Jiang Luo gripped the beer bottle and suddenly stabbed toward the voice.
But his hand was caught by another.
Chi You smiled. “No rush.”
“We’ve got plenty of time.”
…
As dawn approached, Jiang Luo abruptly opened his eyes.
His gaze slowly swept from left to right. The desk was on the right. The doorknob on the left. Turning to the window, he saw the handle on the right—and outside, an auspicious golden light shimmered faintly.
He was awake.
But his face darkened. He sat up grimly.
The bedsheets were soaked through with sweat, outlining the shape of a human figure. The back of his shirt was completely drenched.
Without a word, he pushed open the balcony door and stepped into the dew-laden morning air, scanning the surroundings.
Birdsong chirped in the air. A sparrow landed on the railing, clutching it with tiny claws.
A long, pale hand shot out and grabbed the bird. Jiang Luo held it close, his eyes cold and shadowed. The corner of his mouth curled into a chilling smile. “It was you, wasn’t it.”
His hand slowly tightened. The sparrow’s dark, lifeless eyes quietly stared at him. Jiang Luo’s grip got tighter and tighter, but just when it reached the limit, he suddenly loosened his hold.
“Eighteen times,” Jiang Luo muttered to himself, his smile growing wider and wider. He looked into the sparrow’s eyes and said, “Chi You, you’ve killed me eighteen times.”
During the last of those deaths, Jiang Luo had gone all in, dragging Chi You off the balcony with him, making sure Chi You hit the ground first and turned into a bloody pulp.
“Did it feel good to die?” he hissed viciously into Chi You’s ear.
The mangled Chi You had smiled and replied, “Ah, not as beautiful as watching you die.”
Eighteen times in total—and Jiang Luo had only managed to kill Chi You once.
A murderous gleam surged in Jiang Luo’s eyes. He gently stroked the sparrow’s head and smiled. “What’s the point of killing one of your little puppets?”
In a low voice, he said, “That’s not nearly enough.”
You don’t even feel pain, do you?
Jiang Luo let go of the sparrow and walked back inside, his face cold.
The fury burning in his chest, along with the violent energy accumulated from dying eighteen times, was about to explode from his body. Chi You, Chi You, Chi You—at first, he’d just wanted to help Chi You find the real mastermind behind everything, to make up for the original body’s mistakes. But now?
Too bad.
Now, he had only one thought: he was going to kill Chi You.
He was absolutely going to kill Chi You.
The aftereffects of the dream still lingered on Jiang Luo, making him suspect that the room was steeped in a ghostly presence—maybe even hiding a fragment of Chi You’s soul.
He gathered everything related to Chi You into the center of the living room. The cup Chi You had used was smashed. The clothes Chi You had worn were tossed away like garbage. He even found the black suit Chi You had worn in the dream inside the wardrobe.
Jiang Luo sneered coldly and tossed the suit to the top of the trash pile, then lit it with a lighter.
The expensive fabric ignited instantly, the flames almost reaching the ceiling. Jiang Luo lit a cigarette with the fire.
Sparks flickered. Standing next to the burning pile, his expression was dark and unreadable. He took a drag, eyes cold, watching the flames spread from the clothing to the floor.
The fire alarm blared shrilly.
The sofa, the cabinets, the coffee table, the decorations—
It was a complete mess.
Destroying Chi You’s belongings didn’t make Jiang Luo feel even a bit better. He stood in front of the fire until it threatened to hurt him, then opened the door and left.
Not long after, someone rushed in with a hose.
Then came the others—classmates who had come in a hurry, some still in pajamas. All seven of them had shown up. The first thing they saw was Jiang Luo, dressed in nothing but a shirt, covered in smoke and soot.
He was barefoot and disheveled. The ends of his hair were slightly singed, but he didn’t appear injured.
Wenren Lian was the first to take off his cloak and drape it over Jiang Luo, his smile fading. “Come to my place first. We’ll talk then.”
Kuang Zheng found a pair of rubber boots in the downstairs storeroom and silently placed them next to Jiang Luo.
The teachers’ quarters weren’t far from the students’, but were in separate buildings. Chi You’s room had no neighbors above, below, or beside it—which was why the fire hadn’t been discovered until it had spread for a while.
After going downstairs, Jiang Luo turned back for a look.
Thick black smoke still billowed from Chi You’s window. The fire was out.
Jiang Luo curled his lips in a cold sneer and lowered his head as he walked toward the student dorms.
Once inside, he realized Lu Youyi had been mistaken about the room’s size. Though not as big as Chi You’s, the student dorms were still around 80 square meters—more than enough for a studio apartment.
Wenren Lian’s dorm was simply furnished. As the others sat in the living room, Jiang Luo borrowed a change of clothes and went to shower. In the bathroom mirror, he saw a trace of blood at the center of his brow.
He immediately recalled the cut on his hand from the sparrow’s peck. That drop of blood must’ve been taken by Chi You through the sparrow.
Was that how he’d been pulled into the dream?
Jiang Luo wiped away the blood, his gaze turning sharp. He took a deep breath to steady himself and quickly got dressed.
When he returned, the others had already started discussing the fire. Upon seeing him, Lu Youyi asked first, “Jiang Luo, what happened? How did the fire start?”
Jiang Luo dried his hair as he calmly walked over and sat down. “When I woke up, the room was already on fire.”
Lu Youyi frowned. “That’s weird… could it have been your cigarette that started it?”
Zhuo Zhongqiu said, “Lu Youyi, how can you be so clueless? Didn’t you notice?”
She looked at the center of Jiang Luo’s forehead. “When we saw him earlier, there was blood there. The color was dark—it likely contained corpse energy that suppressed the vitality of the living. Jiang Luo was pulled into a dream.”
The Zhuo family practiced both soul and body cultivation. Zhuo Zhongqiu was far more sensitive to spirits than the average person. She could sense a faint aura of yin energy lingering around Jiang Luo, but couldn’t determine its source. “Jiang Luo, what did you dream about?”
Jiang Luo slowly tightened his grip on the towel, soaking up the water from his hair ends. His eyes were deep, then suddenly, he smiled brightly.
“I saw Chi You,” he said softly. “He…”
He paused, slowly straightening up, his eyes sweeping over everyone in the room.
Lu Youyi, Ye Xun, Zhuo Zhongqiu, Ge Zhu.
Kuang Zheng, Wenren Lian, and a blond, blue-eyed foreigner named Cyril.
He met each of their gazes, but saw nothing unusual.
Jiang Luo then looked toward the balcony.
The doors and windows were tightly shut. No sparrows or other animals in sight.
Chi You shouldn’t be here—but the puppet soul technique he used had left Jiang Luo, who had just been burned once, in a deeply irritable state.
“What happened?” Ye Xun asked curiously.
“I dreamed of him last night,” Jiang Luo withdrew his gaze and leaned back against the couch, speaking calmly. “He said it’s lonely down there… being all alone. He always wants me to keep him company. And he confessed to me again. The dreams were weird—I had eighteen of them, and in every single one, it was just me and him.”
“We did the most intimate thing in the world together.” He killed Chi You. Chi You killed him.
“We went through many thrilling and unforgettable dates together.” Burning, drowning, hanging, falling from heights.
“There were times I almost couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or awake.”
Jiang Luo suddenly chuckled. “In one dream, we stood on a tall building. He told me that if I jumped, I’d be free, and the rest of my life would be free of worries.”
After speaking, he looked around and was stunned. “Why do all your faces look so awful?”
“An evil spirit is still an evil spirit. Even if Chi You became one, he’d still act like this,” Zhuo Zhongqiu said darkly.
Ge Zhu frowned. “Eighteen levels of dreams, that’s just…”
“It clearly means he wanted to kill him,” Zhuo Zhongqiu scoffed. “Free of worry, forget your troubles? Still the same old tricks. What bullsh*t. I thought Chi You might still be saved, but now it looks like he’s completely beyond redemption. Eighteen dreams—anyone with even slightly weak willpower would never have woken up. Look at that fire that started out of nowhere—if Jiang Luo had woken up even a second later, what would’ve happened to him?”
Most likely, he would have never woken up again.
Cursing under her breath, Zhuo Zhongqiu suddenly stood and fixed her sharp gaze on Jiang Luo. “You’d better wake up.”
Jiang Luo replied, “I can’t stop him from coming to me.”
To everyone else, that sounded like an excuse. Someone studying metaphysics, pulled into a dream by an evil spirit, didn’t know how to break it? That was like a teenager insisting on dating a scumbag despite every warning—naive and stupid. If you’re going to lie, at least lie well.
Ye Xun added lightly, “Jiang Luo only has three course credits.”
…
An awkward silence fell over the room.
Ye Xun continued, “Ever since Chi You died, he hasn’t taken even the most basic studies seriously. You expect him to break out of the dream after seeing Chi You? Just waking up was already lucky.”
Kuang Zheng shook his head. “That’s not going to work.”
Multiple disappointed and frustrated glances were cast at Jiang Luo. Wenren Lian tentatively asked, “Jiang Luo, when you saw Chi You in the dream, did you feel happy?”
Jiang Luo grinned. “Happy. Extremely happy.”
“But don’t worry,” he added with a light smile. “I’m not going with him anytime soon. Like I said—I’m going to avenge Chi You and find the one who really killed him.”
“I have to get stronger,” Jiang Luo murmured, slowly opening his hand and looking at his palm.
“Without power, you can’t do anything.”
The urgency that had been forcing him to become stronger only grew fiercer, now mixed with a burning rage.
Jiang Luo clenched his hand into a fist again.
He really wanted Chi You to taste what it felt like—to die eighteen times in one night.
***
Jiang Luo wasted no time. After eating, he went to class with the others.
Their major—Natural Sciences and Social Studies—was broad, including divisions like Mountain, Medicine, Life, Divination, and Physiognomy. That morning’s class was on Talismanic Arts.
Jiang Luo searched the original body’s memory, but didn’t find anything useful.
The teacher was an old man in a Daoist robe, stern and intimidating.
Jiang Luo sat in his designated seat. The materials for writing talismans were already set: yellow paper, red paper, brush, ink, inkstone, and a ritual stamp.
The ink had herbs mixed in to ward off evil, giving it a medicinal scent. The brush was carved with ancient runes and clearly aged.
When everyone had arrived, the old man said: “The talisman we’re learning today isn’t easy. If even half of you succeed, I’ll be satisfied. If it feels too difficult, stop immediately—don’t force yourself to finish. That could be dangerous. Do you understand?”
Ge Zhu replied, “Yes, sir. We understand. Please begin.”
The teacher calmed himself and began chanting incantations, then focused his energy and drew the talisman in one smooth, uninterrupted motion.
By the time he finished, sweat had already formed on his brow. He put down the brush and let out a deep breath. Jiang Luo noticed a faint golden light flicker above the talisman, and on closer look, saw flowing, elegant script—vigorous and vivid, as if alive, exuding a faint spiritual aura.
It was Jiang Luo’s first time witnessing someone draw a talisman, and though it was unfamiliar, something strange happened—he managed to memorize it almost instantly.
Next to him, Lu Youyi frowned. “Why is this Suppression Talisman so hard? There’s no way I can draw it properly.”
Jiang Luo turned to him. “Suppression Talisman?”
“There are many kinds of talismans,” Lu Youyi explained, “like summoning talismans, healing talismans, suppression talismans. Suppression talismans suppresses evil and banishes spirits.”
Jiang Luo smiled wider. “Interesting.”
It’d be great if it could suppress Chi You.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s interesting—we can’t write it,” Lu Youyi sighed. “To make a talisman, you need to circulate qi. But everyone’s qi is limited. For a complex and powerful talisman like this, most people run out of qi halfway through. If you push past that, you’ll just hurt yourself.”
But Jiang Luo had a strange feeling he could draw it easily. “What happens if you run out of qi and keep drawing?” he asked.
Lu Youyi answered seriously, “You might suffer qi deviation.”
“…”
He went back to his seat, picked up the brush, and focused his qi.
Jiang Luo held the brush above the yellow talisman paper, trying to chant like the teacher—but unfortunately, he didn’t know a single incantation.
So he put the brush down, opened the talisman manual, and compared symbols one by one until he found the right chant. He recited it a few times, clumsily and out of rhythm.
The teacher, patrolling the room, saw Jiang Luo’s sloppy attempts and couldn’t help but sigh.
“This child is hopeless,” he muttered in disappointment.
Ge Zhu glanced sideways at Jiang Luo and couldn’t help but sigh. Finally, he stepped forward, planning to guide Jiang Luo on how to draw the talisman.
Jiang Luo had just put down the book—he had memorized the incantation and was about to pick up the brush again. Suddenly, he remembered: drawing a talisman requires channeling qi. But what exactly was qi?
The foreigner sitting to Jiang Luo’s left, Cyril, also wore a distressed look. He held the brush as awkwardly as if it were chopsticks, and his face was smeared with ink. Seeing Jiang Luo frozen at his desk, Cyril gave him a big, clueless smile and said in a heavy accent, “You okay? No worry, I can’t either. Nobody can.”
But Jiang Luo wasn’t willing to be helpless.
He had to master something to strengthen himself—to deal with Chi You.
He never wanted to experience something like last night again, utterly powerless and unable to fight back.
A surge of anger and frustration welled up from within. Jiang Luo took a deep breath and, instead of continuing to question how to channel qi, simply lowered his brush without hesitation.
The moment he began the first stroke, his entire being became absorbed in the talisman. Every flick, every hidden stroke of the Suppression Talisman was somehow already etched in his mind. With complete focus and no errors or pauses, Jiang Luo drew the entire talisman in a single, unbroken motion.
But something didn’t feel right when he finished. The old master had been sweating lightly after completing one talisman, but Jiang Luo? He felt completely refreshed—like he’d just casually sketched a simple blueprint.
Honestly, this talisman wasn’t even as complex as some diagrams he’d seen.
Assuming he’d failed, Jiang Luo set down the brush and looked up—only to find Ge Zhu standing stiffly in front of his desk, staring at the talisman with wide eyes.
“Ji-Jiang Luo,” Ge Zhu stammered, “Do-do you sell talismans?”
Author’s Note:
Shou: Huh? I’ve had a revelation.
