected the blame onto the armored man. He’d sounded so confident only to bolster Lu Zong’s spirits, hoping to push him to unleash his full potential.

Lu Zong spat into his hands, rubbed them together, and went through a quick warm-up before asking the Fatty, "Fatty, I’m ready. What’s the plan now?"

The Fatty declared with absolute certainty, "If you're ready, it’s simple: get up there, knock that armored man down, and you’ll be saved."

Lu Zong nervously looked up at the massive figure before him. The sunlight reflecting off his metal armor was blinding, making him dizzy. The thick helmet obscured most of his head, and his feet were encased in heavy, high black boots. Where should he strike?

He critically surveyed the armored man from head to toe. His only apparent weakness seemed to be his hands, as they were the only parts retaining a hint of human color.

Lu Zong quietly circled to the armored man’s rear. To his surprise, the figure remained completely fixated on the front, showing no awareness of Lu Zong’s shift in position.

Lu Zong was elated. Could these figures just be dummies, mere set pieces? Had he worried needlessly?

To confirm his suspicion, he walked up to the armored man and gently nudged the spear the figure held tightly in its grip. To his shock, it was remarkably loose. With a bit more force, he felt sure he could wrest the spear from the figure's grasp.

Without another thought, he slowly began to pull the spear away from the armored man’s hands. Thankfully, the figure remained perfectly still and vacant, seemingly unaware, continuing to stare ahead. Lu Zong was overjoyed. He stealthily thrust the spear into the gap of the man's armor. The tip sank in gradually, stopping after a short distance. He felt something soft—likely the padding or inner layer of the armor protecting the man's body.

However, the instant the spearhead made contact, Lu Zong felt a chilling sensation spread across his own waist, jolting his brain. Instinctively, he reached down to touch his stomach and was astonished to find a deep indentation there.

He frowned, pulling his tunic aside to look. His skin had actually caved inward, apparently without any external stimulus causing the depression.

He scratched his head, unable to comprehend it. It was just a cold feeling, no pain whatsoever. Completing the immediate task was more important.

So, gripping the shaft tightly, he put his strength into it and drove the spearhead into the man's 'skin.'

"Ow!" he yelped, simultaneously pitching forward and tumbling onto the ground, feeling as if a hard object had savagely stabbed him—and he sensed it was the same icy presence that had just shocked him. The initial pain had made him hesitate, preventing him from fully embedding the tip. Biting his lip, he stood up again. This time, to guard against any potential surprise attack, he used his left hand to grasp the area where he had just been struck, while his right hand prepared, gripping the spearhead, aiming squarely for the armored man’s waist.

He locked onto the target, brought both hands to bear, and in an instant, surged forward, aiming directly for the figure's midsection.

"Stop!" A sharp shout pierced the air, causing Lu Zong’s meninges to ache as if millions of hornets were buzzing around his ears. The sheer roar made him dizzy. Lu Zong fiercely suppressed his discomfort and looked up to locate the source of the sound.

Yet, despite his gaze sweeping over every available space around him, he found no extraneous figures nearby. Could it have been a hallucination? he thought.

At that moment, the temperature began to rise sharply. His fingernails felt as if they were about to melt. Agitated, he ignored the recent pain and the sudden voice. He lifted the spear, preparing to stab the armored man with full force.

His spear tip once again flew unerringly towards the armored man’s waist. But just a few dozen centimeters short of contact, he heard a metallic clank. Immediately, the spearhead, held fast in Lu Zong’s hands, deflected forty-five degrees, tearing away a large swath of metal plating to the left of the target's waist—a testament to the sheer power Lu Zong had exerted.

Lu Zong had no idea what had happened, only that his arm was numb, likely from the immense force of whatever had struck the spearhead. The power suggested the opponent was far from ordinary.

Angrily, he steadied himself and scanned his surroundings, hoping to finally locate the culprit. But he saw only the vast, empty expanse of sand. The large contingent of people he had noticed earlier had vanished completely; only he and the armored figure remained.

"Did the armored man just speak?" He touched his forehead, then muttered in frustration, "I don't have a fever, so why are the things happening today so inexplicable? Have I gone insane?"

As Lu Zong pondered, the voice returned suddenly, "Damn it, Lu Zong, why are you trying to kill yourself? Is your brain waterlogged?"

"It's Ma Xiong! Yes, it’s Ma Xiong," Lu Zong thought excitedly. Thanks to their years of friendship and his familiarity with Ma Xiong’s grating voice, honed during years at KTVs, he was certain that was the source of the sound.

He shouted with elation, "Ma Xiong, Ma Xiong, is that you? I’m here! Come out quickly! How did you end up here too?"

But the voice was gone, leaving only a bewildered him waiting for an echo.

One minute passed, then two. Still no reply. He called out again, "Hey, Ma Xiong, where the hell are you? Come out, or I won't pay back the money I owe you!"

Perhaps hearing the mention of repayment, the voice finally materialized again: "Lu Zong, I can't believe you still remember me. Don't worry, I’m coming to save you right now. Remember this: do not listen to the Fatty, and do not harm the armored man in front of you, because that person is you. Just stand there, I’ll get you out."

Ma Xiong's voice vanished once more. Lu Zong touched his forehead again, "No fever. Is my brain really sick? Why are these hallucinations happening?"

But at this life-or-death juncture, even if it was an illusion, he had to test it himself. He called out recklessly once more, "Ma Xiong, Ma Xiong, where are you? Come out, come out! I need you!"

Ma Xiong’s voice returned, but the delivery was different this time. Previously, his voice had descended from above, ethereal and distant like an unseen narrator in a movie, unreal. This time, Lu Zong heard it clearly, distinctly, coming from directly behind him.

He whirled around and indeed saw Ma Xiong, breathless and panting. Seeing his exhausted state, Lu Zong, puzzled, fired off a torrent of questions: "Ma Xiong, what’s wrong with you? Why are you so tired? Where did you just run off to, and how did you end up here too...?"

In this dangerous place, seeing Ma Xiong brought Lu Zong immense relief, and in his excitement, he bombarded his friend with inquiries.

Ma Xiong held up a hand to stop Lu Zong’s nonstop chatter. He let out a deep breath and said, "Stop talking for a moment. Let me catch my breath. I’m nearly dead from exhaustion. Just let me rest for a bit."

Lu Zong looked at Ma Xiong, who seemed as if he’d just emerged from intense combat, and asked, perplexed, "Ma Xiong, where did you even come from to be this exhausted? Where exactly are we right now?"

Only then did Ma Xiong manage to speak, gasping out the words, "You almost killed yourself just now, you know that? You’re too stupid, listening to the Fatty’s orders!"

Lu Zong frowned. "What do you mean I almost killed myself? You must be mistaken. How could I commit suicide?"

Ma Xiong shook his head resignedly at the stubbornly denialist Lu Zong. "Can't be helped. His mind is just scrambled." Saying this, Ma Xiong walked over to the armored figure and removed its helmet. The face revealed was identical to Lu Zong’s forehead—the features, the nose, the mouth, even the crow's feet around the eyes, looked like they were stamped from the same mold.

Ma Xiong sighed. "Don't you recognize this person?"

Lu Zong chuckled. "Ma Xiong, are you joking with me? How could I not recognize this person? But this one is fake. Try stabbing him, you’ll see, he won't react."

Ma Xiong looked at the still-bewildered Lu Zong, half-amused, half-exasperated. He raised his palm and delivered a resounding slap across the armored man's face. In response, Lu Zong screamed "Ouch!" and collapsed onto the ground.

Ma Xiong looked at the bright red, swollen palm of his hand, then down at the fallen Lu Zong, and asked, "Understand now?"