This Taoist priest is so unprofessional!

The group followed Song Jianguo into the dilapidated tenement building.

The stairwell was so narrow that only one person could pass at a time, and large patches of plaster had peeled off the walls, revealing the mottled red bricks underneath.

The air was filled with a lingering musty smell, mixed with the cooking fumes emanating from every household, creating a heavy, suffocating atmosphere.

Song Jianguo's home is at the end of the third floor.

He struggled to open the old-fashioned padlock on the door with a rusty key.

"Squeak—"

The wooden door groaned and slowly opened inward.

A musty smell of old, worn-out objects wafted over me.

The room was so small it was suffocating.

A single bed, a table with peeling paint, and a chair almost took up the entire space.

The only window was mostly blocked by another building next door, letting in only a sliver of dim light that clearly illuminated the dust particles swirling in the air.

The house didn't have many items, but they were all neatly arranged, showing that even in dire straits, the owner was still trying to maintain a semblance of dignity.

Song Jianguo did not turn on the light; perhaps the dim bulb could not bring more light to the room.

He walked straight to the bedside, bent over, his emaciated body almost bent at a ninety-degree angle.

He was panting heavily as he carefully dragged a wooden box covered in thick dust out from under the bed.

The action didn't seem like taking out an old object, but rather like bringing out a memorial tablet from a shrine, full of reverence.

He carefully wiped the dust off the box with his sleeve before slowly opening the lid.

Inside the box, a keyboard lay quietly.

It was an old-fashioned mechanical keyboard, all black, with a very popular design back then, featuring sharp angles.

The keyboard was spotless, showing that Song Jianguo often took it out to wipe it clean.

In this dimly lit, dilapidated room, this well-maintained keyboard seems so out of place, like a relic from another world.

"This is it."

Song Jianguo stretched out his calloused hands and gently stroked the edge of the keyboard, his voice hoarse.

"Xiaowen said he bought it with his allowance that he had saved up for several months, and he treasures it very much."

Zhang Chen remained silent.

He stepped forward and took the keyboard from Song Jianguo.

It feels slightly heavy in the hand, with a cool, metallic feel.

Zhang Chen simply glanced down at it.

With just one glance, his entire demeanor changed drastically!

His previously calm face instantly turned frosty.

"Waiters, step back!"

His voice was low and urgent, carrying an unquestionable command.

Wang Xiaoer was puzzled, but seeing Zhang Chen's unprecedentedly serious expression, he subconsciously pulled the other two back, making room for them in the cramped space.

Zhang Chen placed the keyboard flat on the peeling wooden table.

He didn't use any tools, but instead took out a small peach wood sword, no more than a palm's length, from his cloth bag.

He held his breath and carefully pressed the tip of his peach wood sword against the gap in the back cover of the keyboard.

Apply slight pressure with your fingertips.

"Click".

With a soft click, the back cover was pried open.

When the contents of the keyboard were revealed to everyone, a chilling coldness instantly swept through the entire room!

On the dark green circuit board, there was something clearly nailed to it!

It was a menacing iron nail, about half an inch long, jet black, and shaped like a coffin nail!

The nail pierced through the keyboard's main control chip and was cleverly hidden under a keycap.

The nail was covered with countless twisted runes, barely visible to the naked eye, exuding a sinister and evil aura.

Centered on the nail, the surrounding circuit boards were completely corroded by a visible black mist, turning them a withered, deathly gray.

The black aura seemed to possess a life of its own, slowly flowing across the circuit board, emanating a nauseating resentment.

"Soul-Suppressing Nails!"

Zhang Chen cried out, his usually unreliable face now filled with uncontrollable shock.

He stared intently at the nail, uttering a few words through clenched teeth.

"What a vicious method!"

"This thing can forcibly lock the soul in the place of death, and unless the deceased's resentment dissipates on its own, it will never be able to be reincarnated!"

He finally understood.

Why did Song Wen's resentment condense in the internet cafe, forming a "domain"?

Why is it that ten years later, this resentment has not only not dissipated, but has instead intensified?

The root of the problem lies here!

This nail, like a vicious curse coordinate, firmly fixes Song Wen's soul at the moment of his death, at that very spot, causing him to endure endless pain and resentment, day after day, year after year!

Li Hao was so frightened that his face turned pale, his lips trembled, and he took several steps back before his back slammed heavily against the wall.

"M-Master, what...what should we do?"

He asked in a trembling voice.

"Pull...pull it out?"

"Don't pull it out forcefully!"

Zhang Chen abruptly stopped him, his expression more solemn than ever before.

He turned his head, looked at Li Hao, and also at Wang Xiaoer, who was equally horrified, and said, word by word.

"This nail has long been intertwined with Song Wen's soul; it has become his bone, his heart!"

"Pulling it out forcefully would be tantamount to his soul being scattered on the spot!"

Upon hearing this, the air in the entire room seemed to freeze.

Even Song Jianguo subconsciously wanted to snatch the keyboard back, but his hand stopped abruptly mid-air.

Zhang Chen stared intently at the Soul-Suppressing Nail, his forehead already beaded with cold sweat.

He knew he had encountered the most difficult and vicious problem he had ever faced in his career.

If the nail isn't removed, the resentment won't dissipate, and Song Wen will be forever condemned.

After the nail was pulled out, Song Wen was terrified.

This is a dead end.

A complete and utter dead end, leaving no room for maneuver!

What's more, that soul was trapped inside the game world.

If we use conventional methods to perform a ritual to help the deceased, it will probably still be useless.

However, Zhang Chen refused to believe it.

He bit his right middle finger, forcing out a drop of his most yang and vigorous essence.

He flicked his finger, and the blood droplet, carrying a faint golden light, shot precisely at the dark iron nail.

However, this time, it failed.

The blood droplet had not yet touched the nail.

The black energy coiled on the Soul-Suppressing Nail surged violently, like an enraged venomous snake!

"Sizzle—"

A soft sound, like a red-hot iron falling into ice water.

A surge of black energy, thicker and more viscous than before, suddenly rebounded and, like a living thing, slammed into Zhang Chen's fingers!

Zhang Chen groaned, feeling an extremely cold force pierce his heart through his fingertips, causing him to stagger backward uncontrollably.

He raised his hand and glanced at it.

On the tip of the middle finger, a small black burn mark was clearly visible.

His methods seemed to have lost their effectiveness in the face of this magical artifact, which had accumulated ten years of resentment and vicious curses.

A deep sense of powerlessness enveloped Zhang Chen once again.

He looked at Wang Xiaoer's face, which was full of worry, his Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice was filled with helplessness.

"Waiter..."

"This time, I'm really out of options."