Step.
Step.
Step.
In the pitch-black air-raid shelter, there was no light.
Hu Shanjiu's headlamp illuminated the wall at the end of the shelter.
"Whew..."
He took a deep breath, inhaling all the dust and moldy smell of the shelter into his lungs.
"Master Uncle, let's begin!
"Let's hope we have good luck."
A white mist, blurring reality and dream, rose from his body, and an old ghostly figure emerged from it, gripping his hand.
"Hold on tight, we're leaving."
The ghostly figure held his hand with one hand and touched the wall at the end of the shelter with the other.
Unexpectedly, the wall touched by the ghostly figure melted and corroded rapidly with a "sizzling" sound, as if cream met a fiery knife or snow was doused with sewage!
The wound on the wall from corrosion grew larger, already leaking faint remnants of the Immortal Treasure!
...
