Kuang Feifan missed completely, freezing for a moment. At first, he thought it was a hallucination, but a subconscious glance downward revealed the truth: in his rush forward from the counter, he had somehow smashed the spherical doorknob off, and it now lay on the floor.

He picked up the doorknob and examined it; it was warped beyond repair. He sighed, realizing that a door without a knob lacked even a place to grip, unless one used a tool.

He tossed the doorknob aside and was about to search for something to pry the door open when a sudden clank echoed from inside the room. Startled, he spun around to locate the source, but found nothing inside that could have made the noise.

Just then, another sharp clank sounded. Only then did he realize the noise was coming from the window on the inside. After a brief thought, Kuang Feifan stepped toward it, intent on discovering the source of the sound.

Approaching the window and peering out, he saw torrential rain and violent winds battering the outside world. Yet, strangely, not a whisper of the wind or rain penetrated the interior. He found it impossible to believe that such old-fashioned windows could possess such superb soundproofing.

It was then he spotted the origin of the knocking: close to the window, outside, stood an old locust tree. Amidst its countless interwoven branches, one particular limb was close to the glass. In the storm, the swaying branch struck the pane, producing the sound he’d heard.

Kuang Feifan pursed his lips, turned back to the door, and began rummaging through his pockets for a tool to jimmy the lock. As he busied himself, the sound of the branch tapping the window glass continued intermittently from within the room. This incessant knocking almost formed a fixed rhythm, and as it penetrated Kuang Feifan's ears, he began to feel a heavy drowsiness creeping into his mind, his limbs growing progressively weak.

Kuang Feifan shook his head violently, trying to snap out of it, but it seemed to do little good. Soon, his vision began to blur, and the sound in his ears morphed from the tapping against the window to a distinct thump-thump of his own heartbeat, which seemed to be gradually amplifying.

The last vestiges of clarity in his mind suddenly grasped one crucial fact: if the roar of the storm outside couldn't penetrate the window, why was the sound of that branch striking the glass so distinct? It seemed he had walked right into a trap again.

A surge of regret washed over him for not considering this sooner; now, it seemed too late. He felt as if he couldn't summon any real strength in his body; his legs were so weak he nearly collapsed. Helplessly, he slumped onto the floor, his eyelids feeling weighted with lead, impossible to lift. A voice echoed relentlessly in his mind, urging him: Sleep now, just sleep.

Kuang Feifan genuinely wanted to drift off right there. The indescribable weariness within him made even the slightest movement seem like too much effort. But the remaining sliver of consciousness reminded him that this was no time for sleep. Slowly, he moved the tip of his tongue between his upper and lower teeth and bit down with every ounce of strength he possessed.

The searing pain on his tongue, coupled with the taste of salt and brine filling his mouth, jolted Kuang Feifan’s brain into momentary sobriety. Though his eyes still stubbornly refused to open, the sensation in his limbs returned.

Clenching his jaw, he mustered the barest reserves of energy, using his right hand to clutch his left wrist, curling his body inward.

Just as he struggled to adjust his posture, the room door slowly swung open, silently pushed by an unseen, chilling draft. The paper effigy from before drifted into the room at that very moment.

On its face, crudely fashioned from white paper, was an intentionally drawn, unsettling smile. The eyes were mere black hollows, within which two small clusters of eerie, greenish flames flickered.

The paper figure drifted into the room without any other movement, standing quietly by the doorway. Immediately after, footsteps sounded from outside, approaching from a distance.

Soon, a figure walked in from outside, head bowed low. Each step he took appeared unnaturally stiff. The paper figure, like an obsequious doorman, floated aside as the newcomer entered.

The person walked step by step until they were almost beside the huddled form of Kuang Feifan. They slowly bent down, arms extending deliberately, fingers splayed open, closing in on Kuang Feifan’s neck.

Kuang Feifan hadn't registered the presence of another person beside him. He was fiercely gripping the prayer beads on his wrist, concentrating with all his might on silently reciting the Six-Syllable Mantra. Though he initially couldn't focus, his chaotic thoughts had just begun to settle. While not fully awake, his cognitive function was steadily returning.

But just as his limbs seemed to regain a modicum of strength, the person’s hands reached his neck, on the verge of closing around his throat.

Still weak, Kuang Feifan felt an icy presence nearing him—the sensation was akin to having a corpse right beside him. Reacting purely on instinct, he shifted violently backward. The attacker, moving like an unmanned machine, lunged for the spot Kuang Feifan had just occupied. This attempt missed the neck entirely, catching only the collar of his shirt, but the person made no move to try again; instead, they gripped and hauled upward with full force.

Rrrrrip...

Kuang Feifan’s collar was instantly torn away, and his body was yanked, rolling sideways with the pull.

All of this transpired in a mere instant. The icy sensation and the violent roll gave Kuang Feifan a taste of skimming the edge of death. He forced his eyes open, relying on the ambient light within the room. He only managed to see that another person was beside him. Though he couldn't make out the features clearly, years of familiarity told him that the figure was none other than He Shaoqing.

“You…” he managed to call out, but immediately sensed that He Shaoqing was clearly under external control, having lost all self-awareness.

Kuang Feifan struggled desperately to stand, but his strength hadn't fully returned. He resorted to rolling and scrambling, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and He Shaoqing.

He Shaoqing stood now like a mindless puppet, his face devoid of expression, his wide-open eyes utterly lifeless. Not only his face but also his lips were drained of color.

His strike having failed, the body paused, then slowly straightened, raising a leg to advance on Kuang Feifan.

Kuang Feifan forced himself to remain calm. Although he had always considered claims about the sheer power of mental force to be rather ethereal concepts, the frantic worry about regaining physical strength now might have somehow transformed into an ability. Suddenly, he felt the prayer beads on his wrist growing warm. In a blink, a warm current surged from his wrist into his body, instantly coursing through his entire frame.

As He Shaoqing reached him, Kuang Feifan’s strength simultaneously returned. Still on the floor, while calculating the distance to He Shaoqing, he tucked and kicked his legs upward, striking He Shaoqing directly in the abdomen.