Xu Hui faced the wall that had appeared outside the door, and for a fleeting moment, a sense of despair washed over him. He paced the room restlessly, stealing glances at the wall, half-hoping that one time he looked, it would simply be gone.

Gradually, he began to notice inconsistencies. Although the exterior wall matched the interior walls in its mottled decay, it lacked some of the mildew stains that should have been present.

Yet, this observation offered little help in his current predicament. Frustrated, he stopped pacing and, turning around, realized he was standing before a window.

At that moment, appreciating the rainy view outside was the furthest thing from his mind. The mounting frustration inside him compelled an involuntary cry: "Kuang Feifan..."

In the empty room, the shout and the faint echo made him feel as if countless chīmèi wǎngliǎng—demons and monsters—were whispering secrets from the darkness.

Mixed within that, he detected a strange sound. Xu Hui instinctively quieted himself, straining his ears, and indeed, a faint, almost imperceptible noise drifted in. After focusing intently, he suddenly recognized it: a sound like weeping, utterly mournful.

As he slowly moved toward the source, the crying seemed to grow louder, yet muffled, as if something were covering the mouth, or perhaps it was the ragged sound of someone crying until their voice gave out, dry and harsh.

The closer he walked to the wall outside the door, the more intently Xu Hui listened, only to realize with a jolt that the weeping seemed to emanate from the wall itself.

A cry from within a wall? A crying wall? The Weeping Wall?

This bizarre situation instead piqued Xu Hui's curiosity. He slowly approached the barrier, tilting his head, intending to press his ear against it. However, the hand he reached out first connected with the surface. The moment his fingertips made contact, an icy chill shot up his arm like an electric shock. Almost simultaneously, a wave of profound anger and despair surged from the depths of his being. As soon as this feeling solidified, he was overcome by an urge to violently smash his head against the wall.

This thought took hold of him like a parasite clinging to the bone. He had already tilted his head back, preparing to strike, and if not for the sudden warmth radiating from the talisman at his chest, his head would have already connected.

The heat from the talisman startled Xu Hui, instantly cooling his mind. He instinctively retreated sharply, desperate to put distance between himself and the bizarre wall.

Even after putting several steps between himself and the wall, once he stabilized, he still felt as though countless phantom figures were swirling around him in the room. A chilling cold, like falling into an ice cellar, made him shudder violently, his heart hammering against his ears like a frantic drum.

He stood frozen, gripped by an inexplicable terror, utterly lost and unsure what his next move should be.

The sound of his heartbeat gradually subsided, replaced entirely by the relentless crying.

The uncanny weeping seemed much closer now, as if it were right beside him. Xu Hui stared blankly at the wall before him, from which a human silhouette was slowly beginning to emerge, manifesting bit by bit, like a bas-relief sculpture.

Watching the scene unfold, Xu Hui suddenly felt a flicker of familiarity with the emerging figure, certain he had seen it somewhere before, though he couldn't recall when.

In a short while, nearly half of the figure had materialized. At this stage, it was clear that the figure's head was shattered beyond recognition, with dark blood seeping continuously from the cracks. A gaping hole dominated the center of the skull, and inside, it was hollow—nothing but flowing blood.

Xu Hui took two more steps back as fragments of memory surfaced in his mind. By now, the figure emerging from the wall was becoming clearer: a face contorted by terror and despair. Though nearly destroyed, it was unmistakably a man's face. His mouth, stretched to its absolute limit, and his bulging eyes revealed a man consumed by resentment and fear in his final moments.

Witnessing the expression etched onto the man’s face, Xu Hui could almost feel humanity's innate dread of death.

The man's split forehead revealed glimpses of red skull bone and visible blood vessels. His nose had collapsed, leaving only two dark, empty sockets. Half of one ear dangled loose, swaying slightly beside his head.

Judging by his upright stance, his limbs must also be completely broken, holding a posture impossible for an ordinary person. His head seemed to rest directly atop his shoulders, with no discernible neck. Only upon seeing the entire figure did Xu Hui recall who this man was: a suspect he was escorting back to the precinct who had suddenly bolted to the rooftop and jumped off—right in front of him. Though officially ruled a slip, only Xu Hui knew the true sequence of events.

Why was he appearing before him now? Xu Hui stared. This gruesome state was exactly what he had first witnessed upon rushing back downstairs after the fall. Due to the head striking first and the force of the impact, the man’s cervical vertebrae had been completely driven into his chest cavity, making the entire structure look like a crushed watermelon mashed onto his shoulders.

"You... you shouldn't be here..." Xu Hui shouted at him, but the sound seemed to be swallowed by the room. He realized this only when he noticed his mouth moving while no sound emerged, sparking a fresh wave of panic. He shouted again, but again, only his lips moved.

In contrast, the man's wailing grew more agonizing. The piteous, mournful cries were like those from the netherworld, sending shivers down Xu Hui's spine, causing his entire body to tremble slightly.

"Damn it..." Xu Hui violently stuffed his fingers into his ears, but the wailing only intensified. Each shriek was a grating, piercing sound, like fingernails scraping slate. No matter how hard he tried to block them, the sounds seemed to penetrate, resonating directly inside his skull. He felt a tearing pain in his heart and instinctively bellowed: "Ah..."

Suddenly, Xu Hui violently withdrew his hand, drawing his gun, holding it level and pointing directly at the crying man, his finger resting on the trigger—one slight movement, and a bullet would leave the muzzle...

Kuang Feifan slammed full force against the wall in his vision, producing a dull thud. Though he couldn't discern any effect, he was inwardly delighted; by the sound of it, he had struck a door.

He found his mark, backed up two paces, kicked out hard twice, then shifted his weight slightly, gathering all his strength for another concentrated impact.

CRASH... The door finally gave way under his relentless assault, the hinges on one side shattered, leaving the entire door half-dangling in the frame.

Kuang Feifan burst into the room, but instinct caused him to halt abruptly, staring in shock at Xu Hui.

Xu Hui stood rigid opposite him, his face starkly pale in the dim light, eyes bloodshot and nearly crimson. His features were contorted, and when Kuang Feifan looked at his hand, the dark muzzle of a gun was aimed squarely at him, the man who had just charged into the room.