Zhou Su quickly realized the problem wasn’t his alone, because the internet had already exploded. News about the Blood Moon surged onto the front pages of every major site.
“Blood Moon: The biggest black swan event in human history!”
“What is a Trial Field? Do higher-dimensional civilizations really exist?”
Zhou Su felt the situation turning serious. The Blood Moon in the sky wasn’t just visible in Guangdong Province—people in the Great Xia Federation, the Sakura Nation, the United American Commonwealth… everyone could see it. For the entire world to observe the Blood Moon simultaneously—physically, that shouldn’t be possible at all.
At that moment, the cold mechanical voice echoed in everyone’s minds once more:
【Blood Moon Rules Issued: Bonfire in the Dark】
【Rule Content: In three minutes, darkness will blanket the world. Your task is to survive eight hours in the dark.】
【Item Aid: Lychee-Wood Torch ×3.】
【Rule Restriction: Electronic communication devices are unusable.】
【Narration: In the dark, savor solitude. Firelight and courage will bring you dawn.】
【Survival Reward: 100 points. System Mall unlocks.】
A sudden burn spread across the back of his right hand. Zhou Su lowered his head quickly—there was now a blood-red mark: three crescent moons interlocked into a circle. He could clearly sense that a space existed within the mark. With a single thought, a torch abruptly appeared in his hand.
As his gaze fixed on it, a translucent information panel surfaced:
【Lychee-Wood Torch (White-Rarity)
Description: The flame of this torch can dispel malevolent spirits. Each unit burns for two hours.】
Malevolent spirits?
His heart thudded hard. If viewed from a game-design perspective: if an item was provided, there must be a situation requiring its use. Meaning—once the darkness arrived, they would encounter attacks from malevolent spirits.
“The timing doesn’t match,” Zhou Su immediately realized. One torch burned for two hours; three torches burned for six. But they needed to survive eight. How were the remaining two hours to be covered?
He understood: safely bridging those two hours was the key to survival.
He attempted to search the internet for information—but the connection was suddenly severed. By reflex, he dialed the emergency line, but there was no signal. He tried several more numbers; the result was the same.
“…Just as expected.” He put the phone away. The Rule had stated communications were disabled—but with his cautious personality, he had needed to verify it himself.
His attention was suddenly drawn to a distant figure. Amid all the chaos, that person was acting strangely—no panicked running, no frantic tapping on a phone—just standing still under a streetlamp.
The distance made details unclear. Zhou Su aimed his phone camera and zoomed in. Thanks to the powerful lens, he finally saw clearly—and sharply inhaled.
It was an elderly man wearing a dark-blue burial shroud. His face was unnaturally pale, as if coated in thick makeup. But the most disturbing were his eyes—pitch-black pupils, devoid of any human emotion.
A well-dressed office worker walked past, head lowered, still tapping at his phone’s dead screen, seemingly unaware of the old man. As their bodies passed, the shrouded corpse-old man moved. His withered arm lifted, and his black fingernails extended rapidly. The sharp nails pierced into the man’s back and into his heart, like a heated blade sliding through butter—no resistance at all.
There was no spray of blood, only the man staggering once before collapsing straight to the ground. He did not rise again. His face had turned iron-blue and twisted, clearly locked in final agony.
Malevolent spirit.
Confirmed—malevolent spirits were real.
After the kill, the shrouded corpse-old man vanished. But under other streetlights, more eerie silhouettes appeared. Their faces varied, but all possessed the same pitch-black pupils and cold, emotionless gazes.
Originally, Zhou Su had intended to turn on the light. Now he abandoned that idea completely. These malevolent spirits exhibited phototaxis—they were drawn to artificial light. Light would not protect humans. It would invite more spirits.
It made sense: spirits feared sunlight, not lightbulbs. Something that appeared similar in form but was different in meaning could provoke curiosity from the wrong thing.
Zhou Su drew the curtains shut. The first thing he did upon returning to his room was take out a Lychee-Wood Torch. The mark had also supplied a lighter, labeled: “A lighter that absolutely won’t fail at a critical moment.”
He lit the torch. The flame was pale-gold, illuminating a circular area about three meters wide. Within that circle, his collection of horror props glowed gold.
“…What if one real thing mixed itself among all these fakes?” The thought rose unbidden.
A cold, damp presence swept across his back. A shiver ran down his spine. “Of course. Great timing,” he cursed silently.
He slowly turned. A figure stood at the edge of the firelight—its entire body charred black, as though burned alive. Zhou Su clearly remembered he had not made a charred corpse prop recently. More importantly, the thick stench of blood and the oppressive, nauseating aura—no prop could produce that.
He had been targeted by a malevolent spirit.
His heart pounded; instinctive biological fear made his body tremble. But after several seconds, the terror slowly dissipated—replaced by curiosity. He had made moving horror props before, but they had only been mechanical devices. Now that a real entity stood before him, a powerful desire to study it surged.
“…So I’m not the type who only says he likes dragons but fears them in person,” he thought wryly. Something in his mind might indeed be abnormal.
He considered briefly, then raised the torch and walked toward the charred corpse. The pale-gold flame pushed forward; the charred corpse retreated. “The flame’s banishing effect is stronger than expected.”
Excitement rose. Soon, he was no longer satisfied with simply advancing and retreating. He planted the torch upright in the lucky bamboo pot and walked alone to the edge of the firelight.
Sensing the increasingly close human presence, the charred corpse let out a hoarse, excited shriek and lunged. As soon as it touched the boundary of the flame, a fine layer of golden fire spread across its surface. It screamed—and vanished.
“…Did it die just like that?” Zhou Su shook his head. Impossible. Malevolent spirits could not be so fragile.
But his attention was no longer on it. At the moment the spirit approached, he had felt something change in his soul.
Instinctively, he summoned the wordless crimson book. The ancient red cover floated before him—yet now golden light flowed across its surface, condensing slowly into a title:
God’s Third Hand.