92: The ultimate allure of illusion and fleeting beauty

That face was as pure as a handful of fresh snow, yet the beauty mark at the corner of her eye stirred an unbearable itch in one's heart.

It was Wu Ya.

The girl next door who lived across the hall, who always loved to scrounge meals, but who had mysteriously disappeared three years ago.

At this moment, she wore nothing but a small apron printed with a bear pattern.

Large expanses of snow-white skin shimmered with a porcelain-like luster under the warm yellow light. As she stood up, the apron strings hung loosely, sketching out a sense of immorality in this room filled with pre-apocalyptic civilization that would be enough to make a saint break his vows.

“Brother Chen, you're finally back.”

Wu Ya's voice was soft and sweet, like a mouthful of thick honey.

She stepped barefoot onto the carpet, and before Su Chen could even react, she threw herself into his arms like a young swallow returning to its nest.

A fragrant scent filled his nose—the smell of cheap shampoo mixed with a young girl's natural fragrance from his memories. It was terrifyingly realistic.

Su Chen did not push her away.

His hands naturally circled her slender waist, and he even cooperatively caressed it twice.

“The soup will take a while longer,” Wu Ya looked up, her eyes misty, her slender fingers tracing circles on his chest as they slid all the way down, “How about... you eat me first?”

It was a perfect erotic dream trap.

If Su Chen were still that ordinary martial arts coach suppressing his nature in the city, he would have likely surrendered long ago.

But unfortunately, flowing through his body was the extremely hard and masculine Holy Sun Inner Qi, which acted as a radar most sensitive to all the yin and evil in the world.

“The modeling is indeed not bad; even the position of that beauty mark is perfect.”

Su Chen suddenly spoke, his tone devoid of any romance, instead carrying the harshness of a critic reviewing a low-quality product. “Pity your graphics card is overheating; you forgot to turn up the cooling.”

The “Wu Ya” in his arms suddenly froze.

“Too cold.”

Su Chen looked down at that startled, pretty face, a cruel arc curling at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, at a time like this, a normal person's heartbeat should be over a hundred and twenty, not dead silent like a piece of frozen pork like yours.”

Before he finished speaking, Su Chen's large hand that had been stroking her back suddenly turned into an iron vice.

The Sacred Yang True Qi dormant in his dantian erupted like lava from a broken dam, frantically pouring into the perfect body in his arms through his palm.

“Ah——!!”

A shrill scream instantly pierced the warm disguise.

The beauty in his arms became like a wax statue doused in concentrated sulfuric acid; her originally delicate skin began to rapidly fester and turn black. This was the annihilation reaction from the violent clash between Yin Qi and Extreme Yang power.

The surrounding apartment scene shattered like a broken mirror.

There were no stewed ribs or fabric sofas; in their place were churning clouds of pink poisonous mist and the nauseating smell of formalin in the air.

Su Chen casually shook off a handful of black ash from his palm—the last trace of “Wu Ya” left in this world.

“Given a chance and you blew it.” He clapped his hands, his gaze coldly scanning the surrounding thick mist.

Seemingly thoroughly enraged by Su Chen's actions, the “Illusion Demon” hidden deep within the mist let out a bizarre, low laugh that shifted between male and female.

Immediately after, the originally chaotic pink mist began to churn violently, like boiling water.

Since precision strikes were ineffective, it would resort to carpet bombing.

At this moment, countless graceful figures condensed into shape from the mist.

Mature women, lolis, flight attendants, nurses... even obscure roles found only in certain adult films were mass-produced as if they cost nothing.

Each of them was not only stark naked but also posed in extremely seductive manners. Hundreds and thousands of pale white legs and arms surged like a tide of carnal desire, bringing a suffocatingly sweet fragrance as they drowned Su Chen at the center.

This sensory assault was enough to instantly burn out the rational circuits of any normal male.

At the same time, from the direction of the heavy truck bus behind him, a harsh electronic microphone screech suddenly rang out, penetrating the barrier of the mist.

“...Su Chen is already dead! Eaten by that monster until not even his bones are left!”

It was Zhao Zihao's voice.

The idiot had clearly turned on the high-power broadcast on the roof of the bus, his voice carrying the madness of a petty man who had gotten his way: “From now on, this bus belongs to me! If you don't want to be thrown out to feed the zombies, take off your clothes and line up so I can check for wounds!”

Following that was a faint sound of desperate gasps and cries belonging to the women.

A visual hell of carnal lust, an auditory collapse of reality.

The Illusion Demon played this hand very cleverly; it tried to use this double-pronged attack to make Su Chen lose his mental defenses amidst extreme excitement and extreme anger.

However, Su Chen, at the center of the storm, slowly closed his eyes.

“So noisy.”

He didn't even bother to glance at the posturing illusions around him.

Heart as still as water, energy flowing like a dragon.

Since the eyes could be deceived, he would “see” with his body.

Su Chen took a deep breath, and the majestic Sacred Yang blood and qi within his body were forcibly compressed by him, flowing backward through his meridians to gather entirely in his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, his originally deep pupils had turned into a brilliant golden yellow, like a majestic statue in a temple.

Under the gaze of these “Sacred Yang Golden Pupils,” the world instantly shed its ambiguous pink filter and turned into an energy skeleton composed of gray and black lines.

Those blood-pumping beauties all turned into twisted, wriggling clumps of rotten meat; and within that seemingly boundless mist, several energy transport pipes flickering with dark red light became clearly visible.

“Found you.”

Su Chen's gaze pierced through layers of falsehood, accurately locking onto a unique line.

It was an extremely faint gold-red thread that would be almost ignored if one didn't look closely—the unique “Contract Bond” between him and Lin Mengyao.

This thread was stubbornly extending into the deepest part of the mist. Though it was as weak as a candle in the wind, it had never been severed.

A bloodthirsty cold smile rose on Su Chen's lips. He stomped his military boot heavily, and his entire being shot out like a cannonball. Guided by that golden line, he smashed through the “meat wall” before him in the most violent manner of his life.