Content Warning: Depictions of violence and suicide

Word count: ~18100 | Est. read time: 91 mins

Main text:

The harder the official accounts attempt to cover up an incident, the more defiantly it clings on. It will either crackle like a thunderbolt across the skies of our history, or bloom with a burst of blood on the earth of our future.

Prologue

The year 1998. Tiexi District, Shenyang City, Liaoning Province.

It wasn’t even time for the seven o’ clock evening news, and the sky was pitch black. The bitter winds carried the faint smell of cooking fires.

A winter thunder rumbled. Xia Renshan flinched. He stood on the ladder outside the cooling tower, and his finger had caught on the sharp edge of the rung where the welding had cracked. There was rust on the bar. Blood was now on his hand. A streak of red.

“Did you cut your hand, Shan?” Zhao Defang called up to him. “Shall I go up there instead?”

Renshan sucked on the gash in his finger. “As if you didn’t know your own fear o’ heights! This was never meant to be your job. I told you not to come, but here you are anyway. It’s freezing! Why don’t you get back inside and keep your dad company?”

Xia Renshan was 25. He’d started working at the factory three years earlier, taking over his mother’s position when she retired. The plant had been shut down for three years now, so technically this job—fixing the navigation light on the cooling tower—should never have landed on him, a small-time labourer who’d barely seen a proper shift. But Gao, the director of the factory, had once been his father’s boss, and Director Gao’s eldest son, Gao Ren, called Xia Renshan’s father “Uncle Xia” every time he came around. Besides, other than Ol’ Zhao the gatekeeper, and his son Zhao Defang—who happened to be Renshan’s good friend—there was nobody else left at the plant.

“Go on, just head back inside! It’s cold out here!” Tugging his gloves back on, Renshan continued up the ladder.

Half an hour later, the navigation light at the top of the cooling tower flickered weakly to life.

Lighting a cigarette after finishing a job was a habit of Xia Renshan’s. The half-pack of Yellow Crane Towers in his pocket was a gift from Gao Ren when he took on the task—much better-tasting than the cheap Red Fiftys he usually bought for eighty cents a pack. He sat atop the cooling tower, a cigarette between his fingers, watching his breath as the smoke curl together in the icy December air. They coalesced into a shimmering lens, through which the dim lights of the city’s old industrial zone refracted in a haze. There, at the city’s edge, the Hun River wound like a shrivelled black snake, crawling weakly amidst derelict factory buildings overgrown with wild grass. Yanfen Street, silent and empty, lay outside the north gate in a drunken sprawl. A bunch of kids, just out of school, played football in the middle of the eight-lane road. A beam of light sliced through the far end of the street—that was Hongxia Alley, the brightest spot in the entire factory district. That alley was packed with hair salons and bathhouses, and a wistful old Soviet tune seemed to issue from it, drifting into the air. This city was like an old veteran, forgotten and left behind, stuck in his hometown in an old crumbling house. Chimneys stood like enemy arrows loosed in an age past, lodged in his torso, shafts wilted and knotted. The cooling towers’ yawning maws gaped like bullet wounds that refused to heal.

Suddenly, a blood-red ball of light streaked across the clouds overhead, vanishing quickly beyond the horizon. A wave of nameless fear surged through Renshan. He swayed, nearly losing his grip. Must have just been a searchlight, right? Anyway, time to head back for dinner. The cigarette, burnt down to the filter, had extinguished itself.

When Renshan climbed down, Defang was still there, stamping his feet against the cold.

The two of them walked back to the north gate, chatting and laughing. They lifted the green army blanket that served as the door curtain to the gatehouse. Ol’ Zhao was inside, cooking congee over a resistance-coil heater. “Cough, cough … What happened to your hand?”

“Got a cut climbing the tower to fix the navigation light.”

“Did you get paid yet?”

“Nope! Pay me with what? I just saw Gao Ren—said Director Gao hasn’t been paid either!”

Ol’ Zhao lifted the pot lid, and steam filled the room. “Cough, cough … You’ve really got time to kill, then! The factory’s been sold, did you hear?”

“Sold? To who? Who can afford it?”

“They’re calling it ‘restructuring and privatisation’, bringing in ‘private capital and shareholding reform’—some big words I don’t understand. All I know is that from now on, the factory belongs to Director Gao’s son, Gao Ren. They say he’s got a pile of money from down south.”

‘What? Then… then what about us?’

“What about us? Who the hell knows?” Ol’ Zhao stirred his congee. “Cough, cough … ‘the big pot of rice that everyone could eat out of’—that was all they ever talked about! And I worked here for thirty years, ended up sick as a dog. I always thought the factory was the pot, and we’d be the ones cooking our rice in it. Only now did I realise … we were the fuckin’ rice!”

A tricycle cart pulled up outside the window, its bed piled high with scrap metal offcuts. Renshan recognised the rider: Gao Yi, Gao Ren’s second brother, who was also from the same workshop as himself. Gao Yi banged on the window, borrowed a lighter from Ol’ Zhao without so much as a thank you, and rode off.

“Dad, aren’t you going to do something about that?” Renshan asked.

“Let him steal. It’s his brother’s stuff now anyway.”

Defang jumped up. “That’s not right! That stuff’s worth money now. Stealing from the factory is stealing from us! If you won’t do something, I will. I’m going to find Chief Xing from Security!” He threw on his military coat and asked, “Shan, you coming?”

Renshan instinctively shook his head.

Defang marched out the door.

“Don’t go looking for trouble! Do you even know what’s going on here? It’s deep water!” Ol’ Zhao’s bad leg prevented him from catching up. “Stubborn ass!”

Defang didn’t look back.

Renshan said goodbye to Ol’ Zhao and cycled aimlessly around Yanfen Street. His heart felt hollow, heavy, like something dark and shapeless was swelling inside him. He didn’t understand what it was. Suddenly, he rode past the brightly lit mouth of Hongxia Alley, then turned into a darker lane behind—an unavoidable route to reach home.

The rear doors of hair salons and bathhouses on Hongxia Alley were all along this alley, but everything was pitch black here. A cigarette ember glowed shakily in the shadows—it belonged to Happy Wu, a co-worker. His surname was indeed Wu, but everyone called him Happy Wu as he was always going on about how happy he was because he’d married his childhood sweetheart. Now, Wu was leaning against his bike, smoking, his hand shivering. When he saw Renshan, he flicked the half-smoked cigarette away and hurried off.

Just then, the back door of one of the bathhouses opened, and a woman’s head and bare shoulder peeked out. “Hey, Old Wu, don’t forget to make millet congee for the kid tomorrow morning. The doctor said the medicine’s hard on the stomach.”

“Got it!” Wu shouted without turning back, disappearing around the corner. The woman closed the door. Renshan recognised her as Wu’s wife. He also knew their child was seriously ill, diagnosed the same day the couple was laid off. After that, Wu’s eyes became vacant, his hands constantly trembling.

Crash! Renshan heard a bicycle fall, and then a terrifying, blood-red glow seeped out from the corner ahead. He rushed over and froze at the sight: Happy Wu was on the ground, quivering. In front of him, a flame-like ball of blood-red blocked the alley.

The moment the red light touched him, Renshan felt a crushing pain in his head, as if a tightening band were squeezing his skull. An indescribable, sharp, foreign sensation stabbed into his consciousness, piercing the dark mass inside him. An overwhelming fear surged, dropping him to the ground just like Wu.

The “flame” hovered for twenty seconds before shooting upwards into the clouds.

It took a long while before they could stand up, staring at each other in shock. They lit cigarettes but decided not to speak of what had happened. There were no words for it.

When Renshan got home, his wife was trying to shake the last drops out of a bottle of Dabao SOD lotion. On the table were a bowl of cold rice and half a plate of stir-fried potatoes. His son, Xia Jianqiang, was climbing over the crib railing, reaching for the TV’s control panel to change the channel. On the evening news, Luo Jing was reporting on today’s happenings in his polished, formal voice: “The main tasks of state-owned enterprise reform have been successfully completed … Proper arrangements for laid-off workers are underway … ”

Renshan scooped up his son and planted a big kiss on his cheek. “You little rascal! Figured out how to change the channel yourself, eh?”

His wife continued shaking the bottle. “The factory’s been sold. You heard?”

“Yeah.”

She dug the last bit of lotion out with her pinky, smearing it on her face. “What are we going to do?”

Renshan didn’t answer. He posed his son’s arm like the Monkey King shading his eyes. “You’re the Great Sage, Heaven’s Equal!”

“Isn’t your dad close with Director Gao? I heard Gao Ren’s got connections. Can’t he ask for help?”

“What for? We’ve got a pair of good hands. Don’t worry—I won’t let you or our son go hungry.”

The tune for Fisherman’s Song at Dusk played on the TV, indicating that the weather forecast shown after the evening news was over. Xia Renshan quickly switched the channel, and the EDM beats of Journey to the West’stheme song sounded. Xia Jianqiang waved his little hands, striking a pose just like the Monkey King.

Out on Yanfen Street, the kids playing football ran home to watch Journey to the West. The alleys fell silent, and every window illuminated like a listening ear to the stories of every household. No one saw the blood-red light descend from the clouds onto the high-voltage substation at the edge of the housing block. Tendrils reached out from the light, plunging into the transformers. A beam of light shot up from the centre, piercing the starry sky.

When the mysterious orb sent its message, the whole housing block lost power. Renshan never got to watch the end of Journey to the West with his son.

In the days that followed, three things happened.

Xia Renshan’s cut got infected, and he ran a fever all night.

Happy Wu died of a sudden cardiac arrest. They said his fear got to him.

Zhao Defang reported Gao Yi’s theft, but Chief Xing didn’t care. Gao Yi and his thugs trashed the gatehouse where Ol’ Zhao dwells, and knocked out the last of his three teeth. No one saw Ol’ Zhao again, but words had it that he couldn’t even drink congee afterwards.

Thirty-two years later, after the deaths of over a billion people, humanity finally deciphered the message encoded in that beam of light:

… The target civilisation is the sole intelligent species on the target planet. This civilisation exists in a form where independent individuals live collectively. While the group exerts significant influence on the individual, each individual also possesses independent emotions and thoughts.

Multiple sample scans indicate that this civilisation has practiced or is currently practicing certain highly contradictory social mechanisms. These mechanisms have had a profound impact on individual emotions and subconscious states. These impacts can serve as the foundation for triggering collective fear …

Chapter One

January 2026. Berlin.

Five minutes ago, amid the chaos of wartime radio chatter, Major Anna von Braun, deputy head of neurosurgery at the Federal German Military Hospital under the European Command of the Earth Allied Forces, heard a sobbing private’s plead for the headquarters to send another team to save his brother. At that moment, a captain who had just retreated underground told her, “The medics are right, that lieutenant won’t last much longer. It’s not worth the risk. Better to leave him outside. If he dies in the trenches where the new recruits can see him, it’ll only spread panic.”

But in Anna’s mind, “won’t last much longer” meant “still alive”. She reached into the pocket of her uniform, touching the family photograph she kept there. The face of her mother, left to die by the doctors in France twenty-eight years ago, surfaced in her mind. She decided to take the risk and head to the surface.

She climbed out through drain shaft No.147, emerging onto the surface of Unter den Linden. The bitter wind howled, and a flag-printed headband happened to flutter down at her feet—stained with blood, tangled among the dry, yellow leaves. Her heart clenched. She recognised the words printed on the fabric: Ein Land, Eine Mannschaft, Ein Traum (One Nation, One Team, One Dream). A relic from the Berlin World Cup four years ago. A shame that, on the day of the opening match, Germany couldn’t hold on to their 1–0 lead against Brazil. Because at the 45th minute, the Fear Lords arrived.

At the start of the war, humanity’s will to resist these amorphous, blood-red entities had not yet been completely broken. But ever since the Earth Allied Forces had suffered utter defeat in the First General Mobilisation Defensive Battle three years ago, the resistance had become a grim, unrelenting struggle, with each day bringing worse news: The 5^th Army of the former Russian Eastern Military District, under Asian Command, surrendered without firing a single shot after being surrounded. The Fear Lords had begun breaking the wills of children under five. Another city was massacred. The Statue of Liberty was melted down …

Yesterday, Oceania Command was surrounded—by human traitors.

Anna swung her medical pack onto her back, crawled across the open main road, and slipped into a patch of low shrubs on the other side. She kept low as she moved, hoping to reach the trench a hundred metres ahead under cover. Above her, the sky, thick with sickly, lung-diseased clouds, flashed with streaks of fire. An Eurofighter Typhoon roared past, its tail aflame, pursued by a blood-red Fear Orb, casting the entire street in an eerie, suffocating glow.

That familiar fear surged again—from the depths of her soul, as if it had germinated from years of memories and experiences. She curled up involuntarily, burying her face in her knees, forcing deep breaths, struggling to suppress the onslaught of recollections. Useless. Tears spilled from her eyes.

As usual, the fear lingered for half a minute after the red glow vanished. Another streak of fire rolled across the sky. Anna realised she had been outside for too long. She sprang up, sprinted, dropped flat, tumbled into the trench, scrambled over charred corpses, and kicked open the door to the observation post.

Inside, three dust-covered sergeants sat around a stretcher, their faces streaked with fresh tears. The eldest, unshaven, held a cigarette in his trembling fingers. He saw Anna and immediately leaned over the lieutenant lying on the stretcher. “Brother, hold on! They finally sent someone!”

As Anna examined the lieutenant’s wounds, the sergeant explained the situation.

“We received an order to retrieve a unit of new recruits retreating from the Eastern Front. The brief stated that HQ had already scanned the area with infrared, it was confirmed to be safe. But when we arrived, we saw only three of our comrades through our binoculars. Lieutenant knew something was off, so he commanded us to hold position while he went ahead to scout. Just as he was about to link up with our comrades, a Fear Lord appeared on the flank—like it had materialised out of nowhere.

“Lieutenant immediately ordered us to take cover, but we were too close. The blood-light touched us, and we all collapsed in terror. Two comrades had their chests blown through by the opponent’s Death Beam. Lieutenant was the strongest—he held out for about five seconds, ran a few dozen metres, but then got hit in the back.”

“Spinal injury,” Anna muttered, rummaging through her medical bag. “There’s no equipment to confirm the extent of the damage, but it’s severe. The fact that he’s still alive is a miracle. Even if he survives, he could be paralysed for life.” She sterilised the charred skin around the wound and did what she could with the limited supplies. “So … how did you manage to save him?”

“His brother did! We didn’t know at first, but the surviving comrade was his younger brother! When the blood-light hit, the kid was frozen in terror. But when he saw his older brother go down, he just snapped—went mad, opened fire, and somehow drove the thing off.”

“Capable of resisting? Could he be an Immune? Where is he? Is that him?” Anna pointed to a private who seemed relatively composed.

The sergeant shook his head and gestured towards the corner by the observation window. “An Immune? Hah! If only. He had only been caught in a tiny sliver of blood-light reflected through the window during the air raid, and he’s terrified to this extent.”

Anna turned and finally noticed the figure in the corner—a young man in his early twenties, wrapped in a military blanket, curled up, shaking violently. She crouched beside him, realising just how terrified he was. His teeth chattered so hard he’d bitten through his own lip.

She knelt down and gently removed his helmet, steadying him by the shoulders. “My name is Anna. I’m a doctor. I’m here to help. What’s your name?”

“D-D-Dodge. Michel Dodge.”

“Listen to me, Michel. You are brave. You saved your brother. I’m going to treat him, and he’s going to be alright. But I need you to tell me—how did you do it?”

Michel didn’t respond, eyes downcast, still trembling.

“How did you resist, even after being touched by the blood-light?”

Still no answer.

“Look at me, Michel!” Anna’s plea turned into a cry. She grabbed his collar. “Tell me how you did it, you have a duty to tell me!”

Michel’s hands shook as he pulled a crumpled photograph from his pocket. “For this,” he whispered. ‘We, we actually went AWOL. We hid in an abandoned supermarket and got completely drunk. The store’s DVD player still had a disc inside—it was the owner’s recording of a family gathering. They had a family of five. Just like mine.”

Anna took the photo. It was a family gathered in the backyard of a charming little house. The mother stood by a barbecue, busy with the skewers while smoke curled upwards. On the neatly trimmed lawn, a father played football with three sons—the youngest was Michel, grinning with pure, innocent joy.

“Dad is already dead. If one more person in this photo dies … “ Michel stopped shaking. “Then everything in this picture will be lost forever.” His eyes widened, pupils contracting, as if caught in a memory. “I know I’m a lousy soldier. I was an orphan. The family that took me in held that gathering just for me, to welcome me into that home. That afternoon was the happiest moment of my life. If I can have a sausage hot off um’s grill again, if I can score another goal against my brother again, if there’s even the slightest chance I can experience that afternoon again—then fuck them half-energy alien bastards. And fuck their fear-inducing death rays. I will pay any price.”

Anna frowned, sceptical.

Four years ago, during the height of the World Cup in Germany, the world had been swept up in a festive atmosphere—right up until the moment the alien invaders descended from the sky on opening day. Those half-energy beings, glowing with an eerie blood-red radiance, lacked the impenetrable force fields and rapid regeneration of sci-fi nightmares. Human weapons could wound them easily. Their luminescence made them highly visible to infrared sensors. Yet every one of them constantly emitted an incredibly penetrating red light.

At the outset of the Earth Defence War, the Allied Forces discovered that a portion of their soldiers—if exposed to this light, even for 0.1 seconds—would immediately collapse into overwhelming terror, losing the ability to function. Anna had read the early statistics: at first, only 30% of soldiers exhibited this reaction. But as the war dragged on, the percentage skyrocketed. By the time the conflict engulfed the globe, the rate had stabilised at 95%—veterans, criminals, the fearless alike, all succumbed.

The Allied Forces had assembled the world’s top optical physicists, neuroscientists, and psychologists to study the phenomenon. Progress was slow. The only confirmed findings so far were that the light carried an extraordinarily dense, indecipherable information load. When it struck a human, it triggered a complex and poorly understood neuro-psychological response. The response induced either extreme fear or an overwhelmingly negative emotional state, temporarily erasing the will to fight. The information remained intact even when viewed through optical devices, meaning only unmanned units or troops strictly shielded from light and using electronic sighting systems could engage these beings in combat. The younger and less experienced a person was, the weaker the light’s effects. Approximately 5% of people were immune—and they were, without exception, either wealthy or powerful. The mechanism behind this remained unknown.

A sudden burst of radio chatter snapped Anna out of her thoughts.

“Command calling Post 147. Command calling Post 147. Respond immediately upon receipt.”

The infantry radio crackled. There were signs that the enemy could intercept transmissions without equipment, so Allied Forces had strict orders to maintain radio silence unless absolutely necessary.

“Post 147 receiving, go ahead.”

“Is Major Anna von Braun with you?”

“Affirmative.”

“Your unit is to escort her back underground immediately. Military Command has an urgent assignment.”

The word “escort” gave Anna the perfect excuse to bring all the soldiers at the outpost back with her—including the critically wounded Lieutenant Thomas Dodge. Even though the others would be sent back to the surface within an hour, in times like these, even a minute’s reprieve from the battlefield was a psychological relief.

She checked the surroundings through the observation window—no movement. She pushed open the door, stepping out first to lead the retreat.

The moment her foot crossed the threshold, she noticed the reflected light on the ground turning an alarming shade of red. At the same time, an overwhelming surge of terror, bubbling like boiling water, rose within her.

She realised what was happening instantly.

Slamming the door shut, she pressed her back against it with all her strength.

Directly above the outpost, a mass of blood-red light hovered like the unblinking eye of death, staring straight down. In its centre, a circular patch was shifting from red to orange—a telltale sign that it was about to fire a Death Beam, one of the only known physical attacks these entities possessed.

Anna felt her control shatter—not just because of the blood-light seeping through the cracks, but because she knew she was about to die.

Then, out of nowhere, the Eurofighter Typhoon with the damaged tail reappeared—diving in from an angle and colliding head-on with the entity.

Boom!

A massive explosion tore through the sky. The blood-light vanished.

Anna collapsed into the trench.

“Are you all right, Major?” a voice called out beside her. She slowly opened her eyes—it was the sergeant.

Anna flexed her fingers, tested her limbs—no injuries. She pushed herself up and surveyed the wreckage scattered across both sides of the trench. Burning debris from the fighter jet lay everywhere. One of the plane’s wings was lodged in the shoulder of a towering city statue. The cockpit had detached from the fuselage and now rested at an awkward angle on the ground, not far from the trench. A hole gaped in the canopy.

The pilot’s upper body hung limply through the opening. His helmet was still on, but blood streamed steadily from beneath the visor. His arms, bent grotesquely at the elbows, twisted backward at unnatural angles.

Something else caught Anna’s eye.

Stuck to the jet’s nose cone was a mass of blood-red, gelatinous material. It had the consistency of semi-transparent putty, emitting a faint red glow that made her stomach churn with unease. A mist-like vapour rose from its surface, and as the vapour dissipated, the thing itself seemed to be shrinking—evaporating.

Anna grabbed her medical bag and prepared to climb out of the trench.

The sergeant grabbed her arm. “He’s done for! It’s not worth the risk!”

“I heard the same thing before I saved your lieutenant,” Anna muttered. She hesitated for a moment, then pulled out her phone, unlocked the screen, and tossed it to the sergeant. “The frontline’s been breached. I don’t know what’s coming next. I’m going over there—you stay in the trench and keep recording. If something happens to me, take this to my father. It’ll be my last message to him.”

She braced against the trench’s edge and hauled herself up.

The sergeant raised the phone, muttering as he recorded, “Stay away from that thing on the nose cone. That’s alien remains. Evil stuff. Sometimes … they revive.”

“Revive?” Anna faltered, losing her grip and tumbling back into the trench.

Suddenly, everyone felt an intense wave of heat wash over their faces.

The air around them began to churn violently. Dust and leaves swirled in the growing vortex, all being drawn towards the putty-like mass—as if it had become some kind of all-consuming vacuum. Its red glow flared.

Anna thought she caught a whiff of urine.

The fear rose again, thick and suffocating.

A jet of flame roared toward the thing. One of the soldiers had fired a flamethrower.

“Keep burning it!” the sergeant shouted.

The flames blazed until the fuel ran dry.

Anna yelled, “Don’t stop recording!” then scrambled out of the trench to check on the pilot—only to find that he had been caught directly between the flamethrower and the alien remains.

He was nothing but a shrivelled, blackened husk. Almost skeletal.

The sergeant yanked Anna back down. “Only veterans who’ve survived multiple battles have seen this stuff. They do revive sometimes. But when we send reports up the chain, no one believes us. After all, any soldier who’s been exposed to blood-light too many times starts losing their grip—none of them can tell what’s real anymore.”

Anna knew she had seen something real. “You said sometimes? Under what conditions do they revive?”

The sergeant shook his head. “No idea. Doesn’t happen often. Maybe you should ask lieutenant—he’s got more combat experience. And he keeps his head in a fight … if you can save him.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Anna crawled through the timber-reinforced tunnels back to the underground command post beneath the Reichstag. Only then did she learn that her recall order had come directly from her father.

Lieutenant General Leo von Braun was the highest-ranking officer in the European Command stationed closest to the front lines. Like most of his peers, he had initially been an Immune. He was the only general to face a Fear Lord in person, but after the Decisive Battle of the Stratosphere, the blood-light had started to have some effects on him. In fact, his response to the light was even worse than some new recruits.

His aristocratic colleagues mockingly called his current posting at the European Eastern Front the “recruit training ground”.

“Personally, I think the Chinese are talking nonsense. But the higher-ups want a team of experts—people who’ve faced the enemy and specialise in neurosurgery. That means you’re the best fit for this mission.”

In his smoke-filled office, von Braun tossed a brief onto his desk.

Anna scanned the first paragraph and froze. “They captured a live Fear Lord?”

“More like it surrendered itself. It just appeared one day in a prison camp holding deserters and rebel POWs. And the funniest part? The one who took it down was a psychiatric patient from a nearby asylum.”

“Studying a living alien sounds like a job for biologists, not me. I specialise in human neuroscience. And, Father—when I was aboveground, I saw clear signs that enemy forces have infiltrated our sector. Is something wrong with our front line? Are you sending me away for another reason?”

“You’re going because you fit the mission profile. And you speak Chinese. Now go. Your transport is waiting.”

Anna saluted and turned to leave.

Then, her father spoke again—his tone oddly cryptic. “I hear this particular alien isn’t quite … normal.”

“Not ‘normal’? In what way?”

“I mean … it doesn’t seem like the others.”

Chapter Two

Before boarding the plane, Anna attended a consultation at the divisional medical station regarding Lieutenant Thomas Dodge’s condition. Then, her father handed her a newly-issued research briefing from the Earth Allied Forces General Staff on the alien invaders:

CLASSIFICATION: CONFIDENTIAL

Fifteen minutes before the unknown lifeforms’ invasion in January 2026, meteorological, intelligence, and ground-based astronomical observatories across multiple nations detected the sudden appearance of a massive ellipsoid object approximately 500,000 kilometres above Europe.

Compiled observations indicate the following:

• Its size is comparable to that of Earth’s moon.
• It has remained within Earth’s inner solar orbit, aligned with the Earth-Sun axis, maintaining a position on the sunlit side of the planet while co-orbiting the Sun with Earth. This strongly suggests that the massive shadows frequently appearing on the daytime surface since the war began were cast by this object.
• At times, the object abruptly vanishes from its usual location—destination unknown.
• It continuously emits strong, full-spectrum electromagnetic interference, blocking all active electromagnetic reconnaissance attempts.
• Following the outbreak of war, the majority of our intelligence satellites were destroyed, resulting in incomplete observation data. Based on limited ground-based observations, some strategists speculate a correlation between the object’s irregular appearances and the locations of high-intensity battles. This hypothesis remains unverified.
• To the naked eye, the object appears deep red.
• Instrumental observation reveals it frequently emits high-energy laser beams, with radiation frequency positively correlated to the intensity of ground combat.

Conclusion: This object is highly suspected to be the invaders’ mothership.

This report is to be disseminated in principle to divisional-level commanders of the Earth Allied Forces. Further distribution to lower ranks is at the discretion of command.

Earth Allied Forces High Command
Earth Allied Forces General Staff

Anna tucked the report away, deep in thought. Words and images swirled in her mind—mothership, high-energy lasers, location, gelatinous alien remains, resurrected aliens … Exhaustion from days of missions pressed down on her.

Shouts, whistles, confetti rained from the sky—the scent of hot dogs and beer flooded young Anna’s senses. Across the stadium, the 1998 World Cup mascot, a massive inflatable rooster Footix, swayed in the breeze, its red head and blue body bobbing above the crowd.

“Mama! I can’t see!” Little Anna whined.

A pair of warm hands lifted her up, and suddenly her view was unobstructed—the ball arced beautifully from a free kick, curving into the net. The stadium erupted in thunderous cheers.

“Mama! Why is everyone yelling?”

“This is the magic of football. This is the magic of the World Cup.”

A glass bottle flew past her vision, left to right. Then two more—right to left. Next came shouting, shoving. Anna didn’t see which side threw the first punch. She only saw the chaos, fists swinging, bodies slamming into one another. She and her mother were caught in the middle.

The hands holding her wavered. “Anna, hold on tight to Mama! Don’t fall!”

Another violent jolt.

The world spun. Anna tumbled onto something soft. All around her—legs, feet, stomping.

“Don’t step on Mama!”

Darkness.

A white coat. A cold, indifferent face entered her blurred vision.

Then, the stench of alcohol and a slurred voice. “Cervical spine’s broken. She won’t make it.”

“But, Sir! Look! Mama’s still breathing! Look, her stomach’s still moving … Don’t leave her…”

The A400M transport aircraft lurched as it hit an air current, jolting Anna back to the present.

Outside the cabin window, an expanse of Arctic ice stretched endlessly below. She immediately realised that her father’s forces had lost air superiority east of Poland. To reach China, they had to detour over the Arctic.

He was sending her on this bizarre mission deliberately—to move her somewhere safer.

The droning engines left her too restless to sleep.

After over ten hours of turbulence, the military plane finally arrived over Shenyang City, Liaoning Province, China.

The aliens focused their offensives on economically developed, densely populated areas. This old industrial city, long in decline, had been spared from the brunt of war. Yet, from above, it looked no healthier than battle-ravaged Berlin.

The aircraft landed at a makeshift military airstrip on the outskirts.

Her escort was a young captain—his brows carried the air of a British or Nordic aristocrat, but his eyes were heavy with melancholy.

“Your file says you’re fluent in Chinese, so I’ll just introduce myself directly,” he said, snapping a formal salute. “I’m Captain Zhao Xuefeng, neurosurgeon at the Eastern Theatre Army General Hospital. According to protocol, a host officer of equal rank should have received you, but all field-grade officers have been deployed to the Changchun-Changbai Mountain defence line. I apologise. The experts from Washington, London, Moscow, and Paris are already waiting. Let’s hurry.”

“What about the ones from Beijing?”

“Apologies … that would be me.”

The Brave Warrior¹ sped down cracked asphalt roads. Rows of grey-yellow buildings rushed past like retreating waves, then gave way to even bleaker fields.

Throughout the journey, Anna pored over the latest reports Zhao Xuefeng had handed her on the alien captive.

“It says here that it’s different, but the photos only showed a blurred glow. What’s different about it? And why aren’t there clearer images of something so important?”

“It can’t be photographed clearly. The images can only be taken by camera operators in full anti-light gear, using electronic cameras. But no matter how many times we tried, the result is always the same—just a blurry halo. And that’s a terrible sign. It might mean they’ve adapted to counter our electronic imaging.”

“As for what makes it different … according to the psychiatric patient who helped capture it—this one has a face.”

A crooked road sign flashed past: Gujiazi Village.

Soon after, the military vehicle screeched to a halt beside a towering yellow-brown wall.

“This is the city’s largest psychiatric hospital. Three kilometres east of here is a prisoner-of-war camp holding captive traitors. Three nights ago, that thing first appeared in the POW camp. Then it fled here and was subdued by the hospital’s patients.

“The enemy hasn’t attacked this place since, meaning they either haven’t noticed or simply don’t care that one of their own has been captured.

“The city’s general hospital and the China Medical University have ample research facilities, but the situation is just too strange. Command fears moving it might risk losing critical information—especially since we don’t know why psychiatric patients are immune to the blood-light. There’s also concerns that the enemy might take notice. So, for now, it remains secured in an underground bunker. No additional guards have been posted. The plan is to assess the situation once the expert team arrives.

“Everyone else is already waiting inside.”

Zhao Xuefeng flashed his ID at the gate. The iron doors creaked open.

Both of them stepped through and into a long-neglected garden. A dry pond reeked of rotting grass, a pavilion’s columns exposed steel bars, and wild weeds shot through cracks in the stone path, almost knee-high.

They were met with an unsettling sight.

Dozens of patients in hospital gowns wandered the courtyard. Some sat silently at the empty pond, pretending to fish. Others stood in the pavilion, giving grand speeches, their voices met with cheers. Some squatted in the middle of the path, giggling to themselves, deliberately blocking their way. A group of seven or eight trailed behind them, whispering amongst themselves.

Anna instinctively reached for her pistol.

Zhao Xuefeng, however, remained unfazed. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned that his foreign guest might be attacked by the mad. A few patients passing by even nodded at him in greeting.

Ahead, the main hospital building loomed: an old Soviet-era structure, its grey-white façade smothered in vines. A faded red star hung above the entrance. A throng of people gathered at its base.

“No need to worry, miss. The ones out here aren’t aggressive.”

The voice came from beneath the entrance porch.

A gaunt old man in a white coat stepped forward. His sunken eyes flanked a sharp, hooked nose, creating an oddly mismatched look. He appeared to be in his fifties but seemed just as eccentric as his patients.

“I’m the director.”

Anna only realised what she was looking at when she got closer. The shifting crowd beneath the trees on either side of the porch wasn’t just loitering patients—it was a small “market”. A dozen or so psychiatric patients were gathered around makeshift stalls, haggling over piles of junk: stones, empty drink bottles, and other debris spread out on cloth.

“Director Gao, this is Major Anna von Braun from Germany,” Zhao Xuefeng introduced her curtly, completely ignoring the director’s outstretched hand. His tone was cold, as if he were issuing an order. “Give her a detailed account of what happened that night.”

“Three nights ago, we first heard the alarms go off at the POW camp to the east. We didn’t think much of it, it’s not unusual for a prisoner or deserter to make an escape. Then the dogs started barking like mad. About half an hour later, there was a bright flash outside the window, growing stronger and stronger, blood-red as hell. The moment it hit us, anyone sane collapsed instantly—some dropped to their knees and wept, others ran screaming down the halls. The strange thing was, most of the patients stayed quiet. Fucking Christ—in that moment, we were the lunatics, and they were the doctors.”

The director spat in frustration, as if still trying to wrap his head around the memory. “No one could recall how long the red light lasted. All we know is that once it disappeared, everyone thought the Fear Lords had arrived in full force. People panicked, bolted out of the building. Couldn’t be stopped. Half the hospital emptied. Some of the patients took advantage of the chaos and ran, too.

“But here’s the strangest part—when the army arrived, they found the damn thing already captured, surrounded by a dozen psychiatric patients in the sorghum fields of the village beside.”

Anna suddenly cut in. “Which patients exactly?”

“Hard to remember them all, but I know for sure Xia Jianqiang was there. I heard he was the one who spotted it first.” The director turned towards the courtyard and shouted, “Hey, Xia Jianqiang! Where the hell are you? Get over here!”

“Hah! What demon dares to challenge my master?!”

A shrill voice rang out from the side, and a figure shot out from the “market” stalls. The man crouched, raising one hand above his eyes like a sunshade, the other outstretched in accusation. He fixed his gaze on Anna. “Golden hair and blue eyes! Surely a Rakshasi demon!”

The man was wrapped in a massive sheet of aluminium foil over his tattered hospital gown. A strip of cloth, covered in hand-drawn tiger stripes, was tied around his waist. Perched atop his head was a soot-blackened aluminium pot, the rim painted with a golden band. His glasses had no lenses; instead, the frames held two stainless steel sink strainers, also painted gold. Despite looking no older than thirty, he was missing several front teeth, his speech whistling slightly as he spoke.

“Xia Jianqiang!” the director barked. “Enough of your nonsense! Don’t scare our foreign guests! You two, take him inside.”

The director’s small, beady eyes suddenly flashed with menace. He stepped forward, his leg twitching in a reflexive motion before launching a sharp kick at Xia Jianqiang’s backside. But just as his foot was about to make contact, he froze. Slowly, he turned back towards Anna with a forced grin.

“He’s not usually like this; don’t worry! All the patients we let roam are harmless.” Then, turning to Zhao Xuefeng, he added hastily, “I was just messing around with him.”

Zhao Xuefeng stepped between them, his expression dark. He shoved aside the two orderlies attempting to take Xia Jianqiang away, motioning for Anna to follow. As they passed the director, Zhao Xuefeng leaned in and muttered something under his breath. The director merely nodded, laughing nervously.

At the entrance to the air-raid shelter across from the hospital’s water room, a patient stood guard. He was wearing a steel helmet and holding a wooden rifle. Seeing them approach, he snapped into a perfect military salute before pulling open the iron door. A downward-sloping tunnel stretched beyond—not steep, but long.

The dim glow of emergency lights flickered against the white-tiled walls, stained with water marks. Anna followed Zhao Xuefeng, carefully stepping on the cracked tiles to avoid soaking her shoes in the pooled water along the floor. The dampness crawled up the rusted iron pipes, seeping into her bones. Anxiety lurked in every shadowed turn.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was following them.

But the only sound in the tunnel was their own voices echoing back at them.

“It’s shameful, really,” Zhao Xuefeng admitted. “Although we still don’t know why, but the entire process, from capture to transport to confinement, was carried out by psychiatric patients. The army was only able to assist from the perimeter. That’s why there are no regular soldiers stationed here. The headquarters had to request that the hospital organise a special detachment of less severe patients. They rotate in three shifts, always on standby. If we need to transfer it to the city, we’ll probably have to rely on them again.”

“Did you know that patient from earlier?”

After ten steps, Zhao Xuefeng finally answered. “You mean Xia Jianqiang? He and I grew up together. After he fell ill, my father and I took care of him.”

“What about his family?”

Zhao Xuefeng let out a long sigh. “You could say … they’re all gone.”

Before Anna could respond, they reached the containment chamber. The first buffer door sealed behind them, and the second one opened.

It was less a containment chamber and more a concrete box.

The other military experts had already arrived, all of them were men. Judging by their uniforms and insignia, Anna could identify their nationalities and ranks. They sat in a circle, tense and silent, their gazes locked on a coffin-like metal container in the centre of the room.

No one exchanged pleasantries.

Zhao Xuefeng spoke first. “As the host representative, allow me to begin. Regarding the blood-light’s mechanism of inducing terror, please share your latest findings.”

The American expert spoke first. “We’ve observed that exposure causes an immediate neurotransmitter imbalance. Serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine levels plummet, disrupting the brain’s reward and pleasure systems. The result—sudden emotional collapse and loss of function.”

The British expert added, “Conversely, cortisol levels spike, throwing the nervous system into a state of extreme stress, reducing cognitive resilience under pressure.”

Bang, bang, bang…

The “coffin” began shaking violently. Something inside was struggling.

“Yes, it’s still alive,” Zhao Xuefeng reassured them. “But don’t worry; it’s bound tight.”

The French expert continued, “Our focus has been on neural circuit activity. Once exposed to the blood-light, the human amygdala goes into hyperactivity, drastically amplifying negative emotions. At the same time, the prefrontal cortex is suppressed, impairing the ability to regulate those thoughts … ”

The Russian expert abruptly interrupted, “I have to stop you there. It seems all of you are focusing on physiological effects. We’ve conducted interviews with over a hundred individuals who suffer from depression or anxiety as a result of blood-light exposure. Their responses were eerily similar: ‘It feels exactly like a severe depressive or anxiety episode.’ ‘An unstoppable sense of despair and powerlessness.’ ‘An unnameable fear, or the feeling of impending death.’ And from what you’ve described just now—the neurological response is identical to what happens during a depressive or anxiety episode.”

Zhao Xuefeng gestured towards the “coffin”. “The real question is, what exactly is it? And why are psychiatric patients immune?”

All eyes turned to Anna.

Bang, bang, bang…

The thing inside began thrashing again.

Anna nodded towards it. “Let’s find out for ourselves.”

She shoved the lid off.

A black body bag lay within.

“Are you insane?!” the experts shouted in unison.

“I’m not insane. It attacks the mind—so we need to fight it with our minds.”

Anna pulled a pair of sunglasses from her pocket, along with a smoke grenade. “Five-second fuse. Once it detonates, the smoke will block out the blood-light in this confined space. I’ve tested it on the battlefield—lives were lost figuring this out. It works. We’ll start by looking at this thing for five seconds. If you’re scared, leave now.”

All but Zhao Xuefeng fled the room.

Anna donned her sunglasses, set the grenade on the table, and asked, “Are the restraints directly on its body?”

Zhao Xuefeng nodded. “Five of them. You’ll see once you open the bag.”

“Good. Once we’re done, we’ll have our fearless mental friends seal it back up.”

She pulled the pin.

At the same time, she unzipped the body bag.

The chamber was instantly flooded with blood-red light.

Zhao Xuefeng froze instantly, then collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he let out a pained groan.

Anna lasted three seconds.

Through her tinted glasses, she finally saw the Fear Lord’s true form—a man. A human male. He was completely naked, devoid of hair. He stared directly at her with an eerie smile.

Three seconds later, Anna was consumed by an overwhelming fear unlike anything she had ever felt. Images twisted and stuck together in her mind, familiar yet alien, as if something deep within her memory had been violently stirred.

The smoke grenade went off.

Anna forced herself upright, hoisted Zhao Xuefeng onto her shoulder, and staggered out of the room. Zhao Xuefeng curled up on the ground, vomiting violently between gasps. “I’m-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Shameful, really—I’ve always been stationed in the rear. This is my first time facing one of these directly.”

“It—it used to be human!” Anna panted.

“What? Are you saying our enemy has always been human?”

“No, the ones from before weren’t. I’ve seen those firsthand on the front lines. When they’re killed, they leave behind a translucent, putty-like substance.”

“Human! This is bad—are you certain you saw it clearly?”

“Transport it to Central Hospital. A simple X-ray will confirm everything.”

Zhao Xuefeng wasted no time arranging the transport, he quickly requisitioned an ambulance from the psychiatric hospital to move the “specimen”. Given the rising number of human traitors, he also requested a squad of military police from the nearby POW camp to assist in guarding the transport.

The plan was simple: several patients, acting as mourners, loaded the alien prisoner—sealed inside a body bag—into a flimsy cardboard coffin, pretending it was a deceased patient being sent to the morgue. They carried the coffin through the hospital’s back exit, preparing to load it into the ambulance.

That was when everything went wrong.

Xia Jianqiang came out of nowhere, barrelling into the pallbearers, knocking them to the ground. Before anyone could react, he tore open the coffin lid and reached to rip off the burial shroud.

Zhao Xuefeng shoved him back. “Jianqiang! Are you out of your goddamn mind? What the hell are you doing?”

“This little monk merely wishes to return home,” Xia Jianqiang said, dusting himself off. “Do me a favour and let him go, will you? There’s someone waiting for him at home!”

“What nonsense are you spouting?”

“Wait!” Anna rushed forward, blocking Xia Jianqiang’s path. “Home? Which home?”

Xia Jianqiang grinned. “My, my, this goddess is quite the beauty, but how can she be so slow? His home, of course! Right over there.”

He reached behind his back and pulled out a battered mop handle, its frayed ends painted gold. With a dramatic flourish, he pointed toward the slope beyond the hospital’s back gate.

Anna turned to Zhao Xuefeng. “Where does that lead?”

Zhao Xuefeng’s face darkened. “Gujiazi Village.”

The moment he spoke, the hospital director arrived with several orderlies. They tackled Xia Jianqiang to the ground, binding him tightly before dragging him away.

Anna watched them go, then turned to Zhao Xuefeng. “Forget the military police. You drive. We’re heading straight to Central Hospital. I think … I’m starting to understand something. Now move!”

Chapter Three

The ambulance sped down the tree-lined avenue.

Anna sat in the front passenger seat. “That friend of yours … what kind of mental disorder does he have?”

Zhao Xuefeng lowered his head in thought for a moment. “The psychiatrists diagnosed him with delusions.”

“So he believes he’s that literary character? Sun Wukong, was it? When I was training in Beijing, my roommate had a film about him on her computer, I think it was … A Chinese Odyssey?”

Zhao Xuefeng pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one after rolling down the window with Anna’s permission, and took a deep drag. “No, his delusion is that he can see electromagnetic waves—specifically, he can understand electromagnetic signals. He first showed symptoms around 2007, when he was eleven. At first, he would talk to himself, saying he was speaking with ‘people floating in the sky’. The adults thought he was just making things up, but it got worse. When people spoke to him, he would respond with lines from movies and TV shows—kind of like Bumblebee from Transformers. The strangest part was that many of the lines came from shows no child his age should have watched. But his most common phrases all came from Journey to the West.

“Some curious adults decided to test him. They made him stand behind a TV, turned the volume to zero, and played a random channel. He vocalised everything the TV would have been saying, word for word. The worst were the thugs who extorted protection money—whenever there was a football match, they’d force him to commentate live. If he did well, they’d give him booze to drink; if he was boring, they’d beat him. They knocked out a bunch of his teeth. Eventually, he was hospitalised. An MRI showed a mass behind each of his retinas, about the size of a fingernail. The location was dangerous—too risky for a biopsy. The mass never changed over the years, so they assumed it was benign.

“After I graduated, I took him to Beijing for a functional MRI. We placed two low-power signal transmitters over his eyes—weak enough not to interfere with the machine. The results showed that whenever the transmitters were active, those masses behind his retinas showed clear neural activation. The effect was strongest when we broadcast Journey to the West. The oxygen extraction rate inside the masses peaked.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “That’s … fascinating.”

“Some neuroscientists in Beijing thought so too. They conducted a series of experiments. They built a maze out of movable plastic panels—each corner had a signal transmitter. Three emitted meaningless white noise, while one broadcasted actual content. They had Jianqiang start from the centre. No matter how they changed the maze or expanded its size, he always found the exit with the real signal.

“Then, they changed the experiment—all four transmitters would broadcast real content, but one would always play Journey to the West. And every single time, Jianqiang would find the transmitterplaying Journey to the West.

“Unfortunately, things got … complicated. The research was accused of being ‘pseudoscience’ and ‘superstition’, and the project was shut down. The involved scientists had to destroy all data to avoid political trouble. But I managed to copy some of the records and smuggled them back in Jianqiang’s medical file. It’s still in the hospital archives.”

“How could that happen? Was there a clear trigger?”

“Yes! Well, I mean … there must have been,” Zhao Xuefeng stammered. “I mean I think there was …”

“Could you—”

“Could you—”

They both spoke at the same time, then fell silent.

Zhao Xuefeng smiled wryly. “You first.”

Anna said, “Could you lend me Xia Jianqiang’s records? If it’s not too much trouble, I mean. You know how we doctors are—whenever we see a rare and unusual case, we can’t help but be interested. Occupational hazard. And from what you’ve told me, of all the mentally ill patients immune to the blood-light, his medical history is the most complete. If I study it, it might help us understand how the blood-light induces fear.”

“That’s great! Actually, I was just about to ask if you could take a look at his records when you have time! German neuroscience is more advanced than ours, and I’ve been trying to find ways to help Jianqiang for years. To be honest, when I got the assignment to receive you, I made up my mind then and there. I brought all his records with me—they’re in the glove compartment in front of you. Take them whenever you like! Thank you so much!”

Anna retrieved an old, worn-out leather folder, thick with documents. At the very top was a primary school notebook with the cartoon likeness of Watermelon Tarō printed on the cover.

The handwriting was childish.

Title: Diary

School: South Lejiao Road Primary School

Name: Xia Jianqiang

Anna turned the yellowed cover.

January 14, 2005

Today, the final exam results came out! My best friend, Zhao Xuefeng, got first place in every subject again! I heard that during the parent-teacher meeting, the teacher praised him in front of everyone and told Uncle Defang to take good care of his son. “He’s sure to get into an excellent university in the future!”

March 4, 2005

The new term just started, and we already got hit with a massive blizzard! The snow on the roads is up to my waist! All the cars are stuck! Grandpa’s radio said the whole city is shutting down—no work, no school! More time to rest! Hehe!

I don’t understand why Uncle Defang came to our house in such heavy snow. He even brought me canned peaches! So sweet! I love canned peaches so much! I love Uncle Defang!

He talked to Dad for a long time in whispers, then left without even staying for dinner. He looked really upset!

At night, Mum and Dad had a huge fight. I couldn’t sleep at all, so I got up to write this.

It sounds like Uncle Defang asked Dad for money. He said he was going south to start a business—to make money so Xuefeng could go to a private school. But Mum refused to lend him a single cent!

Suddenly, a military jeep veered out from a side road. It slammed directly into the left rear of the ambulance. The ambulance spun out of control, skidding down the embankment in a counterclockwise spiral before flipping onto its right side. The jeep, also losing control, tumbled forward and crashed onto its side next to the ambulance.

Five minutes later, the first to regain consciousness was Zhao Xuefeng. He dragged Anna from the driver’s seat. Through the throbbing dizziness clouding her vision, Anna vaguely saw a man, his face covered in blood, crawling out of the burning jeep—then crawling back in—then crawling back out again, this time with a satchel slung over his shoulder.

“I’m fine. Go help him first.”

Following Anna’s trembling finger, Zhao Xuefeng spotted the man and immediately recognised his uniform—he was an inmate from a nearby POW camp.

“Don’t move! One more step and I’ll shoot!”

The escapee ignored the warning, staggering toward the sorghum field at the roadside, muttering something under his breath.

Bang! Zhao Xuefeng fired a warning shot into the air. The prisoner still didn’t stop.

Then, with a sharp clang, the back door of the ambulance fell off—knocked loose by the violent impact. A beam of blood-red light spilled out, enveloping both Zhao Xuefeng and the prisoner.

The coffin had been cracked open.

What happened next left Anna utterly stunned. Zhao Xuefeng’s body went rigid. He dropped to his knees, shaking violently, his pistol slipping from his grasp. But the prisoner merely steadied himself, still moving forward with unwavering determination, still muttering.

A burst of gunfire erupted. Rat-tat-tat! Three bullet holes blossomed across the prisoner’s back. At the same moment, three smoke grenades detonated, filling the area with thick white mist. A squad of military police emerged from the windbreak across the road.

Anna jolted upright, pushing through the smoke. She knelt beside the collapsed prisoner, clutching him desperately.

“How did you just do that? Tell me! How did you do it?!”

Blood gushed from his mouth in thick, gurgling spurts, soaking his uniform. His eyes flickered with the last vestiges of life as he feebly pointed at his satchel.

“I … ran … battlefield … coward … ” He gasped for air, his voice weakening. “My wife … gave birth … been three years … my child … go home … ”

He breathed his last.

Anna dug through his satchel. Inside, she found a blood-soaked letter and a small gift box, scrawled in watercolour pen with the words Daddy’s Apology Present. The box had been punctured by a bullet, revealing a straw doll inside. She couldn’t quite tell what it was meant to be, but on its back, in clumsy handwriting, were four characters: Qi Tian Da Sheng—the Great Sage, Heaven’s Equal.

Anna had not been touched by the blood-light this time. Yet the tears wouldn’t stop. At the same time, a tiny spark ignited in her mind.

The military police loaded Anna and Zhao Xuefeng into a transport truck before turning their attention to securing the “cargo” inside the ambulance.

Anna handed the trembling Zhao Xuefeng a packet of coffee. “Eat the grounds dry. It helps. Speaking from field experience—people have died figuring that out. You haven’t finished your story.”

“Twenty years ago. That must have been 2006. There was a street in Shenyang—the busiest street in all of Northeast—Wu’ai Street. On both sides of the street stood the biggest wholesale market in the region, bustling day and night with merchants from all over. My family and Jianqiang’s lived nearby, in the slums just beyond.

“My father and Uncle Xia—Jianqiang’s father—were both laid-off factory workers. They had no money to rent proper market stalls, so they pushed food carts through the crowded streets to support their families. Jianqiang’s mother was beautiful and kind, and Jianqiang himself was a bright student, especially gifted at art. Uncle Xia was the hardest-working vendor on that street. I remember my father always came home late at night, muttering, ‘Good Old Xia’s really pushing himself—still hasn’t packed up!’”

Zhao Xuefeng’s voice cracked. “One day, Jianqiang’s grandfather picked us up from school. Jianqiang begged to stop by his father’s stall for a meal. The two of us ran ahead, full of excitement—only to find a gang of city enforcement officers surrounding Uncle Xia, beating him. Jianqiang tried to stop them. I’m ashamed to admit this, but at the time, I was so scared. I lied to myself, said that I was going to find help, but I just turned and ran. Later, I heard from my father that they beat Uncle Xia for a full ten minutes. By the time they stopped, the bones in his leg and arm were shattered—completely pulverised. My father said the reason had been that Uncle Xia was behind on his ‘management fees’. He’d argued back at them, said he just needed more time to pay. So they beat him. These enforcers—most of them were just recruited gangsters. They didn’t hold back.

“Afterwards, my father said that Uncle Xia had been saving that money to buy Jianqiang a set of watercolours. The kid had been dreaming of them for ages. It wouldn’t have cost more than thirty yuan, but you might not understand—families like ours counted every last cent. Rice, oil, salt—there was never a spare penny.

“With no money for further treatment, Uncle Xia’s injuries left him permanently disabled. He could no longer work. A few months later, Jianqiang’s mother left. No one ever saw her again. Jianqiang dropped out of school, scavenging scrap metal with his grandfather just to survive. One day, they came home to find Uncle Xia had hanged himself. His grandfather lost his mind. Not long after, Jianqiang did too. The tragedy of what happened to Uncle Xia’s family was probably why my father drank himself into oblivion. Soon after, my parents divorced. And my childhood ended there. In that brutal, bloody moment. For all these years, I’ve been angry with myself. Why didn’t I run up to face them with Jianqiang?”

“You were a child then. Even if you had—”

“Oh, don’t tell me it wouldn’t have made a difference. I know it wouldn’t have. But at least I wouldn’t be regretting it now if I’d run to him. Do you know what it’s like to carry twenty years of regret? I’d gladly have traded the past twenty years of being the most pathetic loser and coward for one chance to go back to that moment—and run forward.”

Boom!

A thunderous explosion. The ambulance doors blasted open.

The “cargo” was awake and peeking out his head.

The military police stood frozen, trapped in the glow of the blood-light.

Zhao Xuefeng snatched up a rifle from the transport truck. He charged straight into the red glow and opened fire.

Hs screamed. He emptied his magazine. But he didn’t stop, even after his target collapsed. Not until every last bullet was spent.

Inside Anna’s mind, the tiny spark erupted into a blinding explosion.

She gasped, eyes widening. “I understand! I understand!”

“We have to go back! We need to find Jianqiang! And his medical records. There’s something only he knows.”

Chapter Four

Jianqiang had taken a severe beating from the director’s men, yet he still wore a smile.

As Anna treated his wounds, she asked, “Jianqiang, be a good lad and tell me—have you seen any unusual lights in the past four years?”

“Of course! I’m the great Sun Wukong, and my memory is sharp! The Buddha’s Light, shining down from the sky!”

“The Buddha’s Light? What was different about it?”

“A huge difference! Tathāgata’s powers are vast—his light shines from all directions, drilling straight into people’s minds, peeking into all of my little secrets.”

Anna gripped Jianqiang’s shoulders. “When? What day was it?”

“Can’t remember too clearly … but there were loads of people playing football in the sky that day! Ronaldo and his pendulum dribble… ”

Anna and Zhao Xuefeng spoke at the same time. “That’s the 2022 World Cup opening ceremony! The day the Fear Lords invaded!”

Anna pressed on. “And did the Buddha’s Light appear again after that?”

“All the time. The most was on the day of the Heavenly War.”

“The Heavenly War? Oh, that must be the First Battle of the General Mobilisation Defence!” Anna exclaimed. “I see now … I understand how the blood-light works! The light Jianqiang saw wasn’t the fear-inducing blood-light—it was a ‘mind-probing light’, used to scan human fear responses. Before the invasion, the enemy used an invisible ‘mind-probing light’ to map how human brains generate fear. Human neuroscience is still primitive—we only know that fear is triggered by complex and poorly-understood neural pathways. But I have a hypothesis. The enemy doesn’t just emit fear-inducing rays; they also have a type of light that can probe human memories while recording physiological data. Let’s call it the mind-probing light.

“Before launching their full-scale attack, the aliens saw human fear mechanisms as a black box. So they must have conducted secret reconnaissance over a long period of time. Their method was using their mind-probing light to stimulate individual memories. When memories of suffering, despair, and humiliation were triggered, people’s fear, sorrow, and helplessness surged. Their bodies exhibited stress reactions—trembling, pain, dry heaving. At that moment, the mind-probing light recorded their neurotransmitter levels, neural circuitry activity, and hormone fluctuations. This allowed the aliens to learn the precise conditions under which these three indicators would push humans into emotional collapse and erase their will to resist. Then, they fine-tuned their blood-light accordingly.”

Zhao Xuefeng nodded. “So it’s like how we don’t actually know which chemicals repel mosquitoes, so we capture some, expose them to various gases, and, when they start reacting abnormally, we know which one they hate. Then we use that gas as repellent.”

“Exactly,” Anna said. “To the aliens, we’re mosquitoes. And they don’t even need real chemicals—they use the blood-light to create the same physiological response in our sensory systems.”

Zhao Xuefeng frowned. “Then how do you explain the immune individuals?”

“Studies from various nations show that a person under blood-light-induced fear exhibits physiological indicators strikingly similar to those of someone experiencing a severe anxiety or depressive episode. Those who are immune? The rich and powerful. Compared to the average person, their lives are far smoother, their confidence unshaken. In neuroscience terms, a life of comfort and security leads to higher serotonin and dopamine levels, while the hippocampus and prefrontal cortex—the areas that regulate emotions and rational thought—function at a superior level. The intensity of the blood-light simply doesn’t reach the threshold required to instil fear in them. Perhaps the aliens could amplify the energy density of their blood-light to break these individuals as well—but why waste the effort? Defeat 95% of humanity, and they’ve already won.”

Zhao Xuefeng’s eyes widened. “I see! So, to put it simply, regular people are like dying embers—a splash of water douses them. The Immunes are like roaring fire—you’d need a high-pressure hose. Whereas with the psychiatric patients, their fear mechanisms are already altered by their conditions, so the blood-light has no effect on them!”

“Exactly!”

“But we still don’t know the exact neurological mechanism behind the blood-light’s effects.”

Anna flicked Zhao Xuefeng’s forehead. “You idiot! Does a doctor need to understand the molecular pathway by which a drug inhibits an antigen’s protease before prescribing it? No! They just need to know howto use it! People just want their old lives back. So give them back their old lives—or at least part of it!”

“Part of it? I don’t follow.”

“We need to stir up human emotions—passion, joy, courage—the most intense emotional surges. We have to strengthen the brain’s positive regulatory functions while suppressing the negative circuits. What’s the one thing that can trigger a powerful emotional response in the vast majority of people—especially the young? Think back. What was the very first thing the enemy took from humanity?”

“You can’t mean … ”

“Yes! The World Cup! Let’s resume the World Cup!”

That conversation—held in a decrepit psychiatric hospital on the outskirts of a nameless, crumbling city in northeastern China—was later recorded in history books.

In that moment, humanity was lucky. Not just because Anna had discovered a way to fight back against the invaders, but also because she was the daughter of Lieutenant General Leo von Braun, Supreme Commander of the European Front of the Earth Allied Forces.

Her findings and proposal were immediately verified by the Joint Chiefs and reported to the United Nations High Council—the most powerful governing body humanity had ever managed to sustain.

Chapter Five

Thirty-two days later, from the top of the Rotes Rathaus, the distant glow of the Fear Lords beyond the eastern defence line could be seen.

That night, following an emergency plan jointly developed by the Allied Forces General Staff and the World Cup Organising Committee, two elite PLA engineering brigades, operating under mixed German-American advisory command, advanced into pre-designated positions in Berlin’s western suburbs under the cover of darkness.

Heavy rollers, covered in sound-absorbing tiles, flattened the ground. The first row of eighteen converted mine-clearing tanks, now functioning as rolling deployment machines, laid a 90-metre-wide strip of non-woven fabric in a single pass. The second row of eighteen tanks, driven in reverse, pressed the fabric firmly into place with their weight before unrolling and adhering pre-manufactured artificial turf on top.

Then came the construction teams, swarming in to erect the stands using prefabricated materials.

Finally, thirty Chinook heavy-lift helicopters lifted a modified giant radio telescope dome into position over the stadium. This dome had been specially reinforced to withstand a full sixty seconds direct bombardment from the Fear Lords’ Death Beam.

By dawn, the primary venue for the 23^rd FIFA World Cup had been completed. The garrison moved in to secure the perimeter the same day.

Meanwhile, the remaining thirty-two teams were arranged in pairs and stationed aboard fifteen decommissioned U.S. aircraft carriers and massive cruise ships, each roaming the world’s oceans. Every ship’s interior had been stripped of unnecessary equipment and refitted as an “indoor” football field. If the primary venue was destroyed, the broadcast would immediately cut to one of these backup locations at random, and another opening ceremony would begin. Each backup venue had a full set of performers and a genuine FIFA World Cup trophy. Unless the enemy somehow managed to destroy every single heavily fortified venue within two hours, humanity would successfully complete the World Cup opening ceremony.

On March 5, 2026, Ricky Martin, now fifty-four but still exuding his signature charisma and fiery energy, ignited the stadium with La Copa de la Vida. The stadium roof was briefly opened, and tens of thousands of fireworks launched by five anti-air brigades lit up the night sky.

As the last sparks faded, the stadium went dark.

A single beam of light pierced down from above, illuminating the centre of the stage.

Standing there was an elderly man with silver hair—he was the President of the United Nations Joint Council, the Supreme Commander of the Earth Allied Forces, and the President of the People’s Republic of China.

His speech began:

“Two million years ago, the first spark of civilisation was kindled in the dark wilderness of East Africa. From that moment on, suffering and chaos have followed in its wake, like shadows cast beneath a flame. Again and again, tides of division and unity, death and rebirth, despair and hope have ebbed and flowed. The Black Death, smallpox, famine, Nazism, terrorism—these scars upon history were met with the courage and blood of humankind. Time and again, civilisation has risen from the ashes—for humanity, this eternal child, has always yearned for peace, for prosperity, for freedom.

“I can almost hear the murmuring of our ancestors’ bones beneath the earth, the burning ink of liberty’s blood-stained script across the pages of history—an undying testament to our relentless pursuit of civilisation, prosperity, and freedom. We are not the little match girl, clutching illusions to her chest in the cold. The choices of countless pioneers and martyrs have already made this clear: submission has never been the will of humankind! Even if victory’s banner has slipped from our grasp, we shall carve this struggle into eternity itself—one that will shake the heavens and stand for all time!

“Long live civilisation! Long live humanity! Long live freedom!

“I hereby declare the 23^rd FIFA World Cup officially open!”

At that moment, a firework exploded on cue behind the President. It painted the night sky with an image of an early human ancestor holding a flaming torch.

Germany and Brazil’s national teams marched onto the field from opposite ends of the stadium. For three minutes, the entire arena stood in solemn tribute to all soldiers who had fallen in the Earth Defence War.

Then, as this season’s World Cup anthem The Will of Humanity began to play, the match commenced.

The cameras capturing the opening ceremony lingered on a particularly unique section of the audience. Unlike the rest of the spectators, who cheered and waved their arms with unrestrained enthusiasm, these attendees were noticeably more disciplined. The most obvious clue was their uniform—every single one of them wore the first-generation military uniform of the Earth Allied Forces.

At the end of the match, as the entire stadium rose to salute them, these soldiers left their seats. As they passed through the exit, many of them reached out to gently brush their fingers across the World Cup trophy—and then, without pause, they marched straight to the front lines, launching the counteroffensive.

A curious incident took place that night: twenty-three human traitors were arrested after attempting to sneak into the stadium to watch the game. Upon capture, their only request was to stay and watch the rest of the match.

That same night, half the players from both the German and Brazilian teams announced they were enlisting.

At the same time, counterattacks broke out across every war zone. Logistics divisions were tasked not only with supplying food and ammunition but also ensuring that every combat unit could listen to real-time match broadcasts.

The psychological impact of Anna’s strategy reached its peak six hours after the counteroffensive began. Just as fear had once spread like a plague, so too did courage. On March 9, the Allied Forces liberated all of Poland. On March 11, rebel forces in Estonia turned against their Fear Lord-controlled commanders. On March 15, the Mediterranean Allied Navy annihilated the enemy fleet. On March 20, all of Europe was freed.

The same sweeping victories unfolded across the Americas and Oceania.

Yet in East Asia, where the majority of forces were composed of Chinese and Russian troops, the situation remained dire.

The aliens, retreating from their defeats on every continent, began converging on Vladivostok, along the Russian Far East.

Among some Western officers in the Allied High Command, a joke began circulating: “If this were 23rd June, 2017, maybe we could hold a Ping Pong World Cup to boost the Chinese morale.”

Meanwhile, in East Asia, scattered reports began emerging: amidst crowds of people, without warning, Fear Lords were appearing.

Chapter Six

Experts from around the world received orders to remain in China. Their new mission was simple: find a way to restore the Chinese people’s morale.

Since Xia Jianqiang was capable of perceiving the information encoded within electromagnetic waves—including light—Anna spent all of March by his side, conducting research. At the same time, she confirmed something unsettling: the Fear Lord that Zhao Xuefeng had killed had indeed been a mutated human. Its dermis had undergone an unknown transformation, producing alien-like cells that emitted blood-red light—much like a cancerous growth.

The morning of April 1. The sun was shining.

The research was going nowhere.

Frustrated, Anna flipped through Jianqiang’s medical file for what felt like the hundredth time: Xia Jianqiang, male, born in 1996, enjoys drawing … developed symptoms after witnessing his father’s suicide on September 25, 2007…

A thought struck her.

She wanted to finish reading his childhood diary.

March 1, 2005

Journey to the West is amazing! The Great Sage, Heaven’s Equal, is a true hero! I want to be the Great Sage! But school starts tomorrow, so Mum won’t let me watch TV…

April 1, 2005

Zhao Xuefeng is my best friend, so I didn’t get mad when he pranked me today …

January 1, 2006

It’s New Year’s Day, but I’m sick. Need injections. I hate needles. Grandpa put on a Monkey King mask to cheer me up. I’m not a little kid anymore, but I still played along. I love seeing him smile. He told me I have to live up to my name—Jianqiang means strong! Dad came home early to take care of me. So happy!

January 7, 2006

Dad came straight to see me after work. I pretended to be asleep. My cold’s gone, but he still checked my forehead. Hehe…

February 3, 2006

It’s my birthday today! Dad said he’d get me a set of watercolour pens. I checked at the stationery shop. They’re so expensive! I told the shopkeeper I could draw his portrait for a discount. He agreed! I’ll tell Dad after school!

Grandpa picked me up again, dressed as the Monkey King. So funny!

May 16, 2006, Night

Dad got beaten up!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

Grandpa rushed in to save Dad. They smashed the Monkey King mask!

If only I really were the Great Sage! I’d kill them all!

One of the men beating Dad was Uncle Zhao Defang! Why?! What is wrong with this world?!

March 7, 2007

It’s Dad’s birthday today. Mum didn’t come home all night.

April 1, 2007

Dad has a high fever. Grandpa took him to the hospital! Grandpa’s been coughing too … If only I really were the Great Sage …

May 1, 2007

It’s Labour Day, so Grandpa and I went to do labour! Turns out doing labour means picking up rubbish. Grandpa found a Monkey King mask in a pile of trash—too bad it was a Peking opera-styled one. It looks ridiculous!

September 25, 2007

Dad is dead!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!

…

If only I really were the Great Sage! I’d kill them all!

September 28, 2007

Yesterday, so many people came to our house for Dad’s funeral. I saw him one last time. He was lying in a cold metal box, his face pale. It was terrifying.

That night, I had a dream.

Dad’s neck was wrapped in a rope, hanging from the ceiling beam. His feet swayed in the air.

When I pushed open the door, he turned to me, pale as a ghost, smiling.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Monkey King doll—said he made it for me himself.

The doll jumped out of his hand, clad in golden armour, stepping on clouds of rainbow mist. It flew up to me and said it would take me to avenge Dad.

I will never forget this dream. I’m terrified of this dream, but I love this dream, too.

“Wait!” Anna flipped back to May 16, 2006. “One of the men beating Dad was Uncle Zhao Defang … They smashed the Monkey King mask … He wore the Monkey King mask so he wouldn’t be recognised! So that’s what happened!”

Before she could finish speaking, Zhao Xuefeng burst into the office, holding a photograph. “I knew this alien prisoner! He was a thug in our factory’s housing complex when we were kids—a street punk! My dad told me he was involved in beating up Jianqiang’s father!”

Anna hesitated. “There’s something I don’t know if I should tell you … ”

Suddenly, the bright sunlight filtering into the office dimmed. It was as if something had blocked out the sun.

Shouts erupted outside.

“Look! What the hell is that?!”

“How can anything be that big?!”

Chapter Seven

On the morning of April 1st, an astonishing phenomenon appeared in the skies over East Asia. A single Fear Lord, so vast that it blotted out the sun, descended from the cloud layers, looming over the East Asian continent.

According to the final transmission from an astronaut aboard a geostationary satellite before their craft went down, on the night of March 31, scattered points of red light had begun appearing across the continent. These lights drifted upwards like dandelion seeds, rising into the sky and merging with what appeared to be an alien mothership—a massive sphere. From this fusion, the colossal entity known as the Leviathan was born.

The entire continent trembled under its blood-red glow. The ceaseless radiation of its light was a torture more enduring than death, pushing entire populations into madness. People broke down completely—suicide, murder, acts of unspeakable horror that defied language.

By 8 a.m., countless golden tubes began extending from the underside of the great beast, stretching down to the ground. Those caught in the golden light changed instantly. Their expressions became blank, their eyes glazed over. They muttered to themselves:

“This is good.”

“This feels so comfortable.”

“If I go there, I will become stronger … ”

Then, without hesitation, they stepped forward, willingly walking into the tubes.

While assisting in the evacuation of civilians to air-raid shelters, both Anna and Zhao Xuefeng were caught in the golden light. Overcome by an inexplicable wave of crushing negativity, they lost consciousness.

Chapter Eight

Anna found herself transformed into a towering giant, her body braced the heavens above and the earth below. She stood upon the vast land, gazing into the distance, where the curvature of the ground was unmistakable. The tallest mountains barely reached her ankles, and clouds drifted lazily by her knees. She spun in place, and the stars circled right before her eyes. If she opened her mouth, she could kiss the moon; if she leapt, she could reach the sun.

The scorching sun blazed overhead, its heat searing her scalp as if setting her aflame. She instinctively crouched to escape the heat—only to feel the ground beneath her give way.

She was sinking.

Her body vanished, leaving only her head. Half of it was submerged in pitch-black earth, while the other half remained aboveground.

Looking down, she saw countless ants burrowing through the soil, carving intricate tunnels. Looking up, she saw the world above—her vision now split in two, half underground, half aboveground.

Suddenly, in the depths of the ant colony, countless tiny beans flickered with an eerie, blood-red glow.

The beans swelled rapidly, growing into apples. The ants scattered in a frenzy.

The apple stems elongated at an unnatural speed, transforming into branches that stretched upwards toward the surface. More and more branches gathered, merging into thicker limbs, fusing together to form a massive trunk. The trunk surged upwards, breaking through the soil into the open air.

At its peak, countless roots sprouted—not burrowing downward, but extending upward into the sky. They were long and thin, each root reaching toward a different star, forming a chaotic, bristling mass like the spines of a startled hedgehog.

At the very centre, the thickest root pointed straight at the sun.

How strange!

It was as if an enormous fruit tree had been planted upside down—its crown buried in the earth, its roots stretching toward the heavens!

A violent headache jolted Anna awake. She opened her eyes and found herself lying in the underground infirmary. Zhao Xuefeng was beside her, struggling to sit up.

The mothership, the blood-light, the resurrected aliens, humans being sucked into the ship, the upside-down tree … countless fragmented images churned in her mind like a pot of congee boiling over.

Suddenly, the pot exploded!

Anna’s thoughts snapped into place. She grabbed her phone and immediately called her father. “Dad! I rescued a lieutenant on my last mission before coming to China—yes, Thomas Dodge! Has he regained consciousness? I need to speak with him immediately!”

Five minutes later, a weak yet deep voice of gratitude came through the receiver.

Anna got straight to the point. “Your sergeant told me that you’ve seen Fear Lords resurrect after being killed. Under what conditions do they come back? Just speak from personal experience!”

There was a pause on the other end. “It usually happens in close-quarters combat or large-scale battles. The more people present, the more likely they are to revive.”

“The more people? You mean the more enemies?”

“No. The more ofour own there are, the more easily they resurrect.”

“Can you recall the details of those incidents?”

“I remember, but it’s hard to explain clearly. Most of the time, it happens when light infantry encounters them up close. In those situations, it’s already difficult to kill one Fear Lord, let alone wipe them out entirely. Even if you take one down, you still have to deal with the others around it. And you know how hard it is to look up when you’re caught in the blood-light—you can’t see clearly. But there’s always a strong gust of air. When they revive, they seem to absorb the surrounding air. There’s this smell of urine whenever they do this. And then there’s … well … ”

“It’s fine. Just say whatever comes to mind.”

“Every time they revive, we lose the bodies of fallen comrades. But that might just be a coincidence—bodies go missing all the time in war. No guarantee the two things are related.”

A lightning bolt struck Anna’s mind. She murmured to herself, “They eat people … these demons, they’re eating people! But that thing was splattered to pulp when the jet rammed into it—why? Eating people … obtaining organic matter … matter itself … then what else …?”

Her breath caught. She grabbed her phone and pulled up the footage from the Thomas Dodge rescue mission, rewinding, slowing it down, zooming in. Muttering under her breath, “There has to be a trace, there has to be something!”

Suddenly, she let out a yell. “Lieutenant Thomas Dodge, your intel is crucial—thank you! Now, please put my father back on the line!

“Dad! Send me all available data on my mission to rescue Thomas—time, location, environmental details. As much as possible, and fast!”

She turned to Zhao Xuefeng. “I need a threat analysis team, especially an aerospace positioning expert!”

Two hours later, inside a war analysis room, international experts gathered.

The footage from Anna’s phone was projected onto the screen. Through high-definition reconstruction, the image of the damaged sections of the downed jet’s cockpit was enhanced. Anna pointed at its interior.

“This is from my rescue mission before I came to China. We were ambushed by an aerial enemy. A brave pilot, knowing his plane was doomed, performed a suicide ramming attack, saving us. Then, as the enemy was reviving, we doused it with fire. The pilot was caught in the blaze.

“Now, look at this—his upper body, exposed outside the cockpit, is charred black, completely burned. That’s expected. But his lower body, still inside the cockpit, was left with only the skeletons—why is that so? The jet’s canopy is heat-resistant. Under normal circumstances, his lower half should have retained some flesh. Even if the canopy was damaged and lost its heat resistance, then his entire body should have been burned black, like the upper half. There should be remnants of charred tissue. But Berlin’s forensic report states that his lower body was a pure skeletal structure, with no trace of carbonisation, and no signs of extreme heat exposure.

“There’s only one conclusion: his lower half wasn’t destroyed by the fire—it was absorbed! It was taken by the enemy during resurrection! At the scene, I also noticed the smell of urine—it should be amine compounds, produced when the alien entity synthesised its own proteins using human tissue!”

Anna fast-forwarded the footage, centring on the fighter jet wing lodged on the shoulder of a statue in the distance. She zoomed in.

“This is a wing fragment that broke off when the jet struck the enemy and exploded. Look closely—there’s a perfectly circular hole, sixty centimetres in diameter, right in the centre.

“Berlin’s forensic team confirmed that this hole is too precise to have been caused by an explosion. The edges are smooth, with traces of high-temperature metal melting and resolidifying.”

She pressed a button on the remote. A computer-generated animation played: a beam of energy fired from the alien remains stuck to the jet’s nose cone. The perspective zoomed out, showing the beam piercing directly through the hole in the wing and continuing toward the distant horizon. The scene zoomed out even further—revealing Earth from space. The beam shot into a massive, ellipsoid structure floating in orbit.

“Now, watch closely. We’ve extended a direct line from the alien remains on the jet’s nose to the hole in the wing, and traced it further into space. According to observational data, at that exact moment, the suspected alien mothership was positioned along this trajectory. Three points formed a straight line—this can’t be a coincidence.

“My conclusion? At that moment, an invisible high-energy laser was fired from the mothership. It passed through the wing and struck the alien remains, injecting it with the energy needed to revive. But the remains had lost too much organic matter from the impact—it needed to replenish itself—with external organic material. And that material … was the pilot’s body.

“You can think of this alien civilisation like a massive tree, hanging upside down, its roots reaching into space. Each individual alien is like a fruit or a leaf. The laser is the branch connecting them to the mothership. The individuals sustain themselves by receiving directed radiation from the mothership—both for energy and communication. Meanwhile, the mothership itself draws power from solar energy. But now, because Operation World Cup worked so well, they’ve lost many individual units; they’re running low on the organic matter needed to form their ‘fruits’ and ‘leaves’. So, they’ve changed tactics. They’ve started luring humans into the tendrils that hang down to the ground, tricking people into voluntarily being absorbed.”

An American expert raised a hand. “But if this resurrection process is real, why hasn’t it been widely observed?”

Anna replied, “Most likely because their absorption range is limited. And there must be no obstacles between them and their target. Thomas Dodge’s firsthand experience supports this—their resurrection rate is highest during close-quarters combat with infantry.”

A Russian expert asked, “Why don’t they just directly absorb our soldiers?”

“Good question!” Anna paused, then her eyes widened. “There are many who’ve embraced the blood-light, gone insane, lost their will, and surrendered entirely! They can only absorb those who’ve completely lost their will—or the dead. The dead no longer have will!”

Zhao Xuefeng interjected grimly, “There might be an even bigger problem. When I was hit by that massive light from the sky this morning, I felt as if a giant steel needle was stabbed into my brain, injecting something into my mind. I saw a scene … a memory … from the day Uncle Xia was beaten. It was from the perspective of one of his attackers. In the middle of the fight, Uncle Xia tore the mask off of one of the assailants, and behind it was my father’s face. In the distance, I saw myself running away. One of Uncle Xia’s attackers was my father. Why would he have participated in the attack?”

Chapter Nine

May 16, 2006. Shenyang. At the intersection of Wu’ai Street and South Lejiao Road.

Xia Renshan tended to his grilling meat skewers while glancing across the street. A newly opened shopping mall stood there, its massive exterior draped with an enormous advertisement. The man in the ad—a middle-aged businessman in a tailored suit—looked oddly familiar. He was posed with one hand extended in a welcoming gesture, the slogan beside him reading New Ideals, New Ecology.

“With a spot like this, business is only going to get better.” He muttered the thought aloud, flipping a skewer and handing it to a customer. But before the customer could pay, another hand snatched the money away.

It was Gao Yi, flanked by five or six of his lackeys. His bleach-blond hair gleamed under the streetlights. As usual, he wasn’t wearing a uniform.

Gao Yi tapped the iron skewer against the grill. Clang, clang, clang. “What’s this I hear? You dodged yesterday’s management fee? Let’s not play games today, all right?”

Renshan hurriedly offered him a cigarette. “Brother Yi! Come on, you see how slow business has been these past few days! Tomorrow, I swear I’ll pay up. Today’s my kid’s birthday; I just wanted to—”

“Cut the bullshit. Business is slow? You’re standing on prime real estate, thanks to my family. I haven’t even charged you extra for that yet!” Gao Yi jabbed a finger toward the shopping mall across the street.

Renshan finally placed the businessman’s face—it was Gao Ren.

Back in ‘98, after acquiring the factory, Gao Ren hadn’t bothered running it. He sold the land for real estate development instead, and now, he was one of the city’s most prominent tycoons.

“Look, our families go way back,” Renshan started. “Our fathers—”

“Fucking spare me the sentimental crap!” Gao Yi snapped.

He flung the iron skewer at Renshan.

It pierced his arm. Pain flared, but his anger burned hotter. “All you ever do is take money! What management have you ever done? We’re the ones cleaning up the street!”

“This little shit dares to fucking talk back?” Gao Yi sneered. “Boys, show him some manners. And get that little brat too.”

“Don’t you touch my son!”

The gang descended on Renshan, pummelling him with fists and kicks. He fought back, but he was outnumbered. In his struggle, he managed to tear a Monkey King mask off one of the attackers’ faces.

Underneath—

It was Zhao Defang.

His best friend.

An hour later, when Xia Renshan’s wife arrived at the hospital, she saw her husband lying there, both arms broken.

Her hands trembled. The drawing board she had bought for their son slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor.

Her voice came in a whisper, hollow and numb.

“Can’t even use his hands anymore now, huh … ?”

Chapter Ten

After recounting his vision, Zhao Xuefeng’s eyes were red with emotions. “Could it be that the enemy has started fabricating memories and forcibly implanting them into people’s minds?”

Anna was stunned for a long moment before a sudden shiver ran through her. “Yes! Forced memory implantation—it is forced! But it’s not fabricated, Xuefeng! It’s real! Your father really did take part in beating up Jianqiang’s father!”

“You’re joking! That’s impossible; they were best friends! When Uncle Xia passed away, my father was one of the pallbearers …”

Anna handed him Jianqiang’s diary. “You’ve never properly read Jianqiang’s diary, have you?”

“Huh? Oh … no.” Zhao took the diary, his hands trembling. “I was afraid of bringing back painful memories. I only read the beginning before I had to stop.”

“Look at the entry from May 16, 2006.”

Zhao Xuefeng’s eyes widened in disbelief as he read it. “This can’t be real!”

Anna said, “I don’t believe a child would lie in his personal diary.”

“But I wasn’t even there! How could I remember it like I saw it?”

Anna frowned, thinking for a moment. “It’s likely that they’ve evolved again. The red light used to only disrupt neural circuits and neurotransmitter balance. But now, the golden light can implant unbearable memories into people’s minds. But where did this memory come from? It could only be from your father! Has your father ever been exposed to the blood-light?”

Zhao Xuefeng’s expression turned grave. “Something must have happened to him!”

Chapter Eleven

After sunset, the massive object in the sky vanished. If Anna’s hypothesis was correct, it had likely moved to Earth’s sunlit side to absorb more solar energy.

Anna and Zhao Xuefeng decided to take Jianqiang and find Xuefeng’s father, Zhao Defang, to get some answers.

Zhao Defang still lived in the workers’ dorm in the old machinery factory on South Lejiao Road. Jianqiang’s grandfather lived in the same building.

They switched on the light. The room was empty. A letter lay on the desk.

My son Xuefeng,

Your father is ashamed.

I thought I could forget the disgrace of the past. But this morning, when that demon in the sky shone on me, the memories surged up again, like a blade piercing my chest.

You were a bright student, and I wanted to send you to a better private school. Your grandmother was gravely ill, and the factory kept delaying her medical reimbursements. I worked desperately, but after being laid off with no trade to rely on, the money never seemed enough. The weight of it all crushed me—I could barely breathe. So I went to the Gao brothers for help.

Gao Yi offered me a job as his lackey, promising me a share of the management fees. In my foolishness, I agreed.

But he demanded my loyalty first. My test was to beat up Uncle Xia.

Fear is a powerful thing. At first, you dread it, loathe it, want to run from it. But when you realise you can’t escape, you start wanting to participate in it, to become it. And then… and then you will begin to feel at peace.

I am going to seek that peace now.

Take care of yourself.

Your father

Chapter Twelve

Zhao Xuefeng retrieved the surveillance footage from the dorm’s security office. The footage showed that his father had left home at 8:30 a.m., stepping out onto the street. He walked toward a glowing conduit hanging down from the Leviathan, bathed in golden light, his face wore a strange smile, muttering something under his breath. At the same time, his face began to emit a blood-red glow.

Anna said, “I remember the golden light hitting us sometime after nine. That was after your father had already left home. I have a theory—one that will be cruel for you to hear. But you’re a soldier, so I’m going to say it straight.

“Your father has most likely been absorbed whole by the enemy mothership. The memories in your mind—the ones about him—were extracted from his brain after the aliens took his body. Then, those same memories were injected into your mind via the golden light. They must have intercepted and stored every memory from every human they’ve absorbed.”

 “But with so many memories,” Zhao Xuefeng asked, “how would the aliens know which ones to use against me?”

Anna thought for a moment. “History has shown us that the simplest, most brutal methods are often the most effective. I suspect the golden light carries information holographically—like a high-density information storage drive. It’s not choosing individual memories; it’s dumping everything into the brain all at once. It forces every human it touches to relive their most personal associations with fear, suffering, despair, and regret.

“And because you’ve never let go of what happened to the Xia family, your brain latched onto that memory first when you were hit by the light.”

Zhao Xuefeng dropped to his knees and began to sob.

Anna asked the gatekeeper to step outside with her, leaving Zhao Xuefeng alone in the room.

On the desolate street, an old man, his back hunched with age and his hair completely white, shuffled along alone. He wore a Peking opera mask held together with strips of clear tape to keep it from falling apart. In one hand, he waved a mop handle like a staff, muttering ceaselessly under his breath, “Son, don’t be afraid! Sun Wukong is here! Grandson, don’t be afraid! Sun Wukong is here! What demon dares to harm my kin … ?”

Trailing silently behind him was Xia Jianqiang.

Anna turned to the gatekeeper. “Who is that old man?”

“Jianqiang’s grandfather.”

“Why hasn’t he been taken to a hospital?’

“His son, Xia Renshan, was crippled right on this street. Ever since he lost his mind, he refuses to leave. Anyone who tries to make him leave, he’ll take a swing at them with that mop handle.”

Suddenly, Zhao Xuefeng pushed the door open and stepped out. “I just got a briefing from Command. This morning’s golden light contained an information density exponentially greater than that of the blood-light. Your theory is very likely correct. The report also states that, based on preliminary estimates, just today alone, roughly 1.5 million civilians and 50,000 soldiers across East Asia have disappeared. They are suspected to have been absorbed by the enemy mothership.”

Anna said grimly, “That thing will definitely return tomorrow morning. At this rate, in less than three days, East Asian society will completely collapse.”

Zhao Xuefeng’s expression darkened. “This time … do you have a plan?”

Anna lowered her head, thinking for a long moment. Her face grew increasingly tense, then turned to something closer to fear. But then—something sharp and ruthless flickered in her eyes. She suddenly snapped her head toward Xia Jianqiang in the distance, raising her voice.

“Unless—unless there exists a person whose memories of fear, suffering, despair, and unbearable trauma contain a particular element … An element that, to the vast majority of people, is something joyful, something inspiring. The weakness of the enemy’s light weapons is that the information they carry is holographic and comprehensive—whenever they absorb an individual’s fearful memories, they must broadcast all elements within those memories to the rest of humanity.”

“Where would we find someone like that?” Zhao Xuefeng scoffed, but then his voice trailed off. “People on the Internet always say… that you Westerners have Spider-Man, Captain America, Iron Man—all these heroes standing for justice. But for us Chinese, in the past five hundred years, we’ve only ever had the Monkey King fighting demons and monsters for us. But he left us with nothing but good memories … unless—unless someone like Jianqiang—wait, you mean … Jianqiang … ”

Chapter Thirteen

What happened next is recorded in various accounts—some in the concise, measured tones of official history, others in the vivid, almost legendary manner of popular retellings.

The Chinese historical record states:

A certain lieutenant general of the war zone command swiftly gathered intelligence, accurately analysed the situation, and decisively deployed forces, thwarting the enemy’s attempt to eliminate a key target in Shenyang. This action laid a solid foundation for the strategic counteroffensive that followed.

But the version people preferred—the one widely shared across the Internet—was a more theatrical folk epic:

That day, as the sun rose in the east, the demons returned, bringing devastation once more. The sky was ablaze with golden light, and the crisis was dire.

The young hero, Xia Jianqiang, was struck by that golden radiance, and memories surged through his mind—his parents laid off, his father beaten and humiliated into suicide, his mother vanished, his grandfather driven mad, the torment of the asylum … Rage boiled in his heart, and courage surged to his fists!

He tore the battered pot from his head and wiped away the watercolour-painted golden circlet with a sleeve. He pulled two pheasant feathers from his coat and stuck them into his hair. Straightening his back, he raised a finger to the sky and roared:

“Tathāgata! Tathā—gata—Tathā—gata—

“You sit there in false majesty, but in my eyes, you reek of demonic stench! You harmed my friends! Drove my grandfather mad! Tormented the innocent! You call yourself Buddha, but you defy the heavens and trample the earth! I bear a hatred as vast as sky and sea, an enmity deeper than mountains and rivers! Today, I tear away your painted skin and reveal your true form! Give me back my father! Give me back my mother! Give me back my grandfather! And give me back my paintbrush! Now … prepare—to—DIE!”

He flung aside his silver cape, brandished his staff, and charged into the descending tendrils of the monstrous entity.

And for the hours that followed, in the eyes of the Chinese, the behemoth in the sky was no longer a nightmare of blood and shadow. It was the true Great Sage, Heaven’s Equal, armoured, battle-ready, striding upon the rainbow clouds of legend.

The historical records provide their own stark accounts.

On April 10, 2026, traitorous Russian forces broke through the Changchun-Changbai Mountain defence line, reaching the outskirts of Shenyang. A brutal urban battle ensued. Captain Zhao Xuefeng, a technical officer, defied evacuation orders and stayed behind, ultimately perishing in the fighting on Wu’ai Street.

In May 2026, Anna von Braun sacrificed half of her brain, luring the enemy into absorbing it. From that moment on, all Westerners became completely immune to the blood-light. When exposed to it, they saw only the glory of the ’98 World Cup and heard La Copa de la Vida echoing in their ears. Anna lived to be 65, raising two sons. On her deathbed, when the priest asked if she had any sins to confess, she spoke her final words: “There’s only one thing I regret.”

Private Michel Dodge was killed on the night of the 2026 World Cup opening ceremony, during the battle to defend the stadium perimeter. A Death Beam severed him at the waist. When the battlefield chaplain asked if he had any last confessions, he whispered, “There’s only one thing I don’t regret.”

His brother, Lieutenant Thomas Dodge, survived.

According to Anna’s hypothesis, the alien mothership could only absorb humans who had either surrendered completely or perished. This left two possibilities: either Xia Jianqiang had fully succumbed to the golden light as he charged, or, in the final moment, he found a way to take his own life.

Of course, people preferred to believe the latter.

The War for the Defence of the Earth raged on until 2030, ending in total human victory. In the eight years, the Allied Forces suffered 539,234,563 casualties, and the civilian losses were numbered at 1,357,620,000. Every name was recorded in history.

Jianqiang and Anna’s experiences were later adapted into a short story by an obscure writer and published online. The opening lines read:

The harder the official accounts attempt to cover up an incident, the more defiantly it clings on. It will either crackle like a thunderbolt across the skies of our history, or bloom with a burst of blood on the earth of our future.

Humanity seized the alien mothership’s core and decrypted its central database, discovering that enemy reconnaissance scouts had infiltrated Earth forty years earlier. The invaders belonged to a civilisation devoid of emotion, governed by absolute rationality. Their strategic analysis and decision-making system determined whether a civilisation was fit for conquest based on the intelligence gathered by scouts.

Xia Renshan’s family had been under observation and studied as research subjects for years.

Anna found surveillance footage of the day Renshan became crippled.

Disturbingly, this was the final intelligence report that the enemy’s decision-making system processed before approving the invasion of Planet Earth.

On May 16, 2036, in Shenyang, China, a bronze statue was erected at the intersection of Wu’ai Street and South Lejiao Road—it was of a young man, grinning wildly, clad in absurd attire, gripping an iron staff, and his face concealed beneath a Monkey King opera mask. The inscription at his feet, carved by the United Nations, commemorated his contribution to humanity.

Across the street, someone had opened an art supply shop under his name. Business flourished.

Even today, if you visit that place, you can still see him—frozen in time, forever swinging his staff.

1. Editor’s Note: Brave Warrior, or Yongshi (勇士), refers to the Beijing BJ2022 utility vehicle. ↩︎