Dōjigiri Yasutsuna

To be fair, the blame couldn't be laid entirely at Shi Ji's feet—time itself had grown impossibly tight.

Wu Xian had clearly noticed that daylight was getting shorter with each passing day. As their survival time increased, so too did the difficulty of the Blessed Land. It wouldn't be long before they'd be forced into a head-on confrontation with malevolent spirits.

"Want a bite? Boost your energy a little," Shi Ji offered Wu Xian a strip of dried pork intestine.

Wu Xian rolled his eyes.

Damn Shi Ji really had all the luck. In order to prevent him from becoming a burden tonight, Wu Xian had sacrificed his only divine prayer opportunity for the day and handed it over to him—and the bastard had actually struck gold.

He had prayed to the god known as "Water Official Guangde Dragon King," and been rewarded with a foreign blade encased in a red scabbard:

"Boy's Urine Blade of Peace."

It had once been a sacred sword, forged to slay great demons. But through some strange twist of fate, it had ended up lost in a boys' school bathroom urinal—soaked day and night in young boys' urine. Over time, its very nature had undergone a mysterious transformation.

Now, armed with this peculiar divine relic, even someone like Shi Ji could hold his own in battle.

After a brief rest, the two sat back to back on the floor. With daylight shorter than ever, neither felt the slightest bit drowsy. And with tonight likely to be critical, they resolved to push through it without sleep.

...

Time dragged on, second by second.

The clock's hands moved like molasses. With no internet to distract them, the night stretched unbearably long.

Outside, it was eerily quiet. For some reason, there was no movement at all. No knocking from Yu Yinghua. No assaults by the child spirits. Nothing.

The stillness gnawed at their nerves.

Whether it was anxiety or the heat, both Wu Xian and Shi Ji began to feel exhausted.

They were sweating—profusely. Their skin became slick and filthy, like it hadn't been washed in days. They had to drink water constantly just to replenish lost fluids, wiping themselves down frequently to stay clean.

And soon after, their stomachs began to rebel.

Gurgle gurgle… gurgle gurgle…

Wu Xian felt like Shi Ji had passed something to him. Otherwise, why was he suddenly rushing to the toilet as often as Shi Ji? The call of nature was not something to be denied, and they were soon fighting over bathroom turns.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Suddenly, Wu Xian began to experience an intense nasal drip—thick, yellow mucus, the kind you get in a severe cold. His head throbbed, and he went through tissue after tissue. His breathing grew difficult, as if his lungs were smeared with sticky, dirty sludge.

Each wave of discomfort pushed him closer to madness. He was still young—so why did he feel like an old man falling apart?

The relentless physical discomfort drove Wu Xian to the brink.

He was so obsessed with the filth clinging to him that he nearly forgot about the real danger lurking that night. All he could think of was cleansing himself—becoming pure, clean.

"Aaahhh—I can't take this anymore!"

"I'd rather die than live like this!"

The words had barely left his mouth when Wu Xian suddenly froze, and nearly gagged.

"God, the stench!"

His breath reeked. He had brushed his teeth only a few hours ago, but now his mouth smelled like a rotten egg left in a warm, damp room for forty-nine days.

Bad breath.

Only one solution—brush his teeth.

Wu Xian rushed to the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush, and squeezed out half the tube of toothpaste. He began scrubbing furiously, over and over, until the bristles curled and frayed. His gums tore, and blood stained the foamy paste in his mouth.

Suddenly, his flailing elbow knocked into Shi Ji.

Shi Ji clapped him on the shoulder, beaming, "Hey! What a coincidence, you're brushing too! Look at my toothbrush, does it look clean? I keep feeling like my teeth are turning yellow."

"Don't bother me while I'm brushing!" Wu Xian snapped impatiently.

But as he turned toward Shi Ji, his pupils dilated in shock.

Shi Ji's toothbrush was half bald. His mouth was foaming with blood and broken bristles. His gums were completely shredded, and the roots of his teeth were showing. With every jab of the brush, fragments of flesh and blood oozed out.

And still, Shi Ji pulled back his lips in a grotesque grin and showed his mangled mouth to Wu Xian.

"So? Do they look clean now?"

"Tell me already! If it's not clean, I need to keep brushing!"

Wu Xian's hair stood on end.

Shi Ji's grotesque appearance made Wu Xian's brain seize for a moment.

Every hair on his body bristled as though electricity had shot through him. His heart felt as if a cold hand had wrapped around it. Cold sweat poured down his back.

They had been ensnared.

Without even realizing it—they'd both been caught!

But when had it started?

What evil spirit was deceiving them?

Was this a dream?

A hallucination?

As he frantically searched for answers, Wu Xian felt the unbearable pressure of blocked sinuses again, like a mass of mucus straining to break free. In his desperation, he even considered shoving his coin-sword up his nose, just to breathe freely again.

Forget danger. At that moment, clearing his nasal passages seemed more important than life itself.

"No—no! I have to survive first!"

With a loud smack, Wu Xian slapped himself hard across the face.

Now was not the time to analyze how it all started. He had to break out of this nightmare now—before it was too late, before the next second swallowed him whole.

He might brush his own teeth to death.

Or maybe, in a frenzied attempt to stop sweating, he'd tear off his own skin.

Shi Ji was hopeless now.

His mouth was in that horrific state and he still hadn't snapped out of it. That meant pain had no effect in this illusion—it was useless to try waking oneself up through self-harm.

The coin-sword was strapped to his waist, but he couldn't feel any heat from it.

That was another bad sign—it meant even the coin-sword couldn't dispel this enchantment.

"There has to be something—something that can break this!"

"Think! Look! Focus!"

Wu Xian's mind spun with furious intensity—until his eyes finally locked onto one object.

The Boy's Urine Blade of Peace.

He remembered—when night first fell, Shi Ji had been holding the longsword.

But after getting thirsty, he'd set it aside to drink water… and never picked it up again.

That blade—it was the key. The crack in the cage. Their only hope of escape!

Wu Xian gathered every ounce of strength and launched himself toward the Boy's Urine Blade of Peace. His movements were sluggish and distorted, as though he were tearing through invisible spiderwebs spun across space. But just before his consciousness slipped away—

He touched it.

The moment his fingers met the blade's hilt—

A searing agony erupted through his body.

His skin, his mouth, his sinuses, his gut, his lungs—every inch of him felt like it had been flayed open and set on fire. But the worst pain came from his lower back.

The coin-sword had scorched his flesh, leaving a charred patch on his skin.

It had done its best to warn him, but Wu Xian's senses had been dulled, completely muted. He hadn't even felt the burn.

Wu Xian yanked the coin-sword free and looked around.

Room 402…

Had turned into a flesh-and-filth hellscape.

Red-brown grime clung to every surface like dried blood and rotting meat.

The walls, ceiling, and floor were coated in pale yellowish skin.

Giant noses and mouths grew in chaotic clusters, twitching and gasping, opening and closing endlessly.

All the furniture had fused into grotesque organs—chests of drawers made from stitched-together lungs, nightstands fashioned from stringy meat, cables of small and large intestines draped across the room like spider silk.

The air was thick with a stench so foul it robbed the lungs of breath.