Chapter 84: The Prelude to the Unusual Battle

Chairwoman Xiao wore a faintly intrigued smile, listening quietly as he spoke—words so cryptic that ordinary people could scarcely comprehend them. She didn’t interrupt once, waiting until he had finished before letting out a low, magnetic laugh.

“Yan Xuejun... Shouldn’t you be in Malaysia or India right now? What are you doing back in the country, showing up at this exhibition? Is it just to make things difficult for me?”

Yan Xuejun was none other than Yan Bo’s formal name.

“Heh... You really are a stubborn fool,” Chairwoman Xiao’s tone shifted, a flicker of coldness in her expression. “You? With your gang of greenhorns? Even if you know all my intentions, so what? In the end, you’ll always be like tonight—standing by, watching helplessly…”

“Here’s some advice: hold on to your old bones and enjoy a few peaceful years. Isn’t that pleasant enough? You want to meddle, fine. But honestly… all you seem capable of is talking after the fact.”

Yan Bo stepped forward, meeting her gaze. “You’re right. Everything I’m saying now is pointless bluster, because you’ve already succeeded, pocketing another Shadow Palace token…”

He exhaled through his nose. “But Xiao Yihong, let me give you some advice too… The heavens are watching. Deal with darkness long enough, and you always pay a price. We both know that. The hunter who chases wild geese year after year will one day have his eyes pecked out by the geese.”

As he spoke, his local accent vanished, replaced by a new gravity.

Yan Bo glanced at the distant crowd gathering in the plaza, no longer interested in her. With hands clasped behind his back, he shuffled away.

But Xiao Yihong called after him, “Wait…”

He paused, not turning around.

“Old Yan, you and I go way back. I don’t always want things to go to extremes. But let me make this clear… I will gather every Shadow Palace token, no matter what. If I see you in my path again… you and your little friends won’t escape.”

Her tone was gentle, but the menace beneath it was unmistakable.

Yan Bo’s shoulders twitched slightly, as if he was laughing to himself. Turning around, his face now wore a sly, almost lecherous grin—his usual flippant demeanor returning, accent and all.

“Oh, how terrifying! My little heart is pounding with fear…” The smile vanished instantly. “Well, since the die is cast, from now on it seems we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Only the one who laughs last will be the winner.”

With mock solemnity, he pressed his palms together, enunciating each word, “Here’s to you, ‘Madam Red’… may you perish with no grave to shelter you.”

Xiao Yihong only chuckled coolly, not bothering to trade words any further.

The two of them turned their backs and walked off in opposite directions. As they did, their faces grew shadowed and grim.

They both knew the truth: after this night, in front of the exhibition center that had just witnessed a great “accident,” an unconventional war had officially begun.

This was a conflict beyond ordinary imagination—not a grand spectacle, not a hail of bullets, but the ultimate supernatural battle between two forces who ruled the world of the occult.

Ever since Qi Yan was chosen by “Mother,” all seven Shadow Palace tokens had emerged into the world.

However long this strange war would last, the outcome—no matter who claimed victory—would be shrouded in infinite terror and unfathomable darkness.

Xuanxuan had no idea that Qi Yan had come with his family, nor that his father was desperately searching for him. So she and Hao Dalong simply hauled him into the car and sped off.

Their methods were rough, but Qi Yan’s condition left no room for gentleness. He hadn’t simply fallen asleep, nor was it a normal faint—if anything, he’d been knocked out cold by a wave of sudden, unbearable pain.

To be rendered unconscious by pain in such a short time spoke volumes about its intensity.

He had no awareness of what happened next, but in the midst of this shock-induced coma, he had an extraordinarily vivid dream.

He’d experienced such a dream once before—his first night at the studio, after meeting Li Ruoke and learning about the tokens. The dream then had been strange and blurry, but he’d felt peculiarly “awake,” as if he were living it.

This time the dream was even more chaotic, not a seamless sequence but a jumble of disjointed scenes—like fragments spliced together from different films.

Qi Yan observed everything from a detached, omniscient perspective. No matter who or what was nearby, he couldn’t interact with them—only listen to their words.

The first scene was gruesome: a dimly lit, decrepit hospital room—no, a delivery room. A woman with long hair lay on the bed, wracked with the agony of labor, her belly swollen, sweat soaking her hair and obscuring her face. Whoever she was, she was suffering terribly.

This lasted only about ten seconds before the environment shifted abruptly. Now it was a torrential night on a mountain road.

Qi Yan stood there, dazed, feeling each icy drop of rain against his body with startling clarity—no illusion.

After a while, a woman’s terrified screams echoed from a narrow mountain path through the tangled brush. She was still dressed in a hospital gown, barefoot, clutching a bundled infant—though the downpour made it impossible to see clearly. She ran towards Qi Yan, shouting for help in a language he recognized as Thai.

People seemed to be chasing her. After just a few steps, the woman slipped and tumbled down the slope, rolling several times through the muddy earth. Wretched as she was, she never loosened her desperate hold on the child.

But no baby’s cries could be heard—it was impossible to tell if the child was alive or dead.

The third scene: a desolate wilderness. Several emaciated figures dug a pit with shovels and pickaxes, then buried a white bundle in the earth. This vision was brief.

The fourth scene was truly horrifying—thankfully it was only a dream, or Qi Yan would have vomited on the spot.

Still night. On a patch of bare ground stood a makeshift wooden platform. A woman sat cross-legged atop it, stripped of all clothing, her body tightly bound with strips of rune-engraved cloth.

She sat perfectly still while, a few meters away, an elderly monk in black robes chanted something eerie and unintelligible.

As his recitation went on, all sorts of wriggling insects—beetles, worms—emerged from the ground and, as if commanded, swarmed up onto the platform and over the woman’s body.

In just twenty seconds, her form was completely buried beneath a seething mass of insects, no trace of her humanity left—just a mound of crawling earth.

At this point, Qi Yan was utterly horrified. The light around him twisted violently—and in the next instant, he woke with a start from the nightmare.