Spellbinder

The car came to a halt at the entrance of the abandoned Sun Paradise.

The air was thick with the damp scent of rust and rotting vegetation.

The paint on the signboard at the entrance had peeled away, leaving the words barely legible.

"Family Bucket Meal: Just ninety bucks for a family of three."

A single ticket cost forty-eight yuan per person.

The three of them stepped out of the car. Liu Zheng looked up at the sky, where the crimson mist hung so thick it resembled congealed blood.

"What a pain. This feels like a video game, leading us step by step to the final boss arena."

Shouzhen walked to the trunk, retrieving a golden coin sword and a horsetail whisk. He donned his Daoist robe and hat, his entire demeanor turning solemn.

Old Bai, meanwhile, slung a bulging military backpack over his shoulder from the back seat—its weight was far from light.

Only Liu Zheng seemed unburdened. He simply drew the pistol from his waist and casually swapped out the magazine.

Though the bullets inside were anything but ordinary, their tips a sinister shade of crimson.

Liu Zheng took a deep breath, adjusting the brim of his fisherman’s hat to shadow half his face.

"Alright, let’s head in."

Without a word, Old Bai strode forward and kicked the gate.

The already rickety iron door let out a piercing shriek before collapsing with a thunderous crash, sending up a cloud of dust.

This place had been abandoned for far too long.

Left untended, time had rendered much of it utterly derelict.

Old Bai unsheathed a three-foot-long blade from his backpack and led the way, hacking through the overgrown weeds on either side.

After a hundred meters, they reached the ticket booth of Sun Paradise.

A fist-sized antique padlock, corroded with rust, hung from the turnstile gate.

Yet Old Bai simply grabbed the chain and yanked it apart with a sickening metallic screech, snapping it clean in two.

Liu Zheng wasn’t the least bit surprised.

"Save your strength. I’m betting they’ve already prepared a ‘warm welcome’ for us."

Old Bai grunted as he cleared the path. "Why not call for backup?"

"How do you know I didn’t? You know how short-staffed we are. Most of our people are in Pengcheng protecting that damn Ning family. Only the ‘expendables’ like us get stuck with this kind of crap."

Liu Zheng’s tone carried a hint of self-mockery.

Shouzhen, trailing behind, frowned deeply. "Exorcising demons is hardly ‘crap’!"

Liu Zheng glanced back at him and shook his head. "You don’t get it. These are tough nuts to crack—that’s what makes it crap."

He didn’t elaborate further.

As they pressed deeper, the only sound was the wind, yet the crimson mist grew denser, almost dripping with blood.

Shouzhen handed Old Bai the water from a porcelain vial.

Seeing the thickening red haze, Old Bai grew even more cautious.

Just then, a rusted speaker overhead crackled with static before a child’s voice began singing a nursery rhyme.

"Round and round, the chrysanthemum garden, crispy rice cakes, sticky rice balls. Mama told me to watch the dragon boats, but I won’t, I’ll watch the chicks instead. When the chicks grow big, I’ll sell them, sell them for some coins..."

The song echoed through the desolate amusement park, unnervingly eerie.

Shouzhen paled. "Brother Liu, maybe we should call for reinforcements after all."

"Little Daoist Shouzhen, shouldn’t you be the one calling your sect for help? If Daoist Chunzhenzi showed up, we could just sit back and win."

Shouzhen was now "Little Daoist Shouzhen."

He shook his head bitterly.

"No, Grandmaster isn’t in Yangcheng. He went to Zhongyang Mountain. The other senior brothers and masters… Grandmaster said their cultivation isn’t quite up to par yet. He forbade them from coming."

Well, looks like Shouzhen is the second strongest after Daoist Chunzhenzi.

Liu Zheng pulled a flask from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig.

"In that case, no backup. Let’s move."

Old Bai remained silent, crouching to open his backpack. With deft hands, he assembled several metal components into a cold, angular Type 95 rifle in mere seconds.

He loaded it smoothly with a magazine of the same crimson-tipped bullets.

The red mist seemed to guide them like an invisible hand, leading the trio deeper into the park.

Finally, they stopped before a massive door.

Painted on it was the enormous face of a clown—a red nose, snow-white complexion, and a slightly parted mouth that formed the two doors.

Years of weathering had faded the image, but under the glow of the red mist, it looked downright sinister.

Before they could speak, the doors swung inward without a sound, revealing a pitch-black passage.

"I’ve got a suggestion," Liu Zheng said calmly. "We turn around now, and I’ll call the military for an indiscriminate artillery strike on this place."

Old Bai nodded seriously.

"Sounds good to me."

He pulled out his phone, but there was no signal.

"Go! Now!"

Liu Zheng didn’t hesitate, spinning on his heel to leave.

Only idiots would walk into a clown’s mouth. They weren’t that stupid.

The nursery rhyme continued to loop from the speakers, but suddenly, the child’s voice warped, as if an invisible hand had seized its throat.

A hoarse, mocking voice rasped through the static.

"Leaving? Too late."

Before the words faded, the power lines on the roadside poles snapped like guitar strings, whipping through the air with a crack.

The severed cables writhed like living things, lashing toward the trio with crackling blue arcs of electricity.

"Damn it!" Old Bai snarled, moving faster than seemed humanly possible.

Without looking, he kicked Liu Zheng square in the backside, sending him sprawling to the ground.

At the same time, his iron grip seized Shouzhen by the collar of his robe and yanked him backward.

The wires missed them by inches, scorching black marks into the earth.

Liu Zheng looked up, heart pounding, only to see the upper half of a stone utility pole hurtling toward Shouzhen with a howling gust of wind, its shadow engulfing them both.

Yet Shouzhen merely raised his head, utterly composed. He shook off Old Bai’s grip and stepped forward, raising both hands to meet the falling mass.

Thud!

A bone-jarring impact echoed.

But there was no gruesome splatter of flesh.

Shouzhen stood firm, arms slightly tensed as he held the massive pole aloft.

Then, with a low grunt, he twisted at the waist and shoved forward with all his might.

The pole crashed to the ground, sending debris flying.

"Guess the little Daoist’s got some tricks after all," Liu Zheng muttered.

"The Complete Perfection School hones both body and spirit. Shouzhen has never slackened."

The speakers fell silent for a moment, as if stunned by the display.