Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

Wen Yan "saw" fragmented images: a thin man lying in a pool of blood, the old scars on his neck glistening with blood;

Shen Qinghou squatted in the dark passage, his fingernails digging into the wall, blood from his fingertips trickling down the cracks in the bricks;

In a room on the third floor, Fang Heming stood beside the corpse and coldly ordered his men to search the entire building.

He got it.

Some people died because they helped Shen Qinghou, dying under torture and forced confessions; their deaths were resolute and tragic.

Shen Qinghou thought that ordinary people wouldn't be troubled, and that he could protect them by leaving. But he was wrong. The ruthlessness of the pursuers far exceeded his expectations. He personally pushed the only way out into the abyss.

Shen Qinghou was once again in dire straits. This time, the despair was even greater than when his mother died, when his tendons were severed, and when all his appeals were rejected. It was so intense that without Wen Yan's active guidance, the seed of his soul had already begun to respond to the host's desire and actively split.

The dark purple dot of light began to expand, its light changing from dark purple to blinding white, like a star about to explode as a supernova, with energy surging wildly inside, ready to burst open at any moment.

Wen Yan's senses trembled slightly from the impact of this force.

He knew that Shen Qinghou was about to awaken, and this awakening would be more violent than any before.

In his current state, he is exhausted and his mental strength is depleted. Even if he uses this level of ability, he may not be able to hold on after killing the pursuers and will die from exhaustion.

Wen Yan hesitated for a moment.

He cannot expose himself, nor can he intervene directly, but he can secretly pass a rope.

He sank into the depths of his consciousness and touched Lin Shen's silver-white seed.

Lin Shen is currently in a suburban laboratory in the neighboring city of Qiming, only a forty-minute drive from the old town where Shen Qinghou is located.

Wen Yan pushed the location of Shen Qinghou's seed in the most vague resonance way, like a very faint scent drifting in the wind. As long as Lin Shen concentrated, he could find the person by following this scent.

------

When Shen Qinghou stood up, his knee slammed heavily against the wall, a dull pain shooting up his bones, but he couldn't feel the pain.

He turned around and walked back the way he came, his pace quickening until it became a sprint.

The cold wind rushed into his collar, scraping the wounds on his face and making them sting. He didn't care; only one thought occupied his mind: go back, kill them, kill them all, and pay for Chen Zhiyuan's life.

The dark purple seed deep within his consciousness suddenly lit up, its light so dazzling it seemed to burn his entire sea of ​​consciousness to ashes.

A new stream of information flooded into his brain, each word like a red-hot iron pressed against his nerves, making him tremble.

【Sonic Absolute Sound】

[Sacrificing their own hearing, the user compresses all their mental energy into a controlled sonic burst. The user can choose the direction and target of the sonic wave; the brains of targeted organisms within the range will be destroyed by high-frequency resonance. Untargeted targets will only be affected by the shockwave, potentially suffering temporary incapacitation, ruptured eardrums, or other injuries. Once activated, the user will permanently lose their hearing.]

Shen Qinghou did not hesitate, nor did he even think about what permanent deafness meant.

He practiced the piano for eighteen years, relying on his ears to be able to distinguish the slightest pitch deviation and hear every tremor of the vibrating strings.

But so what?

His hands are ruined, his zither is broken, his soulmate is dead, and even with his ears, he can no longer hear the sounds he longs to hear.

In his frantic run, he ripped the tattered guqin from his back, clutched it to his chest, and dug his fingers into the three remaining broken strings. The steel strings cut into his already bloodied fingertips, and blood dripped down the strings onto the ground, but he felt nothing.

He closed his eyes and ignited the dark purple seed in his consciousness.

My hearing started to disappear.

First, the distant sound of the wind disappeared—the static from the walkie-talkies of the special operations team members, the sound of boots stepping on gravel, and Fang Heming's voice giving instructions all vanished.

Then the nearby dripping sound stopped—the dripping sound of water seeping through the walls of the passageway, and the sound of his own running footsteps, all disappeared.

Finally, even the sound of his own heartbeat disappeared; the violent vibrations in his chest felt like they were coming through a thick layer of cotton, unable to reach his ears.

The world fell into complete silence, like a silent film with the mute button pressed, with only the swaying images continuing to play in front of me.

In exchange, his mental power swelled to its limit in that instant, like a ignited powder keg. All his anger, regret, and despair were kneaded into the energy and poured into the three broken strings.

He stopped at the entrance of the passage, squatted down, and placed the guqin across his lap.

The blood on the instrument had dried, turning into dark brown scabs, and the broken string was still entangled with seaweed that had gotten on it during their escape.

His fingers pressed on the strings, and the blood from his fingertips seeped into the gaps in the strings, mingling with the scabs from before.

Then he plucked the strings.

The three broken strings vibrated simultaneously, and the sound waves poured out of his body like a flood bursting its banks, surging up the stairs and pouring into each room along the corridor.

His lips were moving, his throat was roaring, and his vocal cords were throbbing with pain, but he couldn't hear what he was shouting.

His eyes were bloodshot, the muscles on his face were contorted, and saliva mixed with blood dripped from the corner of his mouth onto the surface of the instrument.

He plucked the strings again and again like a madman, until the strings cut through the flesh of his fingers, revealing the white bone beneath. The strings were covered with bits of flesh and blood, but he kept plucking.

As the sound waves exploded out, his mental energy was rapidly depleting.

My vision began to blur, and everything in front of me was swaying, as if I were looking through a shimmering curtain of water.

My limbs felt like they were filled with lead; lifting them even slightly required all my strength.

But he kept plucking the strings until the last tremor was released, when all three strings snapped at the same time, the steel wire striking the back of his hand and cutting a deep gash that revealed the bone, before he finally stopped.

Then he fell forward, his forehead hitting the surface of the guqin, and blood flowed down the soundboard, accumulating in a small dark red patch on the ground.

He lay on the ground, panting for breath. His lungs felt like they were filled with lead, and each breath was accompanied by bloody foam.

He gritted his teeth, used his uninjured right hand to support himself on the ground, and slowly got up.

He stood up, his legs trembling, his whole body shaking, like a leaf in the wind, about to fall at any moment.

He carried the wreckage of the instrument, now just the body, and began to walk upstairs, holding onto the wall for each step and pulling himself up with both hands on the handrails for each step.

Blood dripped down his trouser leg and flowed down his fingertips, leaving dark red streaks on the steps like a string of deadly symbols.

------

Fang Heming was standing in the third-floor corridor. He had just finished saying, "Don't miss an inch of the entire building, including the surrounding basements and underground drains..." when the entire building suddenly shook.

An invisible sound wave surged up from the first floor, like a transparent wall. Wherever it passed, all the glass shattered, and the fragments flew through the air. Before they could even make a sharp sound as they cut through the air, they were pulverized by the sound wave.

The wall plaster was torn apart like paper, revealing the red bricks underneath. The bricks shattered into fine powder under high-frequency resonance and flowed down the wall.

The special agents in the corridor didn't even have time to react before their bodies froze.