Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

On the lawn, Meng Zhaowen stood still, surrounded by more than a dozen corpses entangled in vines. A few others were still alive, desperately trying to crawl out, their fingernails digging into the soil. When they turned over, the soil underneath, mixed with blood, was stuck in their fingernails.

The vines wrapped around their ankles, dragging them back little by little.

Someone turned around and fired at the vines. The bullets broke several vines, and more vines grew out from the broken ends, surging up like a tide, wrapping around his wrists and neck, tightening their grip until he finally stopped struggling.

Meng Zhaowen did not look at them.

His gaze fell in the direction of the rest area, where Wang Hongyuan was, the person who had ruined seven years of his life.

He lifted his foot, stepping over the vines and the corpse, the dark green light in his palm growing brighter and brighter.

He remembered when he was seventeen, his older brother taught him to ride a bicycle, holding onto the back seat from behind. He rode far away, then looked back and saw his brother standing there, his hand long since released, waving at him, his tiger teeth showing in a smile. The sunlight shone on his white shirt, dazzlingly bright.

That was the last time he saw his brother smile.

When my brother died, he was clutching half a bag of morning glory seeds in his hand. He had planned to take them back for him to plant. That year, the morning glories on their balcony bloomed exceptionally well, purple and blue, covering the entire security window. When the wind blew, they looked like little trumpets, warming people's hearts.

Later, the seed fell into a pool of blood, which he retrieved and kept for seven years.

Today, these seeds have finally had their fill of their enemy's blood.

Meng Zhaowen walked even faster, her white hair disheveled by the wind, her face smeared with mud and blood, like a vengeful ghost crawling out of hell.

------

3:19.

Liu Zhen was the first to arrive at the entrance of the rest area.

He stood outside the glass door and didn't go in.

Through the frosted glass, you could see Xu Suyuan standing amidst a pile of corpses, while Wang Hongyuan and Zhong Lin were cornered against the wall, their bodies trembling.

This is Xu Suyuan's prey.

She had waited too long for this day. From the day she escaped from the laboratory, Wang Hongyuan's name had always been at the top of her list of enemies.

Meng Zhaowen was the second to arrive.

Standing next to Liu Zhen, he also did not go in.

The two looked at each other without speaking, but saw the same unwavering certainty in each other's eyes.

Lin Shen was the last to arrive.

He walked very slowly, swaying with every step, his hands and clothes covered in blood, unable to tell whether it was from the enemy or his own.

He leaned against the door frame, took a few breaths, and nodded into the room. The silvery-white light in his palm was now as faint as a firefly.

Xu Suyuan saw the three of them standing at the door, so she stepped aside to make room for them.

Four people stood in front of Wang Hongyuan and Zhong Lin.

Liu Zhen's electric arcs danced at his fingertips, the eerie blue light illuminating the dim room and making Wang Hongyuan's pale face appear bluish.

Meng Zhaowen's vines sprouted from the cracks in the floor tiles and climbed along the wall, the tender buds at the top swaying gently like a deadly tongue.

The light in Lin Shen's palm was almost extinguished, but it was still shining, like a lamp that would never go out.

Xu Suyuan's coin flipped between her fingers, the serrated edge of the metal digging into her fingertips, providing a distinct tactile sensation.

Four people who crawled out of different hells stood before the same enemy.

------

Wang Hongyuan leaned against the wall, his legs already too weak to stand, his body sliding down the wall little by little. Cold sweat soaked through his white shirt, sticking to his back and outlining his hunched silhouette.

He looked at the four people in front of him, each face etched in his memory.

He recalled the photo Song Mingzhang had handed him seven years ago when he reported on Meng Zhaohui's case—a man kneeling on the ground, his forehead bleeding from the banging, shouting as he was dragged away, "My brother knows nothing." He was sitting behind his desk at the time, smoking a cigarette, when he threw the photo into the shredder and said, "Get it clean."

He recalled the crime scene photos tucked in the case file of Liu Zhen's wife and child's car accident—the woman, wearing a red down jacket, lay in a pool of blood, the red and blood mixed together, indistinguishable as clothing and blood. A child sat beside her, his face covered in blood, his eyes still open. He glanced at the file, closed it, and told Song Mingzhang, "Just don't cause trouble, family members."

He recalled the photo of Xu Suyuan in the private investigation file—her young face smiled brightly, like a newly opened sunflower. The file recorded the entire process of her disappearance and escape, and he wrote a line in red pen at the bottom of the page: "Ability suspected to be spatial, requires close monitoring."

Now, it is he who is afraid.

"Even if you kill me, the Five Mountains Alliance will send others." Wang Hongyuan's voice trembled, his lips quivered, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. "You can't kill them all."

Xu Suyuan looked at him, her voice soft but as cold as ice: "Then let's kill one of them."

Her gaze swept over Wang Hongyuan and landed on Zhong Lin's face.

This person was not in her previous intelligence, but he was standing next to Wang Hongyuan, holding a gun, and wearing Blackstone International's combat uniform. He was undoubtedly a core member of the organization.

Zhong Lin stood next to Wang Hongyuan, still holding a gun in his hand, his knuckles white from the force.

He knew that firing a gun was useless; the bullets couldn't penetrate Xu Suyuan's ethereal body, nor could they stop Liu Zhen's electric arcs and Meng Zhaowen's vines.

He didn't want to die on his knees. He was a special agent sent by the Five Mountains Alliance headquarters, and he couldn't die such a pathetic death.

"You think you've won?" Zhong Lin's voice trembled, but he forced a tough stance. "The Five Mountains Society's roots run much deeper than you think. If you kill me and Wang Hongyuan today, headquarters won't let you off the hook."

Meng Zhaowen took a step forward, and the vines wrapped around Zhong Lin's ankles, tightening their grip until his bones creaked.

"No matter how deep the roots are, I will uproot them one by one." Meng Zhaowen's voice was steady, without a trace of emotion, only the hatred in his eyes burned like fire.

Liu Zhen did not speak.

He recalled his wife and children's bodies covered with white sheets, laid side by side on the morgue's morgue table, the white sheets stained with blood, the red color glaringly bright.

He knelt on the ground, his forehead pounding against the cold cement floor, begging the police to catch the murderer and to give them justice.

The police patted him on the shoulder and said, "We'll do our best," and then the case was shelved. He became a wanted criminal, hiding under a bridge, burning with fever, his mind filled with images of his wife and children.

An arc of electricity shot up from his fingertips, dazzlingly bright.

Lin Shen didn't say anything either.

He recalled the image of Song Yuanming trapped under a precast concrete slab, blood flowing from the old man's mouth, staining the collar of his white coat red. The old man gripped his wrist with a strength far beyond that of a seriously injured person, saying, "Beacon theory, you can do it all by yourself."

At that time, the corridor was filled with thick smoke and alarms. The steel bars of the precast slabs were exposed, rusty, like the teeth of a venomous snake.

The last bit of silvery light shone in his palm, like the warmth of Song Yuanming's fingertips each time he handed him the calculation paper.