Chapter 3 - Late-night backlash, nightmares clinging on

Night had fallen deep. Shanghai. A tiny top-floor rental in an old residential building, narrow, cramped, thick with the smell of damp mildew. This was Dou Mohen's cage—and his hiding place. He sat cross-legged on the cold floor, bare-chested.His lean body was crisscrossed with old and new scars, which silently spoke of past horrors under the eerie neon light seeping through the window. His eyes were closed, his breath almost still.Every ounce of his focus sank into his right arm, silent for three long years. That faint tremor on the overpass during the day was the only straw he had clutched in this hopeless, spiritless world.He had to reproduce it. Understand it. Master it. He knocked with will, called with divine sense, trying to stir the ancient brand buried deep in his flesh and blood. Yet his right arm remained a cold, dead thing.The inky-gold patterns lay hidden, ignoring his plea.Only the piercing wound in his left shoulder sent out waves of cold, throbbing pain—as if mocking his futility. Time slipped away.Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down his cheek.Patience wore thin, and the shadow of despair began to close in again. Just as his mind tightened to the breaking point— Buzz! A low vibration exploded from the marrow of his right arm!Beneath his skin, the dormant inky-gold patterns blazed to life! But this was no gentle awakening.It was a madness—a savage mix of dark red and rusted gold. A violent, overbearing force, drunk on destruction, roared awake in his arm.It was completely out of control. The power obeyed no direction, defied every logic of cultivation. Like a deranged meteor, it charged ruthlessly toward his heart. "Ugh!" Dou Mohen's eyes snapped open, his pupils contracting violently.His body arched uncontrollably, like a shrimp with crushed innards. "Pah—!" A mouthful of scalding blood erupted, splattering the floor in a glaring crimson lotus. Agony!His right arm felt thrown into a furnace, then plunged into an icy sea—heat and cold clashing and exploding within him!The rampaging force surging toward his heart slammed into his chest like a sledgehammer. His organs screamed, shattering.His consciousness was drowned in this flood of destructive pain, sinking into an abyss of darkness… … He was no longer in the rental.All he saw was blood-colored thunderlight, and the Heavenly Dao Palace collapsing, burning.Cold rain mixed with warm blood dripped onto his face. He was back.Back to that dusk soaked in betrayal and ruin. "Senior brother…"A clear, flat, emotionless voice sounded in his ear. Qin Yue.That familiar yet alien face. Those dead, hollow eyes. "Don't blame me." Squelch—! The Frostflame Sword, forged by his own hands, pierced his left shoulder once more, perfectly, cruelly. Pain!Bone-deep, soul-shredding agony drowned him in an instant—a hundred times sharper, a thousand times deeper than physical torment.For mixed in this pain was the despair of a collapsed faith. But this time, a voice of venom and mockery exploded deep in his soul, drowning out everything else. The Shadow Lord. "Dou Mohen…""Your Dao heart is already shattered to dust.""Look at you now—like a stray dog, dragging out your days in this world of ants." "Admit it, Dou Mohen."The Shadow Lord's laughter curdled into the vilest curse, searing into the core of his soul. "Your entire life is nothing but a total—""Failure!" Failure!Failure! NO—!!! In the darkness, a silent roar erupted from the deepest part of his soul. I am not a failure!Mochen Sect is not dead!I have not lost! BOOM! Unbridled resentment and rage turned into sky-burning fire, yanking his consciousness back from the bloody nightmare. "Hah—hah—!" Dou Mohen's eyes flew open, bloodshot, wild with terror and fury.He gasped violently, each breath thick with the coppery taste of blood. He was still sitting in that shabby rental.On the floor, the pool of half-dried blood stared back at him like a silent eye, coldly confirming it was no dream. Shadow Lord… Qin Yue… Failure…Three words, three red-hot iron nails driven into his mind. Dou Mohen's right hand tightened slowly.His knuckles whitened, cracking softly.Nails dug deep into his palm; blood oozed drop by drop between his fingers. "I will surely…"His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping stone. "…uncover the truth." Each word a vow, mixed with blood and hatred. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his left hand against the floor and dragged himself up with immense difficulty.Staggering to the bed, he pulled out a locked, old wooden chest from the very bottom. Click. The lock opened. Inside lay only one item, wrapped in oilcloth.With blood-stained fingers, he unwrapped it layer by layer. The dark blue cover emerged. Secret Records of the World Key. The sect's last hope. His fingertips trembled uncontrollably from weakness and emotion, still stained with fresh blood. Holding onto almost desperate hope, he trembled and flipped open the heavy page—when a drop of his crimson blood accidentally fell onto the blank title page. Buzz—!!! A vast, ancient vibration roared straight through his spiritual sea! On the empty page, eight archaic seal characters burst into brilliant pale-gold light!The light, the words, ignored all barriers, branding themselves into the deepest part of his soul! Two Worlds Coexist. Seven Keys Unite. The moment the eight characters appeared, a flood of information bearing the birth and death secrets of two worlds rushed into his mind— But only for an instant. The golden light dimmed rapidly.The eight living characters turned back into lifeless ink. Dou Mohen jolted back, heart pounding. He flipped backward frantically.The pages were still the dead symbols he had studied for three years, unreadable. As if nothing had happened. Only the eight faded characters on the title page, and the clear mark in his soul, proved that what he had seen was no illusion. Why?Because of his blood? Or that near-death state? Dou Mohen slid down the wall to the floor.The path ahead had not cleared—it had sunk into an even deeper, thicker fog. But… He closed his eyes, then opened them.Gone was confusion and weakness.In their place: icy resolve, tempered like frost-forged steel. The Shadow Lord's words. Qin Yue's sword.They had not broken him. Instead, they shattered his last illusion of peace. He rewrapped the Secret Records of the World Key, locked it away.Then he struggled to his feet and pushed open the window. Night wind rushed in, carrying the dust and smoke of this mortal world, diluting the blood and despair inside the room. Outside lay the steady pulse of this steel forest, cold yet warm lights of thousands of homes. Dou Mohen stood quietly. The hunter was wounded. Bleeding. But now, as he licked his wounds, his eyes reflected the endless night—and the trail of his prey, locked in sight.