Heaven’s Shadow

The markings on the white wall were vividly red, resembling fresh blood. They were so saturated that droplets of “blood” dripped down, leaving thin bloodstains, creating a chilling and horrifying effect.

The person drawing on the wall was silent and patient, as if what he was doing was extremely important. As he continued to move the talisman brush, his voice echoed once again.

“Most people in this world are easy to deceive. Often, they believe whatever they are told.”

“For instance, this ‘Reincarnation Array’ has long been thought by many to be extremely evil, always involving killing people and using their blood to paint symbols. But it’s not as exaggerated as they think.”

The person raised his arm, made a stroke, and then turned to glance at He Changsheng, saying, “Using human blood is something only the highest-level sorcery in the demonic cult would require. Besides, killing and extracting blood is very troublesome. Using cinnabar is much more convenient, right?”

Under the candlelight, the person’s face was covered by a black mask, hiding his entire face, leaving only two dark, deep eyeholes.

For some reason, He Changsheng suddenly felt a surge of fear and shouted, “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The masked man laughed hoarsely but did not answer He Changsheng’s question. Instead, he pointed calmly beside He Changsheng and said, “If you shout any louder, I’ll cut off your tongue with that.”

He Changsheng’s body trembled. He turned his head with difficulty and saw a black short sword stuck into the ground not far from his head. It looked extremely sharp, reflecting a chilling light in the candlelight. Besides that, he also noticed several crooked, finger-thick pits dug around his body on the ground, whose purpose he couldn’t discern.

A cold shiver ran through his body, and He Changsheng’s face turned pale. Strangely, although this mysterious man didn’t appear to be particularly menacing, his calm tone was even more terrifying.

He Changsheng watched as the masked man turned back and continued drawing those eerie symbols on the wall. After taking a few deep breaths, He Changsheng stammered, “Who… who are you? Did I offend you somehow?”

The man remained unresponsive, silently painting. The blood-like markings gradually formed a gruesome door. It seemed as if the next moment, a ghoul would burst through.

“Demons… demons!” He Changsheng’s breathing grew rapid, and he urgently pleaded, “Please, sir, I haven’t done anything to offend your demonic cult. Please let me go!”

The talisman brush, soaked in cinnabar, made a final heavy stroke on the white wall, as if giving life to the blood-like marks. In the intertwining blood lines, a bloody door seemed to form, on the verge of opening.

The man turned, put down the talisman brush, walked to He Changsheng’s side, looked down at him, and said quietly, “You haven’t offended the demonic cult, but I need you.”

He glanced at the mysterious, twisted, and horrifying blood door on the white wall and chuckled softly, “I’ve been searching for a long time but couldn’t find those companions. So, I have to find a way to make them come out.”

He Changsheng didn’t understand the man’s words but instinctively felt an indescribable fear. His teeth began chattering, and he stammered, “W-what do you mean?”

The man looked at him, squatted down beside him, but seemed in no hurry to make a move. Instead, he looked at He Changsheng’s face. After a while, he sighed behind the mask and said softly, “Bullying the weak and being fierce, yet cowardly in the face of a strong enemy. Isn’t everyone like this?”

“Polite and courteous in the light, but unrestrained in the dark?”

“Maybe one day… no, it must have been long ago that I became like this too.” The masked man murmured to himself. His dark eyes gazed at the tightly bound He Changsheng, showing no emotion, only cold indifference.

He Changsheng suddenly felt like a pig, a pig waiting to be slaughtered. An icy sense of despair seemed to rise from every corner of his body, making him tremble uncontrollably.

He struggled to move, but it was useless, making him look like a writhing worm, unexpectedly ugly. At the same time, he pleaded with this person, tears streaming down his face, willing to pay any price to be spared.

The masked man took a cloth and stuffed it directly into his mouth.

He Changsheng let out muffled sounds, eyes filled with despair and a hint of painful regret.

The masked man looked at him and suddenly smiled, “Are you regretting not shouting for help earlier?”

He Changsheng glared at him, eyes burning with rage, wishing he could tear this man apart. But the masked man shook his head and said gently, “I’ve already set up a soundproof array around this house. No matter how loud you shout, no one will hear you. Knowing this might make it easier for you to die, right?”

He Changsheng’s body stiffened, eyes filled with deeper despair. Looking at the masked man, his gaze was now full of terror.

The masked man casually picked up the black short sword stuck in the ground nearby and gently swung it in front of himself. “Do you know,” he said, “that in the demonic cult, there is an extremely terrifying torture used to punish those who commit the gravest sins?”

“This torture is called ‘Blood Drip.'”

“The sinner is bound tightly to the ground, their eyes covered, and then their blood vessels are slowly cut open. The sinner will hear the ‘drip, drip’ sound as their blood slowly flows out and drips onto the ground.”

“Then, countless terrifying blood-eating insects will crawl into your body through the wounds and eat away everything inside you bit by bit. And you can even hear the sound of their chewing. Isn’t that interesting?”

The muscles on He Changsheng’s face twitched violently, and he shook his head frantically, making strange noises with his mouth, his face devoid of any color.

The masked man looked at him and then took out a small cloth bag, shaking it in front of He Changsheng’s eyes, producing a “shasha” sound like rolling sand or countless tiny insects gnawing and rubbing.

He Changsheng let out two muffled cries, his eyes wide with indescribable terror as he stared at the small bag. Moments later, his lower body was wet.

The masked man set down the bag and took another item—a blindfold. Slowly, he placed it over He Changsheng’s eyes and said quietly, “Let’s begin.”

He Changsheng let out a mournful cry and struggled desperately, but like fish on a chopping board, it was ultimately futile.

Soon, his eyes were firmly covered by the black blindfold, plunging him into complete darkness.

An icy chill, like a merciless blade, touched his right wrist. He Changsheng’s body trembled violently, but the cold sensation penetrated his flesh and blood, pressing down hard.

“Drip… drip…”

He Changsheng suddenly held his breath.

“Drip… drip…”

Suddenly, everything was dark and silent around him, except for the light but clear sound, like a water droplet falling.

“Drip… drip…”

Each sound seemed to come at the same interval. Each drop’s sound felt like a terrifying hammer striking his soul.

Every strike was soul-shattering.

But the nightmare didn’t seem to end. Amid the terrible and clear dripping sounds, a fine “shasha” noise, like insects crawling, echoed around him.

A cold, terrifying, slightly itchy sensation came from his wound.

He Changsheng could no longer endure it and let out a heart-wrenching scream, but all the sounds were trapped deep in his throat.

The night wind was desolate. Someone blew out the candle, and darkness surged in, plunging the world into shadows.

※※※

The masked man slowly stood up, coldly watching the person before him, whose body was shaking uncontrollably, almost no longer human. He put away the small bag and then turned and walked out.

Behind him, tiny twisted pits in the ground filled with slowly dripping blood, making rhythmic sounds.

As the door opened, a low “creak” echoed, revealing the world outside. It was late at night.

He closed the door and walked to the dark roadside, sitting under a big tree. The blurry tree shadows hid his figure. After a while, a black shadow emerged from behind the tree—it was a black dog, sniffing around and approaching him.

The masked man removed his mask, and in the faint light, his face was revealed to be Lu Chen. He looked tired, the light in his eyes somewhat dimmed.

Ah Tu stood in the darkness, gazing at him. After a while, it leaned over, gently rubbing its head against Lu Chen’s arm.

Lu Chen reached out, held it, and gently patted Ah Tu’s head, whispering, “It’s done.”

Ah Tu let out a low whimper, seemingly in response to him.

Lu Chen looked up at the dark night sky, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes. After a moment, he picked up the small bag.

Ah Tu stared at the small bag, unblinking.

Lu Chen also looked at the small bag for a long while, then suddenly said to Ah Tu, “See, I was right, wasn’t I? There are so many people in this world, and they believe whatever they are told…”

He gently released his grip, and the string at the mouth of the cloth bag fell. In the night wind, the sand inside was blown up, drifting into the silent, cold night.