“Dong…” Another sound, like a knock on the door. Something is happening across the hall! Zhang Yuanqing quickly replaces his dull, rusted kitchen knife with another dull, rusted short blade and swaps his wooden stick for a long spear. With weapons in hand, he steps out of the room lightly, the moonlight as crisp as frost; the surroundings are quiet. Zhang Yuanqing bends down and leans against the window. The paper covering the glass has long since torn and frayed—he crouches beneath it, carefully lifting his head and peering through a gap in the latticed window. The cold moonlight is compressed into narrow beams by cracks in the roof, illuminating this small, dimly lit room. Upon seeing what’s inside, Zhang Yuanqing feels a sudden jolt of surprise. In the dim, silent room, three old coffins stand arranged—black paint peeling and dusty lids covered with dust. Two dry corpses lie beside them in a relaxed position, dressed in work uniforms; one has a bronze cone at its side. Zhang Yuanqing’s attention is drawn to that cone—it measures about half a person's arm length, cast in yellow copper, with engraved incantations and carved patterns on the handle—the craftsmanship is fine, especially since all other weapons are rusted, this one remains bright and free of tarnish. In his mind, an image surfaces: a hand from San Dao Mountain’s Lady, clenched tightly as if holding something. Yet the palm is empty. “Dong…” The sound returns again—compelling Zhang Yuanqing to shift his gaze toward the middle coffin. A loud, creaking sound emerges as the lid slowly lifts. A dark-blue hand extends out, grasping the edge of the coffin. Then, a terrifying form rises from within. With the clear moonlight streaming through above, Zhang Yuanqing clearly sees its appearance: draped in tattered clothing, face swollen and severely decayed, eyes sunken and glassy, hair like dry grass standing up on end. “Hoo-hoo…” It lifts its head toward the moon, exhaling a thick wave of stench; two sharp teeth are particularly noticeable. A zombie? A zombie?! Zhang Yuanqing feels his PTSD symptoms suddenly flaring up. It must be a zombie—otherwise what would be the point of using a corpse-stabilizing scroll as a consumable item? Zhang Yuanqing now feels hesitant, having gathered sufficient information thus far. He decides it’s time to return to the main hall. But just then, a sudden weight settles on his shoulders—a familiar cold sensation seeps into his body, sending gooseflesh rising across his skin. At this crucial moment, the ghost of the shoulder appears. Fifteen minutes have passed… Zhang Yuanqing feels it settle deeply in his chest. In this high-stakes ancient temple setting, under constant tension, it’s hard to focus on counting time—only able to estimate based on sensation, which introduces some error. The arrival of the shoulder ghost adds another layer of discomfort; what follows is even more overwhelming. As if sensing human presence, the zombie inside the coffin lowers its head and eyes, now gazing steadily toward the window, observing Zhang Yuanqing’s steady gaze through it. Zhang Yuanqing jumps with gooseflesh rising all over his body, then springs up and darts for the exit. Just as he turns around, he hears the heavy "clunk" of the coffin lid falling to the floor. He doesn’t dare look back—carrying the ghost on his shoulders, moving slowly but steadily. Then comes another loud "clunk"—the door is violently slammed open. While rushing forward, Zhang Yuanqing turns and sees the figure in tattered clothes burst out of the room, leaping with fierce momentum to pursue him like a hungry tiger attacking a lamb. Is this a zombie? Where exactly does it remain stiff? His face pales, he spins on his feet using inertia, thrusting his spear at the zombie’s chest. The spear tip is driven into the ground, forming a makeshift barrier. At the same time, he notices a gaping hole in the zombie’s chest—its heart appears to have been removed. Is this the master brother? The zombie is the one mentioned in his handnote! Next moment, the zombie pushes forward with the spear, its thick shaft bending like a full moon before snapping with a crisp "crack." With no time to think further, Zhang Yuanqing takes advantage of the gap created by the spear’s movement, rolling past the zombie’s feet, filling his nostrils with stench and hearing the sound of his large blade cutting into the ground behind him. Rolling all the way to the back of the zombie, he flexes his knees, leaps upward, and swings his short blade. “Clang!” The short blade strikes the zombie’s back of the skull—like cleaving through steel—and while it cuts off a few strands of dry hair from its head, no visible damage is caused. In fact, the force transmitted back through the handle shakes Zhang Yuanqing’s hands so badly that he nearly drops his weapon. “Copper skin and iron bones?” Zhang Yuanqing feels startled—then sees the zombie quickly turn around, lifting two black, sharp hands to grasp his shoulders. The pain hits immediately. The black, sharp nails pierce through his skin, staining his outerwear with bright red blood. The scent of blood stimulates it—the zombie’s eyes glow deep crimson as it opens its jaws and spits out a foul-smelling gas, then bites firmly onto Zhang Yuanqing’s neck. With the cleansing effect of the candle still active, Zhang Yuanqing remains calm despite fear; he simply thinks one thought—his glowing blue inventory appears, and now holds a scroll in his hand. Ding-ding-ding… The once fierce zombie retreats several steps upon seeing this scroll, as if avoiding snakes or scorpions. Effective—it fears me! It has some intelligence! Zhang Yuanqing presses hard against the pain at his arms, tensing his muscles, steadily staring into the zombie’s eyes while bearing the ghost on his shoulders—slowly and deliberately retreating step by step. As he moves back, he prays that the female spirit from the well does not appear to complicate matters. During this time, the zombie emits a deep, eerie groan from its decaying throat, fixing its crimson gaze upon Zhang Yuanqing. Fortunately—either due to the zombie’s condition or because Zhang Yuanqing was walking backward—the female ghost from the well does not emerge. Zhang Yuanqing exits the eastern courtyard, returns to the Si-Hé-Yuán, and rushes toward the main hall without stopping, arriving just as he nears the eaves of the building, when a phantom cry echoes in his ears. The weight on his shoulders lightens—every negative effect dissolves. … “Huff-huff…” In the main hall, Zhang Yuanqing leans against the latticed door, gasping for breath; his legs are uncontrollably trembling. Partly from fear, partly due to physiological reactions after adrenaline wears off. After resting a few minutes, as the adrenaline subsides, the pain in his arm wounds begins—cracking teeth while removing his outerwear and undershirt—he sees both arms marred with scraped flesh and blood that is dark red mixed with crimson. Clearly, the zombie’s nails contain potent toxins. The situation has become critical now. “There’s no antiseptic solution here, no tetanus shot—how fast does this toxin develop? Will I not succumb to it?” Zhang Yuanqing runs through a series of thoughts, surprised at how little fear he feels—then realizes: it’s actually unrelated to him; the candlelight provides his courage. Immersed in the glow of the candlelight, his emotions begin to settle. “Now that I’m infected with this toxin, I must act quickly—I’ll implement my second plan.” Before entering the Spirit Realm, Zhang Yuanqing had developed two plans: The first was a cautious approach—explore the temple thoroughly, gather information, and then work toward solving problems. A method of steady, deliberate progress. Inspired by his experience playing games with Aunt Guan, he adopts a more adventurous second plan: Attempt to secure the red dance shoes. Since both are items, having successfully used a yellow paper scroll, why not use this one? Gu Yan mentioned that there’s a certain probability of succeeding in solving the rules governing rule-based items—thus securing them. “With my current abilities, I’m unlikely to manage on my own to affix a yellow scroll directly onto the zombie’s forehead.” To stick a scroll on the head of a fierce, intelligent spirit is like having a child attempt to wrestle an adult with a knife—it may be intimidating, but that doesn’t mean the child will succeed. No further delay—Zhang Yuanqing stands up against the latticed door, crosses the threshold, and arrives at the courtyard in front of the main hall. This is where he first encountered the red dance shoes. The moon shines like a round disc; the ancient residence, wild grasses, and swaying tree shadows create a serene atmosphere. He waits—again and again—for hours, standing vigilantly among the grass, alert to any changes—but never sees the arrival of the red dance shoes. It seems this pair has no fixed location: initially following him when entering the temple, then appearing in the Si-Hé-Yuán, now it’s uncertain where it appears next. As the longer he waits, his condition worsens—Zhang Yuanqing sighs and turns to return to the main hall. Just as he completes this turn, his body suddenly stiffens. “Ding-ding…” Between him and the main hall, a pair of red dance shoes glows with a soft deep red light, rising and falling gently—as if someone invisible is wearing them and stepping in place. The footfalls echo clearly through the quiet night air. Could it not appear in a different manner? Always so dramatic… Zhang Yuanqing nearly has his spirit restored as he quietly swallows a breath. Although anticipating its arrival, when facing this mysterious pair of shoes, Zhang Yuanqing realizes that his SAN value is steadily declining—uncontrollable. The red dance shoes continue their steady pacing—the crisp sound of the heel tapping the ground grows louder with each beat, becoming more isolated and more terrifying. Suddenly, a glowing blue message appears in Zhang Yuanqing’s field of vision: “Would you like to join me for a dance? If so, please stay where you are.” The message appears beside the shoes—seeming as if it speaks directly to him. Indeed—it requires a dance; failure means death—how unsatisfactory! Zhang Yuanqing now realizes that the shoes have severed his escape route. It appears between him and the main hall. Should he fail in this dance, he will surely die. Is this mere coincidence—or intentional? Does it possess intelligence…? Zhang Yuanqing gathers his thoughts, calms his emotions, and visualizes the image of his father in his mind. He then lifts one foot to begin stepping. “Ding-ding…” It seems as if a switch has been activated—along with his steps, the rhythm of the dance shoes changes, now moving at an impressive pace. The shoes perform a vibrant tap-dance—the tempo is lively and swift, the clear sound of “taps” echoing through the still night air and into the abandoned temple. Under the moonlight, amid wild grasses, on a path paved with smooth stones, one pair of red dance shoes dances alone—radiating an incomparable grace. Zhang Yuanqing widens his eyes, allowing his pupils to absorb as much moonlight as possible, staring intently at the shoes—he doesn’t need to memorize the steps; he simply needs to observe them. At the same time, his heart beats rapidly as if under load—his ears are filled with a flurry of sounds, and countless fragmented images flicker in his mind. His brain begins automatically receiving information—the sound of wind passing through grasses, the slight bends of wild grasses, the rhythm of leaves swaying far away under the big trees, the tap-dance motion and frequency of the shoes… The brain quickly analyzes and recalls these details. After several minutes, the dance shoes come to a stop—stepping back with its left foot and lifting one end slightly. At first glance, this appears odd—but if someone were wearing it, it would be the standard bowing gesture. Quite courteous indeed… Zhang Yuanqing murmurs under his breath as fresh blood flows steadily from his nasal passage. Then he notices a message appear above the shoes: “It’s your turn now!” In just minutes, the dance shoes have performed hundreds of rhythmic sequences—each step unique—exceeding ordinary human memory capacity. Zhang Yuanqing takes a deep breath and retrieves a small pill from his pocket, holding it in his mouth. Then, his brain enters an unusual state—one that replays each moment from the past few minutes frame by frame. “Ding-ding-ding…” He begins to dance slowly—awkwardly and with effort—then carefully observes the shoes. If the standard is identical across all these sequences, even if he remembers every step perfectly, he still cannot fulfill the task successfully. Seeing no signs of distress in the shoes, Zhang Yuanqing feels relieved—he now focuses fully on performing the dance. He performs a series of taps, turns, and small jumps—alternating between his left and right feet—the movements are slow and clumsy compared to the elegant flow of the shoes, yet clearly imperfect. Yet, with this steady rhythm, he ensures no mistakes occur. After about seven or eight minutes, Zhang Yuanqing successfully replicates every step of the dance, stops, and breathes heavily—his nasal passages now overflow with warm fluid, dripping down his lips and jawline—yet he still refuses to move his eyes from the shoes. Whether he will survive in this spirit realm—or succeed in completing his mission depends entirely on this very moment. “Your dancing skills remain as poor as ever!” The Divine Object pops up a piece of Information, then gradually dissolves into the night sky as a shimmering dark red glow. Immediately afterward, Zhang Yuanqing hears a crisp, cold voice resonating in his mind: 【Ping! You have completed a dance with the Divine Object. Congratulations—you have earned its recognition. However, due to your rather underwhelming dancing skills, the Divine Object has only recognized you for half an hour. Wishing you good fortune!】 Zhang Yuanqing feels faint and collapses to the ground, his face pale and his mind pounding with sharp pains. Half a minute later, the symptoms ease, and he sits up slowly, his face still flushed with pallor, eager to open his inventory window. In the second slot, lies a pair of fresh red dancing shoes. After gazing at them for several seconds, the item information automatically appears. 【Name: Divine Object】 【Type: Footwear】 【Function: Tracking, Pursuit】 【Description: Its former owner was a princess of a Western kingdom, naturally graceful and exceptionally skilled in dance. The men of the kingdom admired her deeply. However, her spiteful mother-in-law envied both her talent and beauty, confining her to a tower. Alone, the princess danced under the cold moonlight until she eventually passed away. This pair of red dancing shoes inherited her legacy, beginning its journey as a wanderer, ever-dancing without cease.】 【Note 1: Usage Form One: Throw the Divine Object toward a designated target (or use the target's blood, hair, skin cells, or other biological material to lock in the target). It will then relentlessly pursue and hunt the target. During the pursuit, it ignores any physical obstacles—no escape, no damage—until either the target dies or completes a full dance with it, regardless of the type of dance performed.】 【Usage Form Two: Wear the Divine Object on your feet. This enhances agility and improves evasion abilities, allowing you to move freely across terrain without expending stamina. The only thing to watch for is that you can wear it for no more than five minutes at a time. If you exceed this duration, the Divine Object will remain firmly attached—unable to be removed—and you will have to keep running with it until either your life ends or you cut off your feet.】 【Note 2: If you don’t accompany me in dancing? You’ll all perish young.】 It’s a true artifact… Zhang Yuanqing is thrilled after reading through the attributes. Is this what a prop_type is like? Absolutely extraordinary. The previous yellow paper charms and candles had simple descriptions—just a few lines—while this Divine Object’s item information spans several pages in depth. This alone highlights its uniqueness. “Unfortunately, it only recognizes me for half an hour…” Zhang Yuanqing notices the countdown timer beside his inventory window, feeling a sense of regret. If he could own such a masterpiece, whether in real life or when entering other Spirit Realms, its value would be immense.