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    The plane shuddered through storm clouds as Feng jolted awake. The Five Emperors coins burned his wrist like branding irons. Lord Grey’s dream-whisper—“Next act—your proxy turn”—still buzzed in his skull. He doused the coins with water—droplets freezing instantly on contact.


    A flight attendant’s trolley reflected light across the window. Feng froze—the glass showed a rat-masked shadow miming throat-slitting. Turning, all passengers behind slept soundly.


    Three hours later, Feng stood in Fengze County’s open-air market. Rotting vegetables and incense ash choked the air. At a “Century-Old Materials” stall, his fingers traced a dust-coated peachwood sword. Lightning-like grooves scored the blade, remnants of vermillion clinging to carved characters: “Heavenly Marshal Subdues Demons.”


    Sunlight revealed golden flecks in the thunder patterns—Annals noted lightning-struck peachwood naturally formed anti-evil circuits, like wooden Tesla coils targeting the supernatural.


    “These thunder marks spread clockwise,” Feng tilted the blade. “True lightning-struck wood radiates counterclockwise.”


    The vendor’s toothpick paused. “Connoisseur, eh? Salvaged from Zhou Troupe’s fire ruins. Heard of them?”


    A hairline fracture ran along the hilt—this blade would shatter after few uses.


    “Light?” Feng lit a cigarette off the vendor’s kerosene lamp, flicking ash onto the sword. Ash ignited emerald phosphorescence upon touching thunder patterns.


    At a budget motel at dusk, Feng submerged the sword in black dog blood. Bubbles frothed from the hilt crack. Annals lay open on mold-stained walls, his red-inked addendum: “Heavenly Marshal seals require lightning ash to rupture beast-form evils.”


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    His seven bone-suppression talismans now glowed eerily cyan. The cave’s bone mountain flashed in memory. Annals flipped autonomously to “Sigils: Final Chapter.”


    Gold powder splashed across ritual paper. Replicating each sigil meticulously, Feng added “Yin Breaker” in each corner.


    3 AM. Scrolling “Sow Moon Worship” comments, Feng found a three-year-old link—“Night-Weeping Cattle” incident where vets extracted a tray of fingernails from a cow’s stomach.


    A user pleaded about his son’s illness—Feng traced the IP to the sow’s owner. Video backgrounds pinned the location.


    Next morning, Feng knocked on the farmhouse. Hog stench billowed as the white-knuckled farmer gripped a shovel: “Epidemic Control Bureau?”


    “Folk Medicine Association. Researching hereditary anomalies.” Feng flashed forged credentials. “Your son’s case may qualify for free treatment.”


    The boy in his mother’s arms convulsed, veins bulging like earthworms under pallid skin. Feng lifted the child’s collar—a crimson birthmark squirmed beneath. Annals flipped to “Beast-Human Hybrid” illustrations—human-faced fetuses in livestock, umbilical cords strangling breeders.


    “Saliva sample needed.” Feng swabbed the boy’s mouth, scraping neck flakes onto a Yin Breaker talisman.


    Annals’ entry warned: “Fragment souls into livestock wombs, reconstitute as pseudo-spirits. Monthly moonlit feedings drain yang until birth, when true souls become livestock.”


    The Five Emperors coins vibrated. Locked in the bathroom, Feng cast flakes onto the talisman. Green flames revealed matching umbilical-imprinted birthmarks between sow fetus and boy.


    “Blood transfusions are decoys.” Feng eyed the ash-formed array. “True sacrifice is soul shards… breeding lifespan batteries.”


    A sow’s scream erupted outside. Feng burst out to find the farmer hacking at pigpen bars—thirty black rats with copper-ringed claws devoured the sow’s belly.


    The peachwood sword crackled with lightning. Feng scorched the earth: “Back!”


    The first leaping rat exploded into smoke. The farmer froze—From the gaping split in the sow''s belly, a human hand densely matted with black fur thrust outward.