Chapter 4

The scene before them struck all the Awakeners present with overwhelming force.

What exactly had happened while their eyes were closed? How had that terrifying thing disappeared? And why had this bus appeared here from such a great height?

The Awakeners immediately inspected the bus. They found all the passengers inside unconscious, while the driver—a C-level Contaminant—had exploded into a gory mess.

The Awakeners were dumbfounded.

If they hadn’t closed their eyes earlier, would they have died just as inexplicably as that driver?

The Awakeners began rescuing the passengers inside the bus.

One by one, the passengers were roused, but when questioned about what had transpired, none could recall the events. They only remembered a violent impact that knocked them unconscious, and the next thing they knew, they awoke to this chaotic scene.

The area was in complete disarray, with countless people swarming around the bus to investigate. Far above them in the sky, an invisible pair of eyes continued to watch.

He observed the Tiny People bustling about in alarm, waving their utterly unimpressive claws like cautious ants.

For some reason, Xi Le found them rather endearing.

Xi Le looked at his fingers. The force he’d used earlier had been just right—unlike last time, when he’d accidentally killed two people before even realizing it.

He was still here, yet neither the bus passengers nor the crowd below could see him now, though they had noticed him earlier.

How was this state regulated? Was it under his control, or did it depend on other conditions?

Xi Le still had many unanswered questions, but an inexplicable inner voice told him it was connected to himself. Only when he wished to respond or intervene in the world of these Tiny People would he be perceived, noticed, or detected.

After confirming there were no suddenly appearing Tiny People Cities on his bed, Xi Le pulled up the covers and prepared to sleep.

Though exhausted from the day’s work, sleep didn’t come immediately.

Anyone who’d experienced such bizarre events would struggle to rest easy. But eventually, after such a long ordeal, Xi Le’s fatigue won out, and his consciousness began to fade.

Just as he drifted into light sleep, however, a faint sound reached his ears, carried by the moonlight.

Xi Le groggily opened his eyes.

What now? He had surgeries to perform tomorrow.

He turned over and ignored the strange noise, trying to sleep again.

But the sound grew louder. Reluctantly, Xi Le opened his eyes—and suddenly realized someone was praying to him.

Ten hours earlier, in Taocheng.

Song Huai dragged his battered body home and collapsed onto the bed, covered in wounds.

Song Huai had once had a happy family. He and his wife had been childhood sweethearts, deeply in love since their youth, and it came as no surprise when they married at the appropriate age.

His wife was beautiful—tall, slender, and full of youthful vitality. A year after their wedding, she became pregnant. Overjoyed, she began preparing tiny clothes for their child. Everything seemed to be moving in a positive direction, and Song Huai believed his happiness would last forever.

But one evening, as he walked home past a river near their neighborhood, he noticed a crowd gathered there.

Curiosity arose in Song Huai’s heart, and he couldn’t help but step forward to look—only to see the nightmare that would haunt him for the rest of his life.  

His wife, who had just cooked dinner for him the day before, lay in a pool of blood, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles, her entire body bloated and pale from soaking in water.  

The once beautiful and vain woman had been disfigured, her body exposed. But the most horrifying sight was her stomach—pregnant at the time, she had been sliced open, and the fully formed baby inside was nowhere to be found.  

People around pointed and whispered, yet not a single soul offered to cover her with a piece of clothing.  

Song Huai ran forward like a madman, clutching his wife’s mutilated body tightly in his arms.  

But she would never wake again. Never smile at him again.  

Despite the immense suffering his wife had endured, the police barely investigated before giving up.  

Consumed by hatred and despair, Song Huai spent everything he had, selling all his possessions to hunt down the killer—to find out who had murdered his wife. Yet in the end, he found nothing.  

Now, five full years had passed since her death, and he still didn’t even know whether the murderer was a man or a woman.  

He wasn’t afraid of losing everything, nor of a bitter old age. His only fear was that he would waste his entire life without ever avenging his wife.  

After resting in bed for an hour, Song Huai got up and went downstairs to buy some instant noodles.  

While picking them out, he overheard a few people nearby discussing the incident in West Street of Taocheng.  

“Did you hear? Those two scumbags who ran over that child are dead—crushed to death by something unknown in Tong Miao’s house!”  

“I saw it online. Serves the He family right.”  

“You know what? I was in West Street that day. And guess what? I saw Tong Miao setting up offerings, praying to something.”  

“God, so she was the one who summoned that thing.”  

“Definitely. But damn, Tong Miao’s got guts, daring to pray to the Evil God.”  

“Her daughter’s dead. What does she have left to lose?”  

Hearing their conversation, Song Huai’s eyes suddenly lit up. His long-dead heart began to beat again.  

He knew Tong Miao—a woman as desperate and powerless as himself.  

The last time he saw her, she had been drowning in hatred and despair, searching for any way to get justice for her daughter. Just like him, they were both the lowest kindling beneath the tides of fate.  

But who would’ve thought? Just a day later, the two demons who had killed Tong Miao’s daughter were dead, paying a gruesome price. How enviable.  

And what about his wife? Could she ever be avenged?  

When someone trapped in darkness finally catches a glimpse of hope, they cling to it like a lifeline—desperately, relentlessly.  

Even if Song Huai tried to suppress this mad thought, it sprouted like weeds, growing wildly out of control.  

He abandoned the instant noodles and instead bought items for prayer.  

Night fell quickly. Following a book on the occult, he drew a sigil, lit a few candles, and laid out the freshest offerings.  

Clasping his hands together, under the eternal glow of the Crimson Moon, Song Huai began his devout prayer.

“The Evil God who once answered Tong Miao’s prayers, I beseech You, I beg You to gaze upon Your devout follower. Reveal to Your humble servant the identity of the one who murdered my wife.”

The devout prayer drifted along the moonlight to Xi Le’s ears. Upon hearing Song Huai’s plea, Xi Le was momentarily stunned.

Find the murderer? He didn’t know that either.

Crushing a few criminals would be no trouble, but tracking down a killer? That was beyond his capabilities.

Xi Le couldn’t help but tap the table in frustration. No matter how hard he knocked, ignorance remained ignorance.

He was just an ordinary little Crimson Moon, after all.

Just as Xi Le was about to give up, his spiritual senses detected something unusual, and the surroundings grew hazy.

An image surfaced in Xi Le’s mind—a gentle, kindly face belonging to an utterly ordinary middle-aged man, resembling an amiable Maitreya Buddha.

Surprise flickered through Xi Le, but he quickly realized: this was the murderer.

Nervous, Xi Le allowed the vision to continue unfolding.

The middle-aged man appeared benevolent, his eyes perpetually curved in a smile, often handing out candies to neighborhood children. Yet when alone, his face twisted into a sinister cruelty.

The scenes fast-forwarded until the man appeared by a riverside, standing over an unconscious woman.

Pleased, enormous tentacles slithered from his eyes as he meticulously plucked out each of the woman’s beautiful nails one by one.

After collecting them, the man treated the nails like treasures, sniffing them delicately before licking them with perverse relish.

Gazing at the fallen woman, his expression darkened further. He then carved out the unborn child from her womb and swallowed it whole.

The visions flashed rapidly until finally, a name crystallized in Xi Le’s mind—the killer of Song Huai’s wife.

As the vision ended, Xi Le’s surroundings returned to normal.

Clutching his head, Xi Le shook it wearily. Identifying the murderer had only intensified his hunger; wielding such extraordinary powers seemed to drain his stamina.

Yet simultaneously, a faint surge of energy flowed into him—originating from Tong Miao.

Xi Le suddenly understood: the fanatical, devout worship of the Crimson Moon by zealots could satiate him, restoring his strength.

But the energy from a single zealot was negligible, barely noticeable unless he focused.

However, what if there were hundreds… thousands… even tens of thousands of such zealots?

The thought made Xi Le’s anticipation stir.

After a pause, Xi Le modulated his voice and whispered the name to Song Huai, warning him that this was one of the Contaminants.

Still kneeling in prayer, Song Huai seemed to sense something and slowly lowered his hands.

A beam of crimson light streamed through the window, illuminating Song Huai directly.

And for the first time, Song Huai witnessed the Crimson Moon in the sky swell unnaturally—larger, more blinding, and more sinister than any he’d ever seen.

A voice traveled through the crimson light into his ears. Though the voice seemed ethereal, the moment Song Huai heard its first syllable, his head began to throb with blood, his nose bleeding profusely, leaving him in a state of disorientation.  

His mind felt as if it had been filled with cement—heavy and rigid.  

Yet amidst the murmurs, he faintly discerned a name.  

—Zhu Yongchang.  

Overwhelmed with joy, Song Huai wept uncontrollably, kowtowing repeatedly until his forehead was covered in blood, yet he didn’t stop.  

It was then that Song Huai suddenly noticed the Crimson Moon in the sky, glowing with an impossible brilliance, as if it were within arm’s reach.  

After the initial ecstasy, a chilling realization struck him.  

Could it be that the entity responding to his prayers was the Crimson Moon in the sky?  

Song Huai was utterly stunned.  

His reaction mirrored Tong Miao’s exactly. In the world of the occult, the Crimson Moon had never answered human prayers.  

Since its appearance in the sky, it had remained indifferent and merciless. Those bathed in its light knew well of its cold nature. So now… had the Crimson Moon awakened?  

The Crimson Moon has awakened…  

Song Huai muttered these words under his breath, his mind swirling like a storm. The shock he felt was no less than when he had first heard the murmurs.  

Yet, alongside the shock, an inexplicable pride and euphoria surged within him.  

Shaking his head, Song Huai decided to set these thoughts aside for now.  

After obtaining the murderer’s name, Song Huai didn’t immediately report it to the police. Instead, he began investigating Zhu Yongchang.  

Over the years, in his relentless search for his wife’s killer, he had traversed nearly every corner of Taocheng, familiarizing himself with every inch of the city.  

Soon, he pinpointed his suspect’s location—Cangshan Residential District!  

Cangshan was near the city center, close to a school, and it was also where his wife’s body had been discovered years ago.  

As he dug deeper, Song Huai learned that in the eyes of others, Zhu Yongchang was an exceedingly kind man—often giving candy to neighborhood children, strolling leisurely.  

Song Huai tailed Zhu Yongchang for an entire week. Throughout that time, Zhu Yongchang behaved perfectly normally, exactly as others described—gentle, amiable, a genuinely good person.  

But just as Song Huai let his guard down, he caught a fleeting glimpse of ferocity in Zhu Yongchang’s eyes.  

That was not the look of a kind-hearted man.  

Determined to uncover the truth, Song Huai sneaked into Zhu Yongchang’s home while he was away, meticulously searching without leaving a trace.  

He turned the entire place upside down but found nothing.  

Then, he spotted a hidden door.  

Concealed in an obscure corner, it would have been impossible to notice without sharp eyes.  

Behind that door, Song Huai discovered a floor littered with human bones and preserved organs.  

Among them were his wife’s beautiful fingernails.  

A twisted expression contorted Song Huai’s face. He laughed—so hard that tears streamed from his eyes, so hard he clutched his stomach.  

But in an instant, his laughter vanished, replaced by an expression of profound grief and fury.  

Zhu Yongchang was truly the murderer—the killer he had spent five years searching for, finally found under the guidance of the Crimson Moon!