Forbidden Zone of Deception

Chapter 234 Duncan Club

In the heart of Washington, D.C., at the end of a secluded tree-lined avenue along the Potomac River, stands a building with an extremely understated exterior, yet whose extraordinary heritage cannot be concealed.

From a distance, the building resembles a private library or art museum. The neoclassical main building is constructed of gray-white granite, while a massive Doric colonnade supports a triangular pediment.

Only a very few people know that this club, which appears to be a private club for the ultra-rich, is actually the headquarters of the Duncan Club, one of the top reincarnation organizations in the United States and even the world.

It is not only a gathering place for powerful reincarnators, but also the core think tank of the White House in dealing with the "meme contamination" crisis.

At this moment, inside a well-soundproofed study within the club, a tall, blonde, blue-eyed woman in a smart white suit is standing in front of a huge holographic projection of a map of the United States, reporting to a middle-aged man sitting in a high-backed chair.

On the map, several areas are flashing with ominous red, purple, or eerie green spots.

“Mr. Allen,” the blonde woman’s voice was clear, calm, and steady, “according to our latest ‘meme radar’ monitoring network and data transmitted back by our field agents, the meme contamination situation in several key states in the country is continuing to worsen and has reached the ‘high-risk’ or even ‘critical’ level.”

Her laser pointer pointed in the southwest: "Arizona, where mirages in the desert are showing signs of materialization, beginning to devour towns and leaving undecipherable hieroglyphic burn marks in the disappearing zones, seemingly merging with the ancient Apache curse and the greedy memories of the Western gold rush."

The focus shifts to the south: "The pollution in Texas and Louisiana is the most typical and profound, and its core source has been traced and identified—highly correlated with the 'ghost cotton fields' left over from the Civil War, a perfect combination of the historical trauma of racial issues and the alienation of modern economic exploitation."

"This area is beginning to see a large number of newly contained horror replicas, whose internal rules and bizarre style exhibit strong Southern Gothic mixed capitalist alienation characteristics." She switched to several blurry photos and video clips taken at great personal risk by frontline personnel:

Inside a 24-hour gas station convenience store flashing cheap neon lights, the cashier wears an extremely standard, unchanging smile, but the coins given to customers as change are clearly engraved with 19th-century slave auction numbers.

Inside an old Black church, a choir is singing ethereal hymns, and the audience below is in tears. However, the tears evaporate quickly after sliding down their cheeks, leaving eerie, crystalline sugar frosting on their skin, hinting at the cruel and bloody history behind the sugar trade.

In the dead of night, Walmart supermarkets are deserted, yet the goods on the shelves move and rearrange themselves, resulting in shelf labels whose format and layout are strikingly similar to the cargo manifests on slave ships of that era.

“The confirmed restricted areas include:” the beautiful woman continued, her tone growing increasingly solemn, “New Orleans Jazz Cemetery: If a musician plays blues scales that convey a sense of sadness, the surrounding tombstones will crack open and extend pale, skeletal hands, clapping frantically like an audience member; and at 3:00 AM sharp, ‘Faceless Dancers’ will appear, persistently inviting tourists to dance with them, and those who refuse will permanently lose their voices.”

“Abandoned oil drilling platforms in Texas: Once the drilling depth exceeds 3000 meters, what gushes out is no longer crude oil, but a thick, foul-smelling black substance, and indistinct contract documents will appear on the skin of those who come into contact with it; the old walkie-talkie in the platform's duty room continues to receive broadcasts of the ‘Declaration of Emancipation’ from the past, but the date is forever frozen on ‘January 1, 1863’.”

Her laser pointer then pointed to other areas: "Near Salt Lake City, Utah, the fervent faith of Mormon pioneers and the closed community culture have created a unique 'absolutely pure' contamination zone that rejects all 'unclean' concepts. There have been several cases of outsiders spontaneously crystallizing due to slightly 'unorthodox' thinking."

"The Florida swamps, a blend of colonial-era Spanish pirate legends, the fear of aging in retirement communities, and biochemical contamination, have created eerie swamps that produce hallucinogenic fog, distort space, and replicate invaders."

Seated upright in a high-backed chair, Allen was a middle-aged man in his fifties. He wore a well-tailored dark suit, his sideburns were slightly gray, his face was resolute, and his eyes were sharp as an eagle's. Even sitting quietly, he exuded an imposing and dignified presence.
Allen listened quietly to the report, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the smooth mahogany armrest.

“A disturbing evolution,” Allen finally spoke, his voice deep and magnetic. “These pollutants, rooted in the deepest scars of our nation’s history, coupled with the Manhattan memes that previously appeared in the Pacific, are like cancer cells, using our past to destroy our present.” He paused, looking at the blonde woman. “The President is deeply concerned about this. We must accelerate the meme cleanup program, especially in the Southern states.”

“Yes, resources have been allocated to the relevant areas.” The woman nodded and then switched the screen on the control panel. The holographic map shrank, and the focus shifted to the distant other side of the Pacific Ocean, presenting a 3D model of a classical Chinese temple, with a large amount of complex data and energy readings scrolling around it.

"Next is the report on anomalous copy monitoring in East Asia, particularly within China. Our branch in China, 'Black Sparrow Pavilion,' has sent back the highest priority information—regarding a copy called 'Lanruo Temple.'"

She briefly reported on the strange aspects of Lanruo Temple: its multi-dimensional layered nature, powerful rule pollution, absolute rejection of witchcraft power, and the current anomalies that have led to the large-scale disappearance or death of many high-level reincarnators, including elites from China's top team, "Temple".

Allen leaned forward slightly, revealing a rather interested expression: "Lanruo Temple... I know this place. According to that old Hong Kong film record in our database, it was supposed to be a relatively 'simple' story about a tree spirit and a female ghost."

A playful smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But now it seems that the 'ghost stories' of the East are far more... profound and bizarre than we imagined. Multiple spatial layers? Even a level 4 hunter was defeated? Interesting."

His eyes gleamed with the light often seen in strong individuals facing challenges: "I really hope to have the opportunity to personally witness and see what kind of allure this mysterious and terrifying Eastern dungeon holds. Perhaps, I can learn some different approaches to dealing with our own 'historical ghosts' from it."

No one knew that the powerful "Black Sparrow Pavilion," feared throughout the Chinese Reincarnator community, was actually a carefully cultivated branch of the Duncan Club. And the mysterious and unfathomably powerful Grand Master of the Black Sparrow Pavilion, Shen Mohan, was actually a core member of the Duncan Club, reporting directly to Allen and even Douglas Duncan himself.

The Duncan Club's establishment of a branch like Black Sparrow Pavilion in China wasn't for charity; it was to conduct meme purification experiments on Chinese people. This explains why Black Sparrow Pavilion can operate so detachedly, controlling the black market for reincarnators, and why even Long Mingzhang can't touch them in the slightest.

The blonde woman added, "According to Master Shen's preliminary analysis, the rule pollution priority of Lanruo Temple is extremely high, and its 'exclusivity' characteristic may contain some 'key' to combating meme pollution that we have not yet understood. He suggested continuing to pay attention and looking for an opportunity to intervene."

Allen nodded: "Reply to Shen and approve his suggestion. Grant him the necessary resources and permissions to obtain as much information as possible about the core rules of Lanruo Temple. But be extremely cautious; we don't want unnecessary losses."

He stood up, walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, and gazed at the view of Washington, D.C. outside. His gaze seemed to pierce through space and land on that distant eastern land.

"The East... is always full of unexpected mysteries. I hope that while Minister Douglas is fully preparing to conquer the [Zoo Tales] dungeon, he will not overlook these 'unexpected surprises' from ancient civilizations. Perhaps, one day in the future, we will really need the combined strength of the East and the West to deal with these fears that originate from the depths of humanity's collective consciousness."

At this moment, the night at Lanruo Temple had never been so deep, so... aggressive.

The monitoring talismans and detectors that were previously carefully arranged and hidden in corners and eaves by various reincarnation teams have all turned into clumps of inconspicuous ashes, completely losing all their functions.

The last vestige of connection with the outside world was completely severed.

In this suffocating darkness and deathly silence, a lithe shadow is frantically moving about—it is Deathstroke!
Its incredibly sensitive senses seemed to have failed at this moment. The air was filled with an overwhelming "temple smell" that it loathed so much, a mixture of incense and decay, which completely masked all other scents.

Its supernatural spiritual awareness was also greatly disturbed, as if the entire temple was enveloped in a huge, distorted interference field.

What made it even more anxious was that it could no longer sense the presence of its master, Jiang Jin!
The bond of contract that connected its soul became extremely weak and intermittent, as if it were blocked by layers of dense darkness.

“Woo…” The death knell let out a low, confused and angry wail, its four claws flying as it swept across the empty courtyard, through the gloomy corridors, searching the silent meditation rooms.

There was no one there. No one was anywhere.

The temple was now deserted, and Lanruo Temple was like a huge, cold tomb.

It ran for a long time, and at its lightning speed, it should have already circled the entire temple several times, but the surrounding scenery seemed to be constantly repeating and distorting, making it feel as if it was trapped in a nightmare maze with no way out.

A growing, instinctive sense of fear seized it.

This is a more primal, more indescribable... fear of alienation from the environment itself!

Finally, its steps came to an abrupt halt in front of a Buddhist temple.

The doors of the Buddhist hall were open, but unlike other halls, it wasn't pitch black inside. Instead, it exuded an indescribable, extremely unsettling atmosphere.

Deathstroke lowered his body warily and stepped cautiously into the Buddhist hall.

The scene inside the Buddhist hall sent a shiver down its spine, even through the depths of its soul!

At this moment, on the solemn face of the huge golden Buddha statue in the very center, two lines of tears were slowly sliding down from the corners of its lowered eyes!
"Tick...tick..."

Tears fell onto the prayer mat in front of the Buddha!
This is it!
The source of its extreme fear comes from the "rule pollution" power emanating from this "weeping" Buddha statue, which distorts everything!
This power is cold and lifeless, yet it carries a mad malice that wants to assimilate everything!

The death knell bared its teeth and roared most menacingly at the Buddha statue, trying to dispel the fear in its heart.

However, the next moment, its huge body suddenly stiffened!
It felt an extremely strange, cold, and moist sensation in its eye sockets, accompanied by a stinging and itchy feeling!

It instinctively raised its front paw to touch it, but saw a few drops of viscous, jet-black liquid dripping onto the back of its paw!

It...it's crying too?!
Black, ominous tears flowed uncontrollably from its eye sockets, which burned with ghostly green flames, and slid down its fur.

Undead creatures... how can they shed tears?! And black tears at that?!

An unprecedented panic instantly overwhelmed the powerful hunting dog. It didn't understand what was happening, but this mutation, originating from within itself and contrary to its very nature, was a thousand times more terrifying than any external enemy!
It violently shook its head, letting out a terrified and angry cry, then turned and frantically fled the suffocating Buddhist temple, disappearing back into the boundless darkness!
Meanwhile, in the monks' quarters area.

Huiming suddenly woke up from a nightmare, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding.

"Senior Brother Huiming! You're awake?" Huikong quickly stepped forward to help him up. "How are you feeling?"

"What...what's wrong with me?" Huiming rubbed his throbbing temples, his voice hoarse. "It feels like I've had a very long and terrible dream...I feel so weak...Why is the temple so quiet? What happened?"

Huikong's face paled. Recalling the chaos and terror before, he stammered, "Senior brother, something terrible has happened at the temple! The abbot's body is missing! The Buddha statue in the Buddha hall... it..."

He was at a loss for words to describe the horrifying sight and became incoherent.

Upon hearing that the abbot's body was missing, Huiming's expression changed drastically. He forced himself out of bed, his body weak, and cried out, "Quick! Help me out to see what's going on! We must find out..."

The two of them, supporting each other, pushed open the door to the monks' quarters.

The corridor outside was deserted and eerily silent.

In the past, even late at night there would be the sound of patrolling monks' footsteps and the sound of clappers, but now there was only the faint sound of the wind blowing through the corridor.

A tremendous sense of dread washed over them, as if "the whole world had been reduced to just the two of them."

They tentatively walked forward for a while, but the doors and windows of the monks' quarters on both sides were tightly closed, and it was pitch black inside, with no sign of any living people.

"Where did everyone go?" Huiming's voice was filled with disbelief and panic.

Huikong's heart leaped into her throat, and she gripped Huiming's sleeve tightly.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from around the corner, moving at a leisurely pace.

With delicate features and glasses perched on his nose, it was none other than Ning Caichen!

He was still holding a lantern in his hand, looking at the two monks in front of him.

"Master Huikong? Master Huiming?"

Upon seeing him, Huikong felt as if he had been bitten by a venomous snake, and gasped sharply!
The sudden disappearance in front of the dead end last night, the inexplicable awkwardness during our conversation, and his excessive focus on my "Nie Xiaoqian" incident... all these suspicious details flooded my mind instantly!

The extreme fear made Huikong's scalp tingle. Almost instinctively, he staggered back several steps until his back slammed hard against the cold pillar and he stopped!

He pointed at Ning Caichen, his voice trembling with extreme terror: "You...you stay away!"

(End of this chapter)