Chapter Two: Supernatural Phenomena

“What’s going on? Is another immortal passing through tribulation?”

“Fat Tiger, you spend all day watching short videos. These days, people will do anything for fame. One special effect and you get this excited.”

Fat Tiger, whose real name was Huang Xiaohu, protested, “No, this time something happened right here in our county! Come look!”

Hearing this, everyone gathered around, and Li Yunfei, curious, joined them to peer at Fat Tiger’s phone.

He was browsing a local comprehensive website called “Window of Eastern Yu.” Fat Tiger tapped replay, and a video began to play. On the screen was a woman engulfed in flames; her clothes had vanished, likely burned away, revealing her graceful figure. Her long black hair floated and danced in the fire.

The person filming spoke in the local dialect, and the familiar surroundings convinced Fat Tiger this had happened nearby.

“Damn, don’t tell me someone doused her with gasoline and set her on fire! That’s a major case, Yingzi, you’ve got work to do.”

Yingzi was a criminal investigator, hence the comment.

Fat Tiger urged, “Wait, keep watching!”

In the video, the burning woman was panicking, crying out, “Help… please help me.” Nearby, someone was calling for a fire extinguisher.

Strangely, after ten seconds, the flames suddenly vanished, and the woman collapsed, unconscious. A mosaic appeared over the video.

But just before the mosaic, everyone saw clearly—there was not a single burn on her body. Her skin remained perfectly fair, not even a strand of her hair harmed.

The room fell silent. Everyone exchanged glances, astonished.

After a long pause, Yingzi looked at Li Yunfei, frowning. “This… doesn’t look like special effects.”

Li Yunfei nodded slowly, a vague feeling stirring in his heart—the world had changed.

It wasn’t just the killing god system he had suddenly acquired, but also the many supernatural events reported across the country these past months.

Not long ago, someone filmed a figure floating mid-air, lightning flashing overhead, bolts striking down at the silhouette. Many believed it looked more like the figure was drawing the lightning to themselves.

There was also a company’s surveillance footage showing computers, printers, and other machines starting up by themselves at night. Rolling office chairs slid as if an unseen person was sitting on them, doors opened and closed for no apparent reason.

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Another video showed a Taoist in robes, flying up a fifteen-meter cliff by stepping left foot over right, ascending as if weightless.

The Taoist’s back was to the camera, with no narration, but someone recognized him as Master Sihang, who always preached the virtues of science and insisted that no one in the world possessed the skill of qinggong.

Who’d believe that nonsense now? That old Taoist was a sly one. He’d demonstrated Cloud Ladder, and still claimed qinggong didn’t exist?

Those so-called modern martial artists planning to challenge Wudang promptly laid down their flags.

There were rumors before—those who challenged Wudang left spitting blood—but everyone had thought it was hype. Now, it seemed…

All these videos shared something in common: within a short time, they were erased from the internet.

Of course, some managed to save them. Fat Tiger had a few stored. But whenever he tried to upload, they vanished instantly, and even his social media accounts got banned.

If it were just one or two, people would laugh it off as special effects, a prank.

Just like the “Dragon Totem Girl” that circulated online for years, which was eventually proven fake.

But when such incidents multiplied, occurred together, and happened in familiar surroundings, it couldn’t simply be brushed off as special effects.

Why hadn’t these phenomena appeared before? Was there something special about this year?

Someone whispered, “Could this be a sign of the apocalypse? Monsters and demons emerging, chosen ones awakening…”

Immediately, someone scoffed, “You’ve been reading too many apocalypse novels!”

Yingzi’s expression turned serious as she looked at the speaker, “Don’t spread rumors. How many years has the apocalypse rumor been around?”

“In modern times alone, there were rumors about 1999, 2000, 2004, 2012, and 2036. Each time, people tried to tie strange events to those years.”

“But now, we’re almost halfway through the twenty-first century, and the world’s still fine, isn’t it?”

The person laughed awkwardly, “I was just saying, don’t take it so seriously.”

Yingzi pondered briefly and asked Fat Tiger, “When was this video posted?”

“It just appeared a few minutes ago. Damn, it’s already gone—404. I didn’t even have time to save it.”

He refreshed instinctively, but the video had vanished.

Yingzi said to Li Yunfei, “This will probably alert the bureau. I’ll go check the scene. You guys go have lunch without me!”

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Li Yunfei patted her shoulder, reminding, “Be careful. This might not be simple.”

“Don’t worry.”

Yingzi strode toward the women’s locker room. She was supposed to be off today, but who could have expected such a bizarre event? She probably wouldn’t be getting any time off for quite a while.

Someone half-suggested, “I think the video was filmed near North Lane. Should we…”

The group exchanged looks, then, as if by tacit agreement, headed toward the locker room.

Li Yunfei walked along with them and said, “Hey, you guys go ahead. I have things to do, so I’ll head home. Let me know what happens later. I’ll owe you all this meal—next time, it’s on me.”

Fat Tiger was surprised, “You’re not going to check it out?”

Li Yunfei replied nonchalantly, “What’s there to see? If it’s just a farce, it’s a waste of time.”

“If something really happened, by the time you arrive, the scene will already be under control and we won’t know the truth. Let’s just wait for the police and media reports.”

“Uh…”

Fat Tiger paused and scratched his cheek, “That… actually makes sense!”

Still, curiosity is human nature. Who would be satisfied without going to see for themselves?

Truthfully, if Li Yunfei didn’t have more pressing matters, he’d be itching to see as well.

In the locker room, he stripped off his tactical vest and camouflage, changed into casual sportswear, packed all his gear into his camo rucksack, and everyone headed for the parking lot.

Li Yunfei drove the BJ240 off-road vehicle he’d bought after leaving the service, toward his home.

The real-life CS base was located in the western suburbs of Yu East County, about eight kilometers from his apartment complex, Egret Peninsula.

A few minutes later, he pulled smoothly into his own underground parking spot.

After multiple times of finding his space occupied, he’d installed a triangle lock. Since then, no one had dared to take it.