Chapter 41: Distortion

“Manipulators differ from the Gifted. The Gifted are born with their abilities, while Manipulators forcibly seize the power of objects,” he explained.

“The more we use these items, the deeper our connection with them grows, and the stronger the abilities we can wield become. But as the price, our minds become increasingly warped.”

Feng Tun’s expression grew a little dazed; even his healing body seemed on the verge of collapsing again, though he quickly regained control.

“At first, I was simply obsessed with eating pork, especially raw pork. Later, as my powers increased, even devouring several hundred pounds of pork a day left me unsatisfied—almost all my time was spent eating. Then, one day, I awoke to find my own hand clenched between my teeth. The sensation—the fullness—was something pork could never provide.”

That day marked Feng Tun’s ascension to the Beta rank. From initial panic, to hesitation, to utter indulgence. For the sake of both spiritual and physical gratification, he went so far as to use his powers to transform other foods’ appearances into pigs and sell them to others.

Those who consumed this “pork” grew ever more ravenous, ever more frenzied, turning on friends and family alike. The more they ate, the higher their temperatures rose, until, shrouded in white steam, they became the finest cuisine.

Terror, grief, despair, madness—such flavors mingled together to create the ultimate delicacy, the pinnacle of culinary art.

Through this series of rituals, Feng Tun discovered that the mental burden of the item became ever lighter, delighting him and convincing him he was on the right path.

But in truth, Feng Tun was already insane—his madness deeper even than that of the Warden of the Wall. Everyone’s willpower is different; some can last to become Wardens, others collapse on the way.

“We are the same kind of people. Aren’t you a Manipulator as well?” Feng Tun awakened from his reverie, the crazed look in his eyes fading into calm once more. “I can sense it. Those born Gifted, the children of the heavens, would never possess your brand of madness.”

It was true; madness indeed. Feng Tun had never seen anyone catch the Paolao barehanded.

Paolao’s power was not just searing heat, but fear—the fear born of countless human wails. The moment you touch it, the souls lost in the flames will reach out to drag you into their ranks.

Such is the tragedy of humanity: in their own misery, they cannot bear to see others happy, always wishing to drag others into hell with them.

To Feng Tun, transforming them into pigs and purifying them in the flames was a form of salvation.

But Mu Yu, upon touching the item, remained completely unaffected.

This man, Feng Tun thought, must be even more unhinged than I am.

Mu Yu said nothing, glancing at his phone once more.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Feng Tun sensed something was wrong. Mu Yu looked as if he were merely watching a performance—no matter how passionately the actors wept or raged, the audience just smiled and applauded, never truly believing the spectacle.

“You feel the same as I do, don’t you? What I’ve done is not truly under my control.”

A strange unease filled Feng Tun’s heart. Even though Mu Yu had never threatened to kill him, his cold expression was gradually becoming serene.

A rich, majestic aria echoed through the room—Mu Yu’s chosen ringtone. Its grandeur could conjure epic tales even for those with no ear for music.

“It’s done?”

“Yes, the evacuation is complete,” came Ding Keqiang’s voice from the other end of the line.

This was the first time Mu Yu had relied on the Ding family’s power for a task. To ensure nothing went awry, Ding Keqiang himself had come to the scene. Though this operation was unauthorized, Mu Yu was not foolish enough to act alone. The Ding family’s only role was to follow him and evacuate the crowds layer by layer.

“You all should leave too. Things are about to get ugly,” Mu Yu said, hanging up and slipping the phone back into his pocket.

“Hurry, leave at once!” Ding Keqiang seemed to realize something, shouting into his radio. At his command, the long line of vehicles surged forward, but he remained uneasy, urging them on.

“Why?” Feng Tun’s face registered disbelief. Only now did he realize Mu Yu had never intended to let him go. All their previous conversation had simply been a stalling tactic.

“Nice words, but a crime is still a crime. Weren’t those you murdered innocent?” Mu Yu picked up the fallen copper pillar, its iron chain still stained with blood—something even the highest temperatures could never cleanse.

“Wrongdoers must be punished. If even garbage like you can go on living, I’ll find it intolerable. Besides, you chose the wrong prey.”

As Mu Yu moved, the copper pillar suddenly glowed red-hot, a wave of heat surging forth.

A look of manic joy appeared on Feng Tun’s face. Mu Yu was still too young—how dare he use a Manipulator’s item in front of a Manipulator! Even without direct contact, he could still control it!

“Die!!!” All caution abandoned in the face of death, Feng Tun sent the temperature of the copper pillar soaring to its limit within a second. The searing heat set Mu Yu’s clothes alight, flames billowing up.

It was a mistake—Mu Yu, a newcomer, lacked any experience fighting Manipulators. And in this instant, a single mistake could be fatal.

Mu Yu swung his arm, trying to cast the pillar aside, but the heat had already fused his palm to it. Fat sizzled, filling the air with a strange, savory scent.

No, Mu Yu’s eyes flashed with determination as he roared, “Xiao Bai!”

White limbs unfurled from his back like four pairs of bony wings—sinister, yet beautiful. Xiao Bai needed no command, slashing at his hand with lightning speed.

At this point, there was nothing left but to sacrifice a hand to correct his mistake. Any further delay, and Mu Yu’s whole body would be consumed by the heat.

Feng Tun stared at the sudden appearance of these limbs, madness gleaming in his eyes. “You forced me to this!!!”

From the superheated copper pillar, charred arms burst forth to block Xiao Bai’s attack. The iron chains clattered as they climbed up Mu Yu’s hand, inch by inch burning through flesh and locking onto bone. In an instant, his once-bloody arm was charred and ruined, even the bone blackened.

The sharp limbs slashed relentlessly, so fast they left afterimages in the air—a web of unbroken strikes. Yet the arms seemed inexhaustible; for every one severed, another sprang forth.

It was too late. The chains wound around Mu Yu’s shoulder like a serpent, and kept climbing. Feng Tun wanted to bind Mu Yu to the copper pillar and burn him to ash.

With Xiao Bai partially separated from Mu Yu’s body, his physical strength drained instantly—most importantly, the pain returned.

“Ahhhhhhhh!” In truth, Mu Yu was just an ordinary person who had gained power days before; the agony nearly shut down his mind. His joints twisted, a crack echoed from his shoulder.

Now, both were fighting for their lives. Mu Yu, seizing on the chain’s heat, tried to tear his own arm off. Meanwhile, Feng Tun’s splitting face began to shine, his flowing blood turning to molten lava and leaving scorched marks on the floor.

At the edge of life, he nearly touched the realm of the Wall Wardens—but this only hastened his loss of control.

It was over. Feng Tun knew that even if he killed Mu Yu, he could no longer control the object. The moment the vengeful spirits trapped within were released, it would be lost forever.

A heavy object crashed to the ground with a dull thud.

The flailing limbs retreated into Mu Yu’s body, suppressing the pain. In the end, Mu Yu was a step faster, clutching his shoulder as he stumbled to the window. The extreme heat cauterized the wound as his arm snapped off, eliminating the need to staunch the bleeding.

He had been careless. As the pain faded, Mu Yu’s consciousness slowly returned from the brink of blackout.

His appearance now was wretched—his right arm torn away at the shoulder, burning on the pillar like a chunk of charcoal. Dark scorch marks ran across his body, hideous and terrifying.

Yet Mu Yu had won.

Feng Tun’s once-struggling body had fallen still, only endless lava streaming from the cracks in his shell, flowing down through the scorched floor.

“Huff… huff…” Mu Yu gasped, surveying the aftermath. Feng Tun’s death was only the beginning, not the end.

The copper pillar lying on the floor quivered restlessly, scores of arms bound tightly by iron chains, unable to move.

It began to flow.

The seemingly ordinary pillar melted like liquid, spreading swiftly across the floor. Mu Yu frowned, grabbing the unconscious man and leaping out the window.

Sharp limbs shot from his back, anchoring into the floors of the building as he leapt rapidly downward.

Having evacuated the crowd, Ding Keqiang waited below, dumbstruck as Mu Yu descended at speed, glass and debris raining down.

“Let’s go.”

He didn’t say more. Seeing Mu Yu’s condition, the old man nimbly slipped into the driver’s seat and sped away.

Who would have thought, at his age, his driving would be so steady?

“Should I take you to a hospital?” Ding Keqiang glanced at Mu Yu, sprawled exhausted in the back seat, the unconscious man tossed aside.

“No, stop up ahead,” Mu Yu replied. Even as he spoke, he sensed the temperature around them rising unnaturally, far beyond what a summer’s day could explain.

Not knowing exactly what Mu Yu was fleeing, Old Ding gritted his teeth and floored the accelerator, only slowing once they had left the street far behind. For someone who hadn’t driven himself in years, his heart pounded so fiercely it felt like it might give out at any moment.

If only his sons weren’t all so useless—proud but incapable—he should have been enjoying his twilight years by now.

Would it all be left to his granddaughter in the end…?

Ding Keqiang mused silently, getting out of the car with Mu Yu.

A surging heatwave struck from behind, accompanied by a blinding light, as though a new sun was rising. But how could that be?

He turned shakily, clutching the car door for support.

A giant copper pillar stood in the street.

Molten, golden lava churned and flowed, outshining even the sun’s brilliance. Upon its surface, countless struggling, spotted forms writhed.

Souls that had languished for centuries moaned as they stared hungrily at the new world, their longing and pain unmistakable.

Iron chains, twisting like serpents, clanged in a relentless metallic chorus to their struggles.

Paolao.

A copper column, fire burning below, where the guilty walked until they fell into the coals—Daji laughed, and this was named the Paolao Punishment.

—From the “Biographies of Notable Women”