A bizarre resurrection: I, Yang Jian, am bound by a contract with the school beauty!

There are peach trees by the roadside.

The petals fell onto the protective suit, spreading out like blood.

The captain immediately shouted, "Retreat!"

But the person at the very back of the line had already disappeared.

There were no screams.

There were no gunshots.

There was only one more boot on the ground.

The second team member turned and fired.

The bullets flew deep into the peach grove.

But after the gunshots rang out, the same gunshots came from afar.

It's as if their attacks were swallowed up by the world in the painting, only to be spat out from another place.

The next second, Zhang Hong walked out of a building on the side of the group.

Her neck was tilted to the side, and she was dragging a puppet in her hand.

Without hesitation, the captain detonated the incendiary bomb.

White flames instantly engulfed the street.

Zhang Hong's clone stood in the fire, its skin peeling up layer by layer, revealing the wood-like texture beneath.

She was burned beyond recognition.

But the puppet raised its head and looked at the team.

The captain's body stiffened abruptly.

His limbs seemed to be held in place by invisible red threads, and they were lifted up uncontrollably.

"team leader!"

The teammates next to him wanted to save him.

But it was too late.

The captain's neck snapped back.

Click.

He was dragged into the depths of the flames like a puppet on a string, pulled by the red thread.

Communication lost.

The second team encountered the same situation.

They did not enter the peach grove.

They chose to approach via underground pipes.

Halfway through, a wooden door appeared at the end of the pipe.

Behind the door was a main room.

Ghostly paintings hung on the walls of the main room.

Zhang Bo sat there, head down, writing.

One of the team members wanted to fire.

But the moment his finger touched the trigger, his body was crushed by a force.

It's as if the whole person has been slapped into the paper.

He pasted it on the wall, and it became a painting.

He still has his eyes open in the painting.

The third team fared even worse.

They rappelled down from the high-rise building, attempting to reach the top floor of the target building directly.

But as soon as the rappelling rope was lowered, the color of the sky changed.

The dark clouds disappeared.

Instead, there was a piece of gray and white drawing paper.

All the team members were suspended in mid-air, like tiny black dots hanging on a painting.

A breeze carrying peach blossoms blew by.

The rope broke.

The person did not land.

Instead, it was blown into the painting by the wind.

Inside the command center, the casualty figures kept changing.

Qin Taotao clenched her fingers so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"Stop the intrusion."

"Change to remote suppression."

"Don't let anyone else into the painting area."

The operations commander gritted his teeth: "But this won't destroy the core."

Qin Taotao said, "Going in is just suicide."

She knew it very well.

The scope of the ghost drawing has already taken shape.

No matter how strong a modern military force is, once it enters an area covered by the "ghost painting" (a term referring to a specific type of military formation), its rules will be distorted.

The shells can still fire.

No one can go in anymore.

Because when people go inside, they become part of the painting.

A replica of Zhang Hong emerged from the old city.

Seven Zhang Hongs appeared on different streets.

They were like seven gates, blocking the way between the troops and the ghost paintings.

The artillery fire continued to pour down.

They were constantly torn apart, yet they kept rising again.

Every time I stand up, my body feels less like a human being.

In the end, those Zhang Hongs had completely turned into puppets.

Skin cracked, joints twisted.

But they still blocked it.

A tank commander saw through his scope that a replica of Zhang Hong was standing on the ruins, raising his hand toward them.

He opened fire immediately.

The shell hit its target.

The replica was blown to pieces.

Just as the train commander was about to report a hit, he suddenly heard the sound of wood rubbing together inside the train.

He looked down and saw that a red thread had been wrapped around his wrist at some point.

The next second, a series of cracking sounds came from inside the tank.

The tank did not explode.

But everyone inside had lost their voice.

The outer armor remains intact.

Inside, however, all was deathly silent.

On the other side, fighter jets are preparing to launch a low-altitude strike.

The pilot locked onto the target and was about to drop the bomb when a picture appeared on the radar.

The painting took up the entire screen.

The painting depicts a peach orchard, a path, and a woman with her back to him.

The pilot's breath hitched.

The wingman shouted into the comms, "Take off! Take off!"

He jerked the control stick.

But the sky outside the cockpit had turned gray.

The fighter jet seemed to have crashed into a giant canvas.

The next second, it disappeared from the radar.

There was no explosion.

There was no wreckage.

Only in the distant, ghostly painting did an additional plane appear, crashed deep within the peach grove.

Everyone understood.

You can't force your way through the ghost paintings using conventional methods.

At least, they couldn't break in before Meng Xiaodong and Zhang Bo finished their preparations.

The atmosphere in the headquarters conference room was extremely tense.

"Zhang Hong's clone is still active."

"The effectiveness of firepower suppression has decreased."

"The area covered by the ghost drawing has been expanded to 1,200 meters."

"It's still expanding."

"Zhang Bo's supernatural fluctuations are increasing."

"Project Peach Blossom Spring appears to be entering its final stage."

Every report is like a knife.

Qin Taotao stared at the screen, her voice hoarse: "How much longer does Yang Jian have?"

The staff member whispered, "We can't get in touch with them."

Qin Taotao fell silent.

She knew Yang Jian wasn't going to leave.

He must be busy with something on his end too.

But ghost drawings won't wait.

Deep in the old city of Donghai.

The lights in the main room flickered on and off.

Zhang Bo finally put down his pen.

The paper in front of him was covered with densely written words.

Each word seemed to be alive, slowly wriggling.

The peach grove in the ghost painting is no longer a painting.

It looks like a door.

A breeze was blowing out from behind the door.

The wind carries the scent of peach blossoms.

It also carried the smell of death.

Meng Xiaodong turned around and looked at Zhang Bo.

"alright?"

Zhang Bo nodded slowly.

His hands were rotting, and his fingers revealed the white bone.

But there was a morbid excitement in his eyes.

"We can begin."

Zhang Hong stood up from the ground.

Her face looked worse than a dead person's.

Maintaining seven clones came at a price for her.

Wood grain appeared on her arms.

There were also red lines embedded in the skin on the back of my neck.

She knew that if she continued, she would become a complete part of the puppet ghost.

But she didn't back down.

She looked at Zhang Bo and whispered, "The fighting is still going on outside."

Zhang Bo said, "They can't get in."

Zhang Hong smiled and said, "That would be best."

Meng Xiaodong remained silent.

She walked up to the ghost painting, reached out her hand, and gently touched the frame.

In that instant, the entire old town fell silent.

The artillery fire was still falling.

But the sound seemed to be isolated in another world.

Ruins, streets, flames, tanks, and the afterimages of fighter jets were all shrouded in a layer of gray.

More and more peach blossoms are falling.

One piece, two pieces, thousands upon thousands of pieces.

They rise from the old city and spread outwards.

On the combat screen, red alerts were flashing wildly.

"The price of the 'ghost drawing' has surged!"

"Coverage area exceeds two kilometers!"

"Reality is eroding us further!"

"Zhang Bo's target fluctuations coincide with the ghost drawing!"

"Project Peach Blossom Spring is launched!"

Qin Taotao suddenly stood up.

The expressions on the faces of all the high-ranking officials changed.

They still couldn't stop it.

Even if fighter jets, tanks, missiles, and the most elite combat troops are mobilized.

Even though they had locked onto the East China Sea in the shortest possible time.

But when faced with the real supernatural, the power of reality still seems too slow.

Too heavy.

Too stupid.

In the center of the old town, the ghost painting slowly unfolded.

The cobblestone path in the painting extends out and lands on the real street.

The peach tree grew out of the cement ground.

Petals covered the craters.

The flames turned into the colors of the painting.

Zhang Bo stood up.

His body swayed precariously, yet it was as if he had accomplished something of utmost importance.

He looked at the peach blossom paradise in the painting, his voice hoarse.

"here we go."

Meng Xiaodong stood beside him, her gaze calm.

Zhang Hong's seven clones stopped moving at the same time.

They looked up, all in the same direction.

There, reality is being swallowed up by ghost paintings.

The sky over Donghai City began to turn grayish-white.

On the headquarters screens, all the data jumped to the highest alert level at that moment.

The Ghost Lake has not yet been calmed.

Ghostly drawings are popping up again.

Qin Taotao slowly clenched her fist.

She did not speak.

Because she knew that saying anything now would be useless.

The Peach Blossom Spring Project has been restarted.