Time crawled by, second after second. In her sleep, Luo Qingxin’s face turned chalk-white.
Her brows pinched tight, lips pale as death, body quaking—even the softer bits trembled with the shakes. Fear had her in its jaws.
Fang Xiu stood there, still as stone. He was waiting. Waiting for her mind to soak up enough punishment to flip her Spiritual Energy into Mindflare. The pieces were in place—now it came down to that mental spark.
It dragged on slow.
Then, all at once, her body seized.
Fists balled up, legs snapped straight, every muscle pulling tight like something was fighting to break free. But just as quick, she went slack—collapsed like a popped balloon, melting into the bed in a loose pile.
Fang Xiu’s brow flicked up. Bust.
It seemed that the fifth tier doesn’t just hand itself over. Luck, guts, talent—you need it all.
No sweat, though. They’d go again.
That’s the perk of dreams—one nightmare tanks, you just line up the next.
In the real world, you’d get one crack. Mess it up, and you’re done.
He kicked off another nightmare. Luo Qingxin started twitching again, eyes squeezed shut, teeth digging into her lip till it nearly split.
Blast after blast of brutal pressure hammered her mind. Then, it hit—the breaking point.
Her body locked up again, stiff as steel.
“Ah!”
A raw scream tore out of her as her eyes shot open, blazing with a sharp white light that could freeze your blood—Mindflare. Fifth tier, nailed.
That dazzling glow spilled over her, lighting up her pale skin in the shadowy room like she was some divine figure.
She blinked at Fang Xiu, foggy for a beat, then cracked a smile. “I made it!”
She glanced down at herself, shimmering with Mindflare, and the smile stalled.
No high-pitched yelp—just a quiet pause as she tugged her clothes back on, head low.
With Luo Qingxin’s breakthrough, Fang Xiu’s rep as the fifth-tier craftsman was locked tight.
One hitch: the jump needed the Specter Pattern move, and the only one who had it down was the shriveled corpse at the tattoo shop.
Fang Xiu had watched the whole thing, trying to learn the method, but no luck.
Tricks from a dead age don’t just unravel because you squint at them.
Maybe the Specter Pawnshop knew how it worked, Fang Xiu figured. That place knew stuff like Zhou Qingfeng’s spot in the Land Between—and maybe the Specter Pattern tattoo manual too.
The pawnshop probably had the paper doll gig, the scapegoat puppet, burial shroud how-to—all that ancient know-how.
Fang Xiu considered hauling that back to the real world—psychics there would leap a full tier.
Those scraps from a lost time were worth their weight in gold.
Fang Xiu’s hunger to own the Land Between-to-real-world hookup grew fierce.
This place was a goldmine—forgotten psychic skills, Grey Fog, Specters, his Taotie crew. Lock that down, and he’d be unstoppable.
He could roll out the National Psychic Program smooth as silk—end this era’s Specters, anchor the real world as his base, and push the Other Side back, one move at a time.
Then he realized that .he had he seen this script before.
Zhou Qingfeng flashed in his mind. Same plan, different flavor: rally the psychics, crush an era’s Specters, strike at the Other Side… then wipe out.
He shook it off.
Zhou Qingfeng flamed out—doesn’t mean he would.
“Xiu.” Luo Qingxin’s voice cut through his headspace.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.” He tossed her a quick nod. “Get going.”
“Mm.” She let out a soft hum, her face a mix of feelings as she turned and walked off.
In the days that came next, Fang Xiu kept to the plan.
Every day, he held one person back, nudging them up to the fifth tier.
No shocks there—Li Xiaoru, Luo Qingxin, and Xiong Tianguang, all top fourth-tiers, broke through to fifth-tier powerhouses.
When you’ve got the system down, crossing that line starts looking simple.
Looks being the big word. Truth is, it’s a rare mix: peak fourth-tier roots, the Land Between’s strange vibe, the Specter Pattern move, a Class-S Specter under control, and nightmares that can pound your head nonstop. Skip one part, and it all crumbles.
A few days later, just beyond Whitestone, Lu Ziming, Tong Yang, and Wen Jinglong grouped up under the sky’s creepy glow. No one sniffed out their quiet huddle.
“How much did you rake in today?” Lu Ziming asked, his face a blank slate.
“Fifteen grand,” Tong Yang replied.
“Sixteen,” Wen Jinglong chipped in.
Lu Ziming’s expression turned heavy. “Tally it up—we’ve likely hit the one hundred mark. If I’ve got it right, we head back today, and it’s time to trade for the Zhous’ Mansion key.”
That should’ve been a victory worth a cheer, but the three of them looked like they’d swallowed something bitter. No grins, just unease.
Lu Ziming read their vibes. “Seems we’re all thinking the same thing.”
“Yeah,” Tong Yang mumbled. “We’re out of juice.”
“Time to ditch the mules and slice ’em up,” Wen Jinglong said, voice dark.
“Good. No one’s fooling themselves,” Lu Ziming said, his tone low and sharp. “After nearly two months, I reckon you’ve both got Fang Xiu figured out. He’s never seen us as anything but tools to churn out cash. Like mules. Once the job’s done, we’re useless. Then it’s straight to the chopping block. Don’t forget he can feed on Spiritual Energy. To him, us fifth- and fourth-tiers? We’re top-shelf meals. Walking power packs. So we strike first—can’t just sit around waiting to get eaten.”
A icy, killer spark lit up his eyes.
Tong Yang let out a heavy breath, shoulders sagging. “Easier to say than do. Haven’t you seen it? Li Xiaoru and the rest all hit fifth tier. I get why they feared Fang Xiu some much now. They said he basically created the first fifth-tier psychic in the real world. Now I see it’s real. He can make it happen. They’ve got three fifth-tiers in their corner, plus a hundred Taoties rolling deep. How do we take that on? Unless we flip his crew—but after all this time, I’ve watched close. Those guys don’t think for themselves. Fang Xiu’s their brain on loan. I’d stake everything that if he said jump off a cliff, they’d queue up and wave on the way down. Loyalty like that? No chance we’re flipping them.”