"Ding…" Another sound, like a knock at the door. Something's happening across the way! Zhang Yuanqing quickly exchanged his rusted vegetable knife for a rusted short blade and his wooden staff for a longer spear. With weapons in hand, he stepped out of the room lightly, the moonlight as cold and clear as frost, the surroundings silent. Bending down, he crept close to the window. The paper covering the window had long since torn, so he knelt beneath it, carefully lifting his head and peering through one of the broken openings in the latticework window. The cold, frosty moonlight, compressed through the roof's broken holes, formed beams of light that illuminated the narrow room. As he observed the scene inside, Zhang Yuanqing felt his heart skip a beat. In the dim, quiet room, three old caskets stood arranged, their black paint peeling, the lids dusted with fine particles. Beside each casket lay two dry corpses dressed in workwear, one of whom had a copper cone falling beside him. That spear caught Zhang Yuanqing's attention. It was about half a person's arm in length, cast in yellow bronze, with incantations and carved ornamentation engraved on its handle—finely crafted. What stood out most was that while all the other weapons were rusted, this one remained bright yellow, free from any trace of bronze corrosion. Unbidden, an image surfaced in his mind: the hand of the Three-Mountain Lady, fingers clenched together as if holding something. Yet, palm empty. "Thud…" the deep resonance came again, compelling Zhang Yuanqing to shift his gaze toward the central coffin. A grating, bone-jarring sound followed, and the coffin lid slowly slid open. A dark, bluish-green palm emerged, gripping the edge of the coffin. Then, a terrifying figure rose from within. Under the clear moonlight streaming through the roof, Zhang Yuanqing made out its form: wrapped in tattered garments, face swollen and highly decayed, eyes lifeless and sunken outward. Hair like dry grass stood haphazardly atop its head. "Hmmph~" It lifted its head toward the moonlight, exhaling a thick, murky breath, its two sharp teeth glaringly evident. Zhang Yuanqing felt his Uncle Ying's PTSD发作. After all, it was a zombie—yes, definitely a zombie—otherwise what would be the point of the consumption item, the sealing scroll? Zhang Yuanqing now felt a sense of hesitation. The information he had gathered thus far was sufficient. It was time to return to the main hall. Yet just then, its shoulders suddenly grew heavy, a familiar coldness seeping into its body, bringing a prickling chill. The Shoulder-Pressing Ghost had arrived. Fifteen minutes had passed... Zhang Yuanqing felt a weight settle in his chest. In this crisis-ridden ancient temple, under constant mental strain, it was difficult to maintain focus on counting time—only by intuition could he gauge it, inevitably introducing some margin of error. The arrival of the Shoulder-Pressing Spirit was like adding snow to the existing snowfall. And what followed was like pouring fuel on an already blazing fire. As if sensing the breath of the living, the zombified man seated in the coffin lowered his raised head, his bulging eyes settling on the window, fixing upon the eyes peering out from beyond it. ...Zhang Yuanqing leaped up, startled, his skin prickling with gooseflesh, and took off in a rush. Just as he turned around, he heard the heavy "clunk" of the coffin lid settling to the floor. He dared not look back, bearing the spirit of resentment on his shoulders, his steps heavy and labored. Another loud "clunk" followed—then the door was slammed open. While still running, Zhang Yuanqing turned to see a haggard, terrifying figure, wrapped in tattered garments, surge out of the room and leap forward with the sudden, fierce momentum of a tiger pouncing on a sheep. Was this a zombie? Where was it stiff? His face pale with alarm, Zhang Yuanqing spun on his heel, using inertia to complete the turn, and drove his spear into the zombie’s chest. He planted the butt of the spear into the ground, forming a makeshift palisade. At the same time, he noticed a gaping wound in the zombie’s chest—its heart seemingly removed The zombie is the senior master in the handscroll! At the next moment, the zombie charged forward with a long spear, its shaft, thick as a finger, shattered like a full moon, then snapped with a crisp "crack." Before he could think further, Zhang Yuanqing seized the opportunity created by the spear's movement, rolled past the zombie's feet, filling his nostrils with the stench of decay, while behind him, the sound of the great sword cleaving the ground echoed. Rolling all the way to the zombie's back, he snapped his knees and leapt upward, swinging his short knife. "Clang!" The short blade struck the zombie's back of the skull, as if cutting through steel—only a few strands of dry hair were severed, and no damage was done. Instead, Zhang Yuanqing was shaken by the force transmitted back through the handle, his虎mouth suffering intense pain, nearly losing his weapon. "Copper skin and iron bones?" he thought in astonishment. Then, he saw the zombie swiftly turn around, lifting his dark, sharp hands and pressing them firmly against his shoulders. Instant pain surged. The dark, sharp nails pierced his skin, staining his jacket with fresh, crimson blood. The bloodiness stimulated it. Deep within its protruding eyes, a crimson glow surged. The zombie opened its fangs, exhaled a foul-smelling gas, and bit fiercely into Zhang Yuanqing's neck. The purifying effect of the candlelight still held, so he did not lose his composure out of fear. With a thought, a glowing blue inventory appeared, and he now held a scroll in his hands. Ding-ding-ding... The zombie that had just moments before been fierce and relentless now retreated step by step, as if fleeing from a serpent or scorpion. Effective—it fears me, it possesses some intelligence... Zhang Yuanqing pressed his pain from the wounds on his arms, tightened his muscles, and stared steadily at the zombie, shoulders bearing the spirits of resentment, retreating slowly. As he retreated, he prayed silently that the female ghost from the well would not surface and cause further disturbance. Throughout this, the zombie's decaying throat emitted eerie, low growls, its crimson gaze fixed upon Zhang Yuanqing. Fortunately, either due to the zombies or because Zhang Yuanqing was walking backward, the female ghost in the well did not appear. As Zhang Yuanqing stepped out of the eastern wing and returned to the quadrangle courtyard, he moved without stopping, stumbling desperately toward the main hall. As he approached the eaves near the main hall, a faint, haunting cry echoed in his ears. A lightness in his shoulders—all negative effects vanished. ... "Huffing, huffing..." In the main hall, Zhang Yuanqing leaned against a lattice door, gasping for breath, his legs uncontrollably spasming. This was partly due to fear, and partly a physiological response as adrenaline began to subside. After resting for several minutes, as the adrenaline waned, pain began to radiate from his arm wounds. He gritted his teeth, removing his jacket and shirt, revealing both arms severely bruised and torn, with blood that was dark red seeping out. Clearly, the zombies' fingernails contained a potent toxin. The situation had now become dire. "There's no antiseptic here, no tetanus shots. How quickly does the尸toxin manifest? Will I succumb to poisoning?" A series of thoughts flashed through Zhang Yuanqing's mind, surprising him at first because he realized he wasn't particularly afraid—then he noticed something else: it wasn't about him at all; it was the candle that gave him courage. Bathed in the warm glow of the candlelight, his emotions gradually settled. "Now that I've contracted the corpse toxin, I can't afford to delay any longer. I'll go with Plan Two," he decided. Before entering the spiritual realm, Zhang Yuanqing had prepared two strategies. The first was a cautious, steady approach—exploring the mountain temple carefully, gathering information, and then seeking ways to resolve the issue. This was a method of steady progress. Inspired by his experience playing games with his aunt, he developed a more adventurous second plan: attempting to tame the Red Dance Shoes. Since both were props, and he could already use the yellow paper talismans, why not the Red Dance Shoes? Guan Ya had mentioned that there was a certain probability of taming rule-based props through understanding their underlying rules. "With my current abilities, I don't think I can manage to simply paste a yellow paper talisman onto a zombie's forehead on my own." To affix the talisman to the forehead of a fierce, intelligent spirit—much like a child wielding a knife facing off against an adult—though the adult may be wary of the blade, it doesn't necessarily mean the child can truly wound the adult. Zhang Yuanqing no longer hesitated. He rose, supported by the grid-patterned door, stepped over the threshold, and arrived at the courtyard before the main hall—the very place where he first encountered the Red Slippers. The full moon hung like a plate, the ancient manor and overgrown grasses, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. He waited, waited, stood motionless among the grasses for a long time, ever vigilant for any change in the surroundings, yet the Red Slippers never appeared. It seemed the slippers had no fixed abode—first following him when he entered the temple, then appearing within the quadrangle courtyard—now, he had no idea where they had gone. As Zhang Yuanqing's condition worsened with each passing moment, he sighed in resignation and turned to return to the main hall. Just as he completed the turn, his body suddenly stiffened. "Tapping... tapping..." Between him and the main hall, a pair of red dance shoes emitting a soft, dim red glow moved up and down in unison, as though an invisible person were wearing them and stepping steadily in place. The sound of footsteps echoed solemnly through the vast, quiet night. Could it not appear in a less startling way? Every time, it felt so eerie—Zhang Yuanqing nearly had his spirit shaken out, his breath catching as he subtly swallowed. Though he had been anticipating its arrival, facing this strange dance shoe made him feel his sense of well-being steadily slipping away. The shoes continued their steady tapping, each heel striking the ground with a crisp sound, the rhythmic echoes building in intensity, deepening the sense of solitude and dread. Suddenly, a glowing blue message appeared in Zhang Yuanqing's field of vision: ["Would you like to dance with me? If so, simply stay in place and tap your feet."] The message appeared beside the red shoes, as though the shoes themselves were speaking directly to him. Indeed, it demanded a dance—without dancing, death would follow. How unkind the shoes were… Zhang Yuanqing had no choice but to make a final, desperate stand, for he had discovered something: the red dance shoes had cut off his retreat. Positioned between Zhang Yuanqing and the main hall, they now stood as a barrier. Should the dance fail, he would surely perish. Was this mere coincidence—or had the shoes deliberately chosen this moment? Did they possess wisdom of their own? Zhang Yuanqing gathered his thoughts, calmed his emotions, and in his mind, envisioned his father's face. At the same time, he lifted his foot and began to step. Ticking, tapping… as though activating the switch of this prop, the rhythm of the red dance shoes shifted, now performing a swift, dynamic tap dance. With vibrant rhythm and lightning speed, the sharp "tap-tap" sounds resonated through the still night air, echoing across the deserted ancient temple. Under the moonlight, amidst the wild grasses, on the stone-paved path, the pair of red dance shoes danced alone—radiant, ethereal, and utterly enchanting. Zhang Yuanqing widened his eyes, letting his pupils absorb the moonlight, fixing his gaze firmly on the red ballet slippers. He didn’t need to consciously remember—he just needed to let the other’s steps imprint themselves into his vision. At the same time, his heart beat like a high-load engine, pulsing rapidly, and the surrounding noise filled his ears. A cascade of fragmented images flashed through his mind. His brain began automatically receiving external information—the sound of the wind, the slight bow of the wild grass, the rhythm of the leaves on the distant hawthorn tree, the precise stance and rhythm of the red ballet slippers’ steps. The brain quickly analyzed and stored these inputs. After a few minutes, the red ballet slippers settled contentedly, stepping back with his left foot and lifting his toes. The pose looked odd at first, but if someone wore it, it would be the standard curtsy. Rather polite, indeed. Zhang Yuanqing, whose nasal passages were bleeding, murmured under his breath. Then, a message appeared above the red ballet slippers: 【It’s your turn now!】 In just a few minutes, it executed hundreds of different rhythms—each one distinct—far exceeding ordinary speed-reading abilities. Zhang Yuanqing steadied himself, reached into his pocket, and took out a small pill, holding it in his mouth. Then, his mind entered a奇妙 state, replaying frame by frame the images from the past few minutes. "Tap, tap, tap..." He began with a slow, awkward rhythm, performing several sequences with careful attention to the red ballet shoes. If the standard required was identical in quality, even if he remembered every rhythm and movement perfectly, he still wouldn't be able to complete the task. Seeing no abnormalities, Zhang Yuanqing breathed a sigh of relief and began dancing with full concentration. He executed steps—tapping, turning, making small jumps, crossing his feet from left to right—moving slowly and with an awkward, unrefined posture, utterly outshone by the red ballet shoes' smooth, flowing movements. Yet, the slow, deliberate steps ensured no mistakes would occur. Eight or nine minutes later, Zhang Yuanqing restored all the steps of the Red Dance Shoe, gasping and stopping. Warm liquid flowed from his nasal passages, dripping down his lips and jaw, yet he didn’t have time to wipe it away, his eyes fixed tightly on the Red Dance Shoe. Whether he could survive and exit the Spirit Realm, whether he could successfully complete the trial—now depended on this moment. 【Your dancing skills have remained as poor as ever!】 The Red Dance Shoe flashed this message, then dissolved into a subtle deep red glow, fading into the night. Immediately afterward, a cold voice echoed in his mind: 【Ping! You have accompanied the Red Dance Shoe through a full dance. Congratulations—you have earned its appreciation. However, due to your inadequate dancing foundation, the Red Dance Shoe has only appreciated you for thirty minutes. Wishing you good luck!】 Zhang Yuanqing collapsed, drained and pale, with sharp pains pulsing through his head. Half a minute later, the symptoms eased, and he sat up slowly, pale-faced, eager to open his inventory immediately. In the second slot lies a pair of fresh, red dance shoes. After gazing at them for a few seconds, the item information appears automatically. 【Name: Red Dance Shoes】 【Type: Footwear】 【Function: Tracking, Pursuit】 【Description: Once belonging to a princess of a Western kingdom, the princess was naturally beautiful and exceptionally skilled in dance, winning the hearts of all the kingdom's men. However, her cruel stepmother envied her talents and beauty, imprisoning her in a high tower. In solitude, the princess danced under the cold moonlight until she finally passed away. These red dance shoes carry on her legacy, embarking on a journey of wandering and never ceasing to dance alone.】 【Note 1: Usage Form One: Throw the red dance shoes toward a designated target (or use the target's blood, hair, or other cellular material as a medium to lock onto them). The shoes will then relentlessly pursue and hunt the target. During the pursuit, they will ignore any physical obstacles, making escape or destruction impossible—until the target dies or joins them in completing a full dance, regardless of the dance style.】 】 【Usage Form Two: Wear the red ballet slippers to boost agility and enhance evasion, allowing you to run effortlessly regardless of terrain without expending stamina. The only thing to keep in mind is that you can wear them for only five minutes at a time; once this duration is exceeded, the slippers will remain on your feet permanently, and you will continue running with them until your life ends or until you cut off your legs.】 【Note Two: If you don't dance with me, you'll all perish.】 It's a true masterpiece... Zhang Yuanqing was thrilled upon reading the item's attributes. Are these truly rule-based items? Absolutely astonishing. The yellow scrolls and wax candles previously encountered had relatively simple descriptions—just a few sentences—while the red ballet slippers offer a detailed, extensive account. This alone highlights their uniqueness. "Only to appreciate me for half an hour..." Zhang Yuanqing noticed the countdown timer beside the item slot, feeling a sense of regret. If he can possess such a divine artifact, it will play a significant role—whether in the present reality or in future journeys to other spiritual realms.