The time was nearing noon, but the heavy blackout curtains had kept the light of Upper City sealed outside.

The room was filled with a bizarre mixture of smells: the lingering scent of blood, the sharp odor of disinfectant, the cloying sweetness of premium incense striving in vain to mask it all, and... a deeper, otherworldly cold and eerie atmosphere.

The commissioner stood in the room; he hadn't closed his eyes for the entire night.

He verified the Evil Sacrificial Ceremony three more times, and the results were identical to the first time!

The rolling, dense black mist that seemed to devour all light gathered on the ceiling every single time!

That pair of evil eyes, constantly morphing between deep ebon black, deathly bone white, and blood-dripping crimson, emerged from the black mist each time.

Including the initial attempt, the commissioner had conducted the Evil Sacrificial Ceremony a total of 4 times, and the Evil Sacrifice had arrived 4 times accordingly.

Four summons, four responses—the attendance rate of the Evil Sacrifice was a shocking one hundred percent!

This outcome left the commissioner shivering with a thrill deep in his soul despite his extreme exhaustion!

It must be known that, according to big data statistics, ninety-nine percent of the verified successful Evil Sacrificial Ceremonies have shown evidence of authentic ones.

Some need to conduct dozens of ceremonies for the Evil Sacrifice to respond once, while others need hundreds to receive a single response.

After all, the Evil Sacrifice is either asleep or in a dimension where the signal is incredibly difficult to reach, or it has long faded into the river of time, or perhaps it simply disdains answering the calls of insects.

A constantly on-call Evil Sacrifice like this?

Unheard of! Unprecedented!

This feeling was as if an Evil Sacrifice was online 24 hours a day, specially serving him, responding to every call—it was simply ridiculous.

Even though the commissioner still did not know the real name of this Evil Sacrifice and could not glimpse its full contour.

He was absolutely certain that the Evil Sacrifice connected through the Sheepskin Scroll was the most approachable in history.

The only problem was, each time the Evil Sacrifice descended, it would leave that repeated question:

"Do you want to understand the meaning of life? Do you want to truly... live?"

To the commissioner, it was as if the guest unfailingly attended the banquet but was never quite satisfied after every meal, then left without a care.

"I've clearly had the maid think repeatedly about the question during the ceremony and even recite the answer in their hearts!"

The commissioner, agitated, stared at the newest stain on the floor:

"Why is it still not right? Is it the 'answer' I gave them? Or... are they just inherently unqualified?"

The commissioner leaned more towards the latter possibility.

Those servants, with their physical disabilities and mental emasculation—could they comprehend such ultimate questions as the 'meaning of life'?

Their very existence might be seen by the Evil Sacrifice as a tarnishing of the question itself.

"So, what exactly would be the 'qualified' sacrifices that meet the Evil Sacrifice's taste?" The commissioner pondered in vain.

But clearly, the servants had been ruled out, so he needed more samples, more diverse types of "experimental materials" to trial and error.

Thinking of this, the commissioner couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment in his heart:

"Come on, none qualify, yet you still clean the plate every time? Not a crumb left?"

It felt like being deliberately freeloaded, but he had no evidence and no way to lodge a complaint with the Evil Sacrifice.

He could only act like a humble chef, continually changing ingredients, hoping to accidentally create a dish that the other party would be satisfied with.

"If I could capture the Mask, I'd be able to get the correct answer directly from him," the commissioner couldn't help but think.

But it didn't matter; after all, with the Sheepskin Scroll in hand, slowly trial and error, he would eventually find the right sample.

After all, the world was least lacking in experimental materials—people—as much as one could want.

Just as the commissioner's thoughts were churning, Feng Ju rushed to the villa.

Upon stepping into the hall, he immediately noticed the villa feeling increasingly spacious, with the number of servants reduced by nearly half.

Feng Ju felt a sudden chill up his spine, a cold understanding of the commissioner's madness refreshed once again.

But then, an uncontrollable heat surged from the bottom of his heart—the more obsessed the commissioner was with the Evil Sacrificial Ceremony, the easier it would be to bite into the carefully prepared bait.

Feng Ju suppressed the heat in his eyes, quickly adjusting his expression and slightly lowering his head, assuming a respectful stance.

The commissioner walked down the stairs and stood a few steps away from Feng Ju.

He frowned and asked:

"The task I assigned you... is it done?"

Feng Ju immediately bowed his head, intentionally lowering his voice with a trace of "fear" and "guilt":

"I invited Li Shang out last night. I was planning to take action, but there was a complication..."

Before he could finish, the commissioner's face had already turned as dark as water.

These days, he had heard enough of so-called "complications" and "accidents"—just excuses for incompetence dressed up by useless people.

The commissioner's patience had finally worn out, and his gaze towards Feng Ju became dangerously sharp.

"Forget it, since you're so useless, I'll use you as the sacrifice for the next experiment. Waste not, want not, it at least provides some final value."

The commissioner slowly raised his hand hanging by his side.

At this critical juncture!

Feng Ju suddenly lifted his head, urgently saying,

"Commissioner, I found the Mask!"

As if the pause button was pressed!

The commissioner's raised palm halted mid-air, before slowly resting on Feng Ju's shoulder.