121: Chapter 121 The more you insist on investigating the mole, the more I'll show you red lights.

The plaster on the walls of the Gray Alley strongpoint was crumbling, and Chen Fan stared at the flickering blue flame on the terminal screen, grinding his molars until they ached.

Black Crow's fingertips danced across the keyboard, leaving afterimages. His Adam's apple bobbed with his ragged breaths, and sweat drops from his brow splattered onto the metal keys with tiny 'ding' sounds.

"It's done!" Black Crow suddenly slammed the table, and the screen's blue light surged violently.

Chen Fan leaned in close. The Administration Bureau's three-tiered structure unfolded like a ripped scroll—the cold gleam of the surface-level Enforcers' batons, the chains of the mid-level Judges wrapped in curses, and in the deepest layer, the Shadow Pavilion icon glowed with an eerie purple. The four characters 'Silent Corridor' stung his eyes.

"Transfer the data to the perimeter squad immediately." Before Chen Fan could finish speaking, the strongpoint suddenly shook violently.

A fine 'hissing' sound came from the ventilation shaft above. Seven inky black threads sliced through the air and instantly wove into a spider web in mid-air. The data stream on the terminal screen was torn into fragments, like a snake drained of its blood.

"The password was leaked!" Half of Broken Pen Official's face was already digitized, now emitting faint blue electrical sparks. He staggered, knocking over his chair. "They used the Memory Web to locate the ley line channel!"

The alarm suddenly ripped through the air.

Chen Fan snatched the alloy battle saber from the corner; the scabbard struck the stone wall, sending out sparks.

The moment the door was kicked open, he saw the leader—the Red Candle Judge, a notorious Memory Eraser from the Administration Bureau. A blood-red candle burned dimly in his left hand. With every step he took, one player in the strongpoint clutched their head and screamed, their memories drifting out of their seven orifices as golden dust, condensing into blurred human faces above the blood candle.

"Xiao Lin!" Little Candle suddenly shrieked.

The youngest communications officer was staggering toward the terminal. He had just turned seventeen yesterday; he was sharing stolen roasted sweet potatoes with everyone.

Now, the veins on his neck bulged as he slammed the branded bronze plaque from his chest into the interface. A faint glow emanated from the engravings on the plaque: "Go! I'll hold them off!"

Chen Fan's battle saber clattered to the floor.

He tried to rush over but was held back tightly by Black Crow's arm.

Xiao Lin's pupils were dilating, and the Red Candle Judge's silver needle was already pressed against his crown.

Chen Fan heard his own rapid breathing, like a broken bellows pumping air.

A system prompt suddenly exploded in his vision in blood-red text: [Warning—Emotional Contamination: Anger Value 97%]

The next second, a crimson halo rose around him.

The light was not fire, yet it carried a scorching temperature, stretching his shadow long and casting a monstrous silhouette on the wall.

Black Crow snatched his hand back, his pupils trembling: "Your emotions... they're glowing! They deliberately provoked you!"

The sound of fabric rubbing came from the ceiling.

Chen Fan looked up and saw a woman descending against the light.

She wore dark-colored combat gear, black threads wrapped around her fingertips, and her hair tips were stained with blood—it was the Shadow Weaver from the Shadow Pavilion.

She tilted her head, staring at Chen Fan's halo, and plucked lightly with her fingers. The spider web emitted a vibration like a plucked string: "Found it, the Fire Seed Container."

"Retreat!" Broken Pen Official, spitting out data-blood, dragged Little Candle away. The branded bronze plaque in the girl's arms was so hot she stomped her feet. "The Old Theater! The residual spirit of the stage soul can reproduce memories!"

Chen Fan bent down to pick up his battle saber; Xiao Lin's body heat still lingered on the hilt.

He glanced in the direction where Xiao Lin had fallen. A tear was still suspended on the young man's eyelashes, like a star that hadn't yet fallen.

Night rain hammered onto the broken tiles, and the dilapidated plaque over the Old Theater's door swayed with a creak. The characters "Tong Qing" (Mutual Celebration) were faded by the rain.

Chen Fan stepped over the scattered rubble, his boot crushing half of a faded playbill—"A Dream of Peony Pavilion," starring Su Shuang.

His throat moved, and he injected the blue flame into the stage floor.

The critical hit system whispered suddenly, its voice like rusted gears: [Detecting high-density memory residue... Can trigger "Emotional Trap."]

The stage instantly dimmed.

When it lit up again, Xiao Lin's shadow appeared in the beam of light.

He was covered in blood, his trembling fingers pointing toward the shadow next to the control console—there was a blurred reflection there, with extremely fine black threads wrapped around the cuff, identical to those on the Shadow Weaver's fingertips.

The branded bronze plaque burned hot in Chen Fan's palm, and new engravings slowly emerged: "She said this was to save me."

The rain grew heavier, soaking the stage curtain.

Chen Fan stared at the looping memory footage, the red halo flickering faintly in the rain curtain.

He reached for the bronze coin Su Shuang had given him around his neck; the texture was exactly the same as the silver-haired woman in his memory.

"The mole..." he murmured into the air, gripping the battle saber so hard his palm turned red. "I want you to watch your own shadow get stripped away."

The stage lights and shadows interwove, and Xiao Lin's final moments continued to loop.

Chen Fan stood in the center of the light beam, rainwater dripping from his hair onto the bronze plaque, smearing the words "She said this was to save me" into blurred tears.