The illusion shattered like fragile glass, rippling outward in waves of distortion.
What had seemed like a solid wall dissolved into reality—a crumbling, half-broken structure barely standing.
Dust and old rot clung to the air, but something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
The massacre they had seen before… the grotesque pile of severed limbs, the undeniable evidence of slaughter… was gone.
The ground, once slick with fresh blood, was dry. Not a drop remained. Not a single limb, not even the smallest trace of death.
It was as if the massacre had never happened at all.
Shan Yifeng's brows furrowed. Liu Mei's amused expression faded, replaced by a rare moment of stillness.
Someone had cleared the evidence, and the method had been too clean.
But before either of them could react—
"Hah!"
Xiao Ling burst into laughter—loud, mocking, triumphant. He took a step forward, arms crossed, his sneer widening.
