Chapter 304: Victory

Gu Lian Nan's prideful escape technique is completely useless here.

The hair strands, like instruments of torment from the Nine Netherworld, irrationally pierced the sole of his shoe, drove straight through his foot, and pinned him to the pile of rubble.

Blood blisters bubble up on the shoe's surface.

The hair is not merely a controlling weapon; it is a living blood‑sucking pump. Gu Lian Nan's vital blood drains out through the wound.

He is accustomed to ruling with brute force, wielding a bone scythe that parasites on his shoulder, having harvested plenty of supplies and heads from lone wanderers in these ruins. The scythe secretes black corrosive fluid, making it unstoppable.

But today, this arrogant scythe, upon confronting the white‑T‑shirted female ghost before it, chose to abandon its martial power outright.

The scythe retracts its toxin‑secreting tube, scrambling back into the host's torn flesh, trying to hide within Gu Lian Nan's internal organs for refuge.

Gu Lian Nan's right‑leg muscles lose support, forcing him to collapse to his knees.

Sharp glass shards embed in his knees, yet he cannot attend to the pain.

Intense terror tingling his scalp masks all sensation of pain.

The instinct to survive urges him to kneel and kowtow.

He strains his jaw to the limit, his tongue pressed against his palate, trying to force out words of pleading.

"Big. Big boss. Spare me."

But only half a tone escapes.

The airflow at his larynx completely ceases.

Ling Xinyu's exclusive Rules descend.

It is a pressure that completely evacuates oxygen.

Gu Lian Nan claws his own neck with both hands, even tearing the black‑haired skin without stopping. His eyeballs bulge uncontrollably, blood vessels staining the whites. His lungs convulse violently from severe hypoxia.

Ban Lian Nan fares worse, his stomach acid mixed with toxin backflows.

He resembles a deflating rubber ball, emitting loud hissing as his legs flail on the ground.

His esophagus is burned through, white steam spews from his mouth, the pain draining his strength to roll.

They aren't even worthy of being cannon fodder.

A raging tsunami of black hair sweeps down from the sky.

Thousands of viscous, resilient hair strands weave into an airtight cutting net.

It mercilessly pierces their bodies.

No counter, no tug.

It is the unquestioned crushing by the superior, a one‑sided slaughterhouse.

Sizzle.

The motion of flesh separating reverberates in the cramped space.

Gu Lian Nan's skull slides down.

The incision is impeccably smooth; the compressed carotid spurts scarlet fluid.

Fountain‑like blood washes the chaotic ground.

Within the span of two brief breaths.

The hair net contracts wildly, tightening.

Two intact adult bodies are dismembered into hundreds of evenly sized meat blocks.

The broken bone weapons clang onto the floor tiles.

The hilt remains sticky, still attached to half a wrist bone.

Ban Lian Nan's half‑dragged head, bearing an expression of extreme terror, rolls down the slanted floor with a gurgling sound.

It hits the leg of an abandoned glass display case, stopping its spin.

The single eye protrudes, staring roundly, its pupil dilated, retaining the most intense hue of dread from before death.

The entire execution process lasts only two seconds.

The hair net, serving as a meat grinder, loses its target and drapes down softly, like receding dirty water clinging to wall cracks and retreating into shadows.

Red flows across the ground.

The shredded meat piles neatly.

The once noisy jewelry‑store ruins have been stripped of even the murmur of a heartbeat.

It is so quiet one can hear the drip of pooled blood falling.

The brutal aesthetic reaches its peak in this vengeful, poisonous Fierce Ghost.

The still‑seething Suffocating Ghost Girl stands in the center of the blood pool.

Black mist on her body churns endlessly.

She slowly turns.

Those black‑hole eyes, constantly shedding blood‑tears, lock onto Lin Fan, who gasps against the wall.

It is a terrifying stare capable of driving an ordinary person into immediate mental collapse.

Yet in Lin Fan's eyes, there is no avoidance or fear.

A strange chemical reaction begins to ferment.

The ghost's chilling aura, capable of freezing air, shatters instantly upon meeting Lin Fan's gaze, melting like ice.

Her arms, more terrifying than a giant saw blade, begin to retract.

The sharp nails lose their edge.

Pale, swollen flesh reshapes, returning to a slender, delicate maiden's jade‑like hand.

She drifts lightly toward.

Her steps are so light they do not crush the glass shards beneath.

The clothes, soaked and discolored by blood, returned to their original snow‑white texture.

Even that face, warped by stagnant water, revived, the long hair smoothly gathered at the back, becoming the look of a school beauty with a high ponytail.

The pure, kind girl from next door who used to hand Lin Fan bottled water at the playground crossed the boundary of life and death and stood here again.

She moved up to Lin Fan.

Two pure white hands lifted Lin Fan's pallid cheek, pale from severe blood loss.

The pads of the fingers gently brushed the contours of Lin Fan's face.

There was no warmth, only a refreshing chill.

To Lin Fan's tangible touch, this was the most effective painkiller in the world.

Xin Yu lowered her head and bent her waist, pressing her smooth white hands tightly against the penetrating wound on Lin Fan's left shoulder and chest.

The black aura, guided by conscious intent, became the finest healing elixir in the world.

The mist seeped inward along Lin Fan's flayed skin.

The flesh and blood, under some bizarre force, healed rapidly. Severed vessels reconnected. Damaged muscle fibers were sutured whole.

Only a few breaths' pause.

Those potentially fatal knife wounds were forcibly smoothed over.

Not even a conspicuous scar remained.

Except for the torn clothing and blood covering the whole body.

Lin Fan's bodily functions were pushed to their peak state.

Lin Fan let out a light laugh, his chest vibrating.

"Don't make a mournful face; you're not dead yet," Lin Fan said, his tone laced with fearless, cocky bravado, as he always coaxed her.

Lin Fan, in this world full of monsters, gave all his soft spots to the ghostly girl before him.

Lin Fan raised his right hand, which was free of blood.

He swept Xin Yu's slender waist, locking the body that had no body heat tightly against his chest.

The force was immense, as if to grind the other into his own bones and blood.

"I'm fine now, Xin Yu."

His chin rested on the girl's crown, and a low, gentle coo rose from his throat.

"With you here, this little wound is nothing."

The girl poked her head out of Lin Fan's embrace.

"Don't try to act tough again."

Although she was already dead, the emotion she conveyed was more intense and vivid than any living person's— a devotion willing to crush all things for Lin Fan.

"Go." Lin Fan released his grip, tidying the girl's disheveled side hair. His left eye was clear and bright, reflecting the girl's outline.

"Go get our stuff. No one can take it away."

The girl's eyebrows and eyes curved, and her expression gave the best reply.

She affectionately brushed against Lin Fan's palm.

Her form began to fade.

She turned into a faint dark ripple, circling around Lin Fan once, slipping into the Shadow on the ground, and quietly lurking.

It became his most secret killing move.

Lin Fan twisted his neck, emitting a series of crisp, pop‑like sounds.

His entire spirit, qi, and demeanor transformed dramatically.

The rebellious, untamed spirit of his youth returned in full.

He lifted his gaze toward a certain direction deep within the ruins.

Deep within the pupil of his right eye.

A cluster of dim blue flames suddenly leapt upward.

They ignited a fierce blaze that no one could stare at.

He stepped forward, treading on rotten flesh and bone fragments.

He walked toward the exhibition platform at the deepest part of the ruins.