The Price of Power and a Troublesome Savior

Zhuo pressed down hard on Zheng Shouquan’s shoulders, pinning the screeching ghost to the ground. “Hurry up! His rotten blood is getting on my hands!”

“I’m trying,” Yuan Anqing replied. His hearing had somewhat recovered, and he was attempting to rouse his power. Yet, after much effort, he found no success.

The effortless control he’d experienced yesterday, as natural as breathing, had completely vanished. Yuan Anqing strained for a long time, but no golden flames emerged.

They had tackled Zheng Shouquan and dragged him into the bushes of a small grove. Zhuo’s previous lightning strike had caused too much commotion, and it was likely the townsfolk would investigate soon, so they couldn’t risk exposure.

Zheng Shouquan struggled violently to break free, but Zhuo’s strength was overwhelming. Moreover, under Zhuo’s direct physical suppression, the ghost was utterly unable to dematerialize.

“Stop moving,” Yuan Anqing commanded, firmly holding Zheng Shouquan’s head to look him in the eye. “Once my power is released, you’ll be free.”

Zhuo grumbled, “We look like a gang of street thugs tormenting a helpless old man.”

“Don’t you like being a villain?” Yuan Anqing tried to meet Zheng Shouquan’s chaotic gaze, but his golden eyes merely flickered faintly before fading to black.

“Being a villain is great, of course, but bullying old people is classless,” Zhuo retorted. He preferred being the kind of grand, apocalyptic villain who destroyed worlds, not one who mugs retirees in a bush.

Still unable to unleash his power, Yuan Anqing could only appeal to his bodyguard. “Can you help me draw out my power?” His abilities seemed to erupt only as a passive, stress-induced response.

“No way! Your conscious power is terrifying!” Zhuo refused without hesitation. He had no desire to relive the fear of his mind being invaded; that feeling of his ego being consumed at any moment was too bizarre. “Can’t you just awaken it yourself? Using power is simple!”

“I’ve never used magic before.” Before arriving in this world, Yuan Anqing had been an ordinary office worker.

“Then try harder! Aren’t you supposed to be super smart? You’re a master’s student!” Zhuo’s tone was fierce, though he kept his booming voice low to avoid detection.

Yuan Anqing paused, recalling his first meeting with Zhuo and his subtle jab about Zhuo’s lack of education. “You actually remembered that petty little detail until now?”

“I don’t remember anything. I don’t have a master’s degree, so I’m not that smart.” Zhuo wasn’t trying to throw a tantrum; he was simply reminding Yuan Anqing that he hadn’t been particularly kind in the past and shouldn’t expect free psychic tutoring now.

“Not having a master’s degree doesn’t stop you from trying to eat people,” Yuan Anqing countered.

“Aha! You said it yourself! I knew you were holding a grudge about me wanting to eat you.” Zhuo sneered triumphantly.

“Would any normal person be happy about such a messed-up threat?” Sometimes, Yuan Anqing genuinely wanted to crack open Zhuo’s skull to see what peculiar rocks were rattling around inside.

“Messed-up?! Eating you is an incredibly important milestone to me!” Zhuo found it unbelievable. “You actually think this is a messed-up thing?”

“Thank you, but I can’t bring myself to be flattered by it.” Yuan Anqing knew full well that Zhuo was just trying to change the subject. Zhuo was extremely wary of Yuan Anqing’s power—much like a human encountering fire for the first time. Once burned, they instinctively wanted to keep their distance.

Yuan Anqing, for his part, had the patience to bicker with Zhuo all day, but the ghost they were pinning down was clearly growing agitated by the delay.

The crimson lightning in the ash-gray sky became more frequent, and a swirling vortex composed of countless dark desires began to rapidly converge on Yuan Anqing’s location.

It happened in an instant.

Zhuo’s reaction was swift. Realizing Zheng Shouquan’s chaotic energy was about to overwhelm them, Zhuo quickly released his own terrifying aura of desire, flooding the area to trigger Yuan Anqing’s defense mechanism.

The golden light in Yuan Anqing’s eyes flared brilliantly. The terrifying vortex of apocalyptic energy, along with the ghost itself, was instantly absorbed into his pupils.

Subsequently, the golden glow in Yuan Anqing’s eyes receded, and he stood rooted to the spot, as if lost in thought.

Zhuo, standing beside him, was similarly affected. His crimson eyes instantly lost focus, and he stared blankly in Yuan Anqing’s direction.

Within the mental space constructed by Yuan Anqing’s power, Yuan Anqing and Zhuo faced each other, speechless for a long time.

Finally, Zhuo couldn’t hold back. “Where is this?”

“It might be a small fragment of the past,” Yuan Anqing explained, looking around.

Zhuo surveyed the brightly lit, sterile room. “This doesn’t look like the farmer’s past.”

“It’s not his. It’s yours.” Yuan Anqing squatted down to meet Zhuo’s gaze.

Zhuo now appeared to be only six or seven years old. His crystalline horns were just two slightly protruding triangles, not yet fully grown.

Little Zhuo’s pupils constricted in horror. “Is your attack targeting me again?!”

“Clearly not.” Yuan Anqing was uncharacteristically embarrassed. “I was too nervous just now, and I might have overreacted.” All living beings near him were included in his psychic defense perimeter, which was why Zhuo was accidentally dragged into the purification space alongside the ghost.

“Let me out of here!” Little Zhuo clamored, backing away.

“I can’t just burn my way out like last time,” Yuan Anqing said. He wasn’t yet sure of a gentle way to exit the mental space. “That would hurt your mind. Otherwise, why do you think this fragment manifested as your nightmare? We have to overcome it to leave.”

Little Zhuo’s face contorted in sheer terror. “Clearly!”

Why? Yuan Anqing wondered. Logically, Bai Tian and the staff hadn’t physically mistreated Zhuo, so he shouldn’t have any unbearable trauma. As for his loneliness, that’s a long-term chronic condition, not a specific phobia tied to a single room.

“I don’t care!” Little Zhuo took two steps forward and grabbed Yuan Anqing’s collar. “Take me out of here quickly! Painlessly!”

Just as he spoke, a lady in a sterile protective suit poked her head into the room. “Zhuo, it’s time for your tooth extraction.”

Tooth extraction? Yuan Anqing froze. Zhuo’s small body went completely rigid.

Not noticing Yuan Anqing in the mental construct, the dentist simply sighed helplessly at the boy. “You’re a weak human form right now. You can’t eat so many sweets next time.”

“You had cavities?” Yuan Anqing understood instantly. He reached out, cupped Little Zhuo’s jaw, and gently squeezed to open his mouth. “Four of them, actually. How much candy did you eat?”

“Normally, I wouldn’t get them! My growth period is when my biology is most vulnerable!” Zhuo didn’t forget to offer a defensive explanation to salvage his terrifying image. “If it weren’t for you dragging me in here, I wouldn’t have to face this nightmare a second time!”

Yuan Anqing gently cupped Zhuo’s face in his hands.

“What are you doing! Even in my infancy, I was very strong!” Zhuo’s body tensed. Although he knew Yuan Anqing wouldn’t attack him, Zhuo felt inexplicably timid. After all, this was a phantom world created by Yuan Anqing; here, Yuan Anqing was the absolute master.

This kind of mental space was like a labyrinth, navigable only by fixing the core issue. If Zhuo were to push past the dentist and escape, he would simply loop back to this very room after crossing the doorway.

A warm current flowed from Yuan Anqing’s palms, passing through Zhuo’s jaw and between his teeth.

The previously tense Zhuo widened his eyes, looking at Yuan Anqing in disbelief. It was Yuan Anqing’s power—a gentle, golden force meant for healing.

“This is just a mental world.” Yuan Anqing had no fetish for tormenting others; he simply resolved the phantom physical pain, just as he had soothed Zhuo’s headache not long ago.

The sterile dentist’s office began to dissolve. Yuan Anqing watched Zhuo, who was rapidly growing larger, returning to his adult form. He couldn’t help but say, “You’re quite carefree.”

The fact that his most terrifying childhood memory was a trip to the dentist indicated that Zhuo’s life had been relatively comfortable. Indeed, an apex predator like Zhuo avoided many common worries. He didn’t have to concern himself with money or survival, nor did he need to compromise himself for the needs of others. His likes and dislikes were straightforward, without the need for pretense.

Zhuo pursed his lips. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Why would I make fun of you?” Yuan Anqing asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Being afraid of cavities isn’t very ‘tough guy’ at all,” Zhuo muttered, feeling inexplicably embarrassed.

“Is your self-perception really that of a ‘tough guy’?” Yuan Anqing was utterly astonished.

Zhuo frowned. His height had returned to normal, surpassing Yuan Anqing’s. He reached out and tapped Yuan Anqing’s forehead. “You’re looking at me like a tired adult looks at a misbehaving child.”

Saying this, he tilted his head from side to side, mimicking Yuan Anqing in a mocking tone: “You have that expression: ‘My suffering is greater than yours, you little brat wouldn’t understand.'”

“So chuunibyou,” Yuan Anqing commented simply and bluntly.

Zhuo seemed even angrier. Yuan Anqing helplessly patted the monster’s broad back. “I don’t believe suffering is something to be compared. It’s not a medal. There’s no prize money for the winner. Suffering is just suffering.”

Though he did find Zhuo quite childish, Zhuo’s self-perception as a hardened badass was utterly preposterous.

“As long as you feel it is an unbearable pain, then it is unbearable.” Yuan Anqing wouldn’t look down on anyone for an absurd phobia; he wished he were as carefree as Zhuo. “It all depends on you personally. As an outsider, I have no right to comment.”

“What a distant, corporate remark,” Zhuo said, composing himself and lifting his chin arrogantly. “Fortunately, I don’t care about your aloofness.”

Is this considered aloof? Yuan Anqing didn’t understand.

“Where is Zheng Shouquan?” Zhuo asked.

The scenes around them had completely dissolved, leaving only a void of black. Logically, a mental world reflected the owner’s state. Black usually signified darkness and danger, but Zhuo sensed that something was hidden beneath this blackness, just like in Yuan Anqing’s eyes. Zhuo had a desire to explore it, but not right now.

“Zheng Shouquan’s memories are incomplete—just fragmented loops of pain,” Yuan Anqing said. “He’s avoiding the trauma, breaking through doors again and again, only to return to his starting point.”

“Ah…” Zhuo recalled the old farmer’s withered appearance and suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. He wasn’t particularly sympathetic. Zhuo genuinely disliked bullying the weak. He preferred targeting healthy, driven individuals, or dangerous anomalies like Yuan Anqing.

To Zhuo, the old, weak, and sick were like ants that could be crushed with a flick of the hand. But no apex predator would spray an anthill with insecticide while yelling about how mighty they were. The old man’s pathetic state gave Zhuo a strong sense of worthlessness, sapping his motivation to fight.

“Now there’s another problem.” Yuan Anqing gestured around the black void. “This area is a Vortex of collective desires. The Vortex has severed the direct mental connection between Zheng Shouquan and me, but I can pinpoint his approximate location.”

“Approximate location?”

“You mean we need to check ‘school buildings’ and ‘classrooms’ one by one?” Zhuo understood. This Vortex was formed by the desires of the townspeople, and the illusions they would encounter within it were entirely random.

Yuan Anqing nodded. “Are you interested in town gossip?”

“Generally, no.” Zhuo enjoyed obscure, artistic films, but he had no interest in the tangled intricacies of everyday human life. To him, such things were just an intensified, blended version of melodramatic soap operas. After all, reality often didn’t require logic.

Yuan Anqing extended his hand to Zhuo.

“What?” Zhuo asked, puzzled.

“Take it,” Yuan Anqing said, anticipating Zhuo’s mental state later. “You’ll need comfort.”

Zhuo wanted to be stubborn, but he knew himself well enough. In the end, he chose to grasp Yuan Anqing’s hand tightly. “This is a work-related injury!”

“I know,” Yuan Anqing said, patting Zhuo’s hand with his other hand in a HR-approved gesture of comfort.

A work-related injury was useless in the mental realm; there was no insurance and no compensation payouts. Perhaps only an optimistic and arrogant monster like Zhuo could endure this level of exploitation.

Yuan Anqing led Zhuo forward into the swirling vortex woven from the town’s desires.

As it turned out, Zhuo—despite being an entity that induced desires—had simply seen too little of the real world. The facility staff responsible for supervising Zhuo were carefully selected, with clean backgrounds and stable minds. It was quite challenging to tempt them. And the inferior Differentiated Beings Zhuo had consumed couldn’t even be considered individuals; their desires were extremely basic and crude.

These rural townspeople, however, were different. They hadn’t been psychologically trained. They didn’t need Zhuo to tempt them. They could generate terrifying problems all on their own.

Zhuo followed Yuan Anqing into various localized spaces of desire, each filled with the townspeople’s most extreme fantasies. These desire-entities could not see them as they passed through.

A four-year-old child’s dream was a candy house, rivers of chocolate, and clouds of cotton candy. As Yuan Anqing and Zhuo stepped into that area, it was as if they had entered a fairy tale, with everything from the sky to the sea painted in pastel macaron colors.

Then they stepped into another townsperson’s desire, and before they could even grasp the situation, they were splattered with phantom blood. A student in a school uniform was slaughtering their teachers and classmates; the entire world was filled with screams and wails, accompanied by the student’s deranged laughter.

Some became celebrities admired by all. Others possessed immense wealth, luxury cars, and fine wine. Some severed the heads of their closest relatives, while others indulged in the most extreme, immoral depravities.

Human thought, after all, is free. In a mental world without legal or moral constraints, this freedom ran rampant, spilling forth everything deeply buried in the heart, every dark urge suppressed by society.

It was like walking through a living hell.

Zhuo and Yuan Anqing drew closer and closer to the core. Compared to this group of ‘precious’ individuals, Zhuo’s own world-shattering dreams of dominating humanity seemed remarkably fresh and refined.

“Everyone has a dark side, more or less,” Yuan Anqing said, unbothered. “Such scenes are normal.” He clearly anticipated all of this; the only thing that could make him uncomfortable was the scattered brain matter flying around his clean trousers.

As he spoke, they stepped into a new space.

This desire space was beautiful… or rather, calling it beautiful wasn’t quite right; it should be described as eerie.

As far as the eye could see were crumbling, moss-covered ruins. Green plants covered rusted reinforced concrete, and countless clean white skeletons lay flat on the soft grass, staring up at the sky as if watching the stars.

The stars in this space were exceptionally bright, yet there were no animals or insects whatsoever in this world. Total silence reigned. It was as if the world had undergone a period of recovery after an apocalypse, and for now, only the plants had revived.

“This isn’t my desire,” Zhuo quickly clarified. He only wanted to obtain everything he desired; this morbid, deathly extinction was too bizarre and peaceful for him.

“I know.” Yuan Anqing glanced at the scattered skeletons. “This one is mine.”

Zhuo: “…”

“Next one.” Yuan Anqing pulled Zhuo’s hand, preparing to leave.

“Wait a minute.” Zhuo stood motionless, pulling Yuan Anqing back. He pointed at the skeletons covering the ground. “Your desire?!”

“Is it strange?” Yuan Anqing countered.

“You’re a Savior!” Zhuo emphasized. “The officially chosen Savior! No matter how lazy you are, you shouldn’t be dreaming of human extinction!”

“Don’t you think it’s romantic?” Yuan Anqing looked at the pale bones under the moonlight. “Sky, green grass, and no cicada song.”

“Peacefully closing one’s eyes, falling into eternal sleep under the moonlight.” Yuan Anqing genuinely liked this kind of absolute tranquility and serenity. “We will all eventually oxidize and vanish anyway. It’s efficient.”

Zhuo felt Yuan Anqing was off. Very off. “You sound like you’re planning to destroy the world.”

“I won’t destroy the world.” Yuan Anqing was well aware that this scene was merely a fleeting thought in his mind.

“Can a Savior even say such a thing?!” Zhuo felt Yuan Anqing had stolen his villainous lines. What did “I won’t destroy the world” even mean in this context? He was a Savior! He should be saying, “I will definitely save the world!”

Yuan Anqing’s gloom was entirely internal—a quiet melancholy and stillness originating from his exhausted soul.

“Alright, this isn’t important. Next one.” Yuan Anqing dragged Zhuo away.

“Does Bai Tian know about your severe psychological issues?” Zhuo still felt Yuan Anqing was defective. Logically, Zhuo should be the one wanting to destroy the world, and Yuan Anqing should be trying to stop him, persuade him, or even enlighten him.

But Zhuo thought the current Yuan Anqing would only look at him longingly, hoping Zhuo would trigger the apocalypse a little faster to save him the commute.

“My mental health is perfectly fine.” Yuan Anqing frowned slightly. “I’m certainly not healthy when I’m forced to adapt to extreme work intensity. If it were me from that crunch period, you’d probably see the entire world awash in the blood of upper management.”

The current Yuan Anqing had become peaceful by comparison.

“This is just the difference between ‘dangerous’ and ‘more dangerous’,” Zhuo said, not believing the current Yuan Anqing was much better.

“I won’t actually do anything that harms everyone’s interests; I just think about it.” Yuan Anqing pulled Zhuo again, and this time, he managed to move him. “No one can guarantee they’ll always be positive. Don’t quibble over HR fantasies that will never come true.”

“I’m not quibbling; you’re just too weird,” Zhuo said, lightly tapping the back of Yuan Anqing’s head. “The things you think about are concerning.”

“This isn’t str—” Yuan Anqing’s words were abruptly cut short. He suddenly seemed startled by something, violently pushing Zhuo down into the grass and crouching low.

“Whoa!” Zhuo fell to the ground. Before he could complain, Yuan Anqing clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Shh,” Yuan Anqing whispered, his other hand pressed to his own lips. “Quiet down. We’re here.”

Here? Zhuo blinked. He quickly realized what that meant and sat up.

“What kind of hellhole is this?” Zhuo was profoundly shocked after seeing the full scope of this desire space.

There were no houses, no sky, and no land; everything was a chaotic, churning gray. In the blackness, human silhouettes could vaguely be seen, but staring at them for a while revealed their shapes slowly melting and changing. There was no regularity or logic.

This was the world of the dead. Logically, they should have nothing left, yet they were forcibly kept alive by the Vortex. Their minds contained only remnants of what could be called thought—mostly fragmented reflections of their living days, but without even basic outlines.

“You need to make him realize he’s dead,” Zhuo whispered, staring at the muddled Zheng Shouquan wandering in the center of the void. “Only by knowing he’s dead can he truly leave this world that doesn’t belong to him.”

“Not necessarily,” Yuan Anqing disagreed. “His emotions are already chaotic. If he knew he was dead, he’d be even more likely to fall into a violent frenzy.”

“So you have to comfort him,” Zhuo concluded. “Calm him down.”

Yuan Anqing looked at him. “…Do you honestly think any of his past experiences can be soothed with words?”

Zheng Shouquan had lost everything. His wife and daughter were truly dead, not just having a minor disagreement with him.

“Inappropriate comfort will only backfire,” Yuan Anqing shrugged. “And for Zheng Shouquan, there is probably no appropriate comfort in this world.”

Zheng Shouquan had been tragically unlucky his entire life. Yuan Anqing knew he couldn’t genuinely empathize with the man. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; it was simply impossible. After all, Yuan Anqing’s own corporate misfortunes paled in comparison to Zheng Shouquan’s absolute tragedy. The ultimate result of being unable to fully empathize was offering ‘taken-for-granted comfort,’ which was patronizing and fatal.

“How do you usually induce desires to attract others to their death?” Yuan Anqing asked Zhuo.

“Huh?” Zhuo found it incredible. “You want to learn from me? You’re a Savior!”

“You’ve repeated that title countless times,” Yuan Anqing said, feeling helpless. Zhuo’s repeated astonishment gave Yuan Anqing the mistaken impression that Zhuo was more suited to be a righteous Savior than he was.

No, perhaps it wasn’t a misconception; Zhuo’s confident lifestyle and passionate personality might indeed be a better fit.

Zheng Shouquan continued to stumble chaotically through the world of desires, his eyes unfocused as he looked left and right, as if searching for something, but this world had no physical form to offer him.

Suddenly, with a soft click, the surrounding scene changed.

The chaos vanished, replaced by the warm interior of a modest house. A spacious living room, a goose-yellow sofa, with a woven bamboo mat spread over it. Outside the window, tall buildings stood in rows, and the noisy, cheerful voices of children occasionally drifted in.

Zheng Shouquan froze, instinctively startled by the sudden change.

The front door opened, and a girl in a white shirt walked in. “Dad, didn’t you go out with Uncle Ma and the others today?”

The girl had a round face and large eyes, very much like Zheng Shouquan’s. She appeared to be an adult—a grown woman. “What are you doing standing there?”

Her expression seemed so natural, as if similar conversations had occurred countless times in the past.

Zheng Shouquan stared blankly at the girl. He remembered this girl’s face, but he had never seen her as an adult. Because at some point, his still-young daughter had simply vanished from his life. Everyone said she was dead; otherwise, how could a child who depended on her father not even call?

Zheng Shouquan was still in a daze while the girl approached and gently led him to the sofa.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, so I don’t have to work overtime.” The girl took off her coat and casually tossed it onto the armrest. “Shall we go downstairs and buy groceries later? Or should we just eat out tomorrow?”

Zheng Shouquan couldn’t fully understand the meaning of her words, but he wasn’t agitated or moving erratically; he simply sat quietly, absorbing her presence.

“Let’s eat out,” the girl decided on her own. “We can both rest.”

“Dad, you had me too late. I’m only twenty-six, and you’re already so old,” the girl began to casually ramble. “My colleague’s grandpa looks like he’s the same age as you.”

The girl spoke as she poured Zheng Shouquan a glass of water from a pitcher.

Zheng Shouquan sat obediently. When the water was offered, he took it with both hands. He couldn’t even comprehend why he would accept a simple glass of water with such reverence, but he did so nonetheless.

Those agonizing, painful emotions were suppressed. Zheng Shouquan stared at the girl’s face. He couldn’t explain his actions; everything was driven purely by instinct.

“Zheng… Xiaolian?” Zheng Shouquan opened his mouth to ask. His voice was hoarse and broken.

“Hm? What is it?” the girl, called Zheng Xiaolian, responded brightly.

“Zheng Xiaolian?” Zheng Shouquan asked again, just to hear her confirm it.

Zheng Xiaolian continued to respond to him patiently.

Zheng Shouquan was a man without grand ambitions. He drifted along with everyone around him, only his luck was exceptionally poor; he had lost everything.

Had he lost everything?

Zheng Shouquan looked at his reflection in the water glass; his eyes were gray and lifeless.

Perhaps losing everything was a lie?

And now? Now what? Zheng Shouquan didn’t know. He just felt he wanted to stay here. Forever.

He would see Zheng Xiaolian tomorrow, and the day after. Yesterday… had he seen Zheng Xiaolian yesterday?

“Is Mom still playing cards with her friends?” Zheng Xiaolian pulled out her phone. “I’ll give her a call.”

Zheng Xiaolian’s mom?

Zheng Shouquan tilted his head. “She’ll come back?”

“If she doesn’t come back, where would she go?” Zheng Xiaolian asked with a smile. “She can’t sleep on the street, can she? Did you two have a fight?”

“No.” Zheng Shouquan looked toward the door. “She will come back.” This time, his tone was certain.

As long as that door was pushed open again, his wife would return.

A faint, warm golden light began to emerge from the sofa’s crevices. These golden lights adhered to Zheng Shouquan’s skin, but Zheng Shouquan couldn’t see them. Or rather, he was too at peace to notice.

These golden lights crept up Zheng Shouquan’s body, inch by inch eroding the chaotic desires that bound him to the world.

Zheng Shouquan’s body became transparent, and just as he was about to vanish, he lowered his gaze. He realized that the hand holding the water glass was almost imperceptible.

The front door clicked open, and the familiar, beloved face that had accompanied him for over a hundred years reappeared before him.

“Oh, you’re all waiting here,” his wife said with a bright smile, her voice full of vigor.

Still the same. Everything was still the same.

The golden light completely enveloped Zheng Shouquan, consuming him.

Right before he vanished, Zheng Shouquan’s lips curved into a smile. In this fantasy world, he had obtained everything he desired and firmly believed they still had a future. A long, ordinary future, written by their family.

It was in this peaceful expectation that he was ‘killed’ by Yuan Anqing.

Yuan Anqing and Zhuo had remained hidden in the corner, but the illusion of “Zheng Xiaolian” wouldn’t guide Zheng Shouquan to look in their direction anyway.

“That’s so mean,” Zhuo muttered softly, watching the ghost disperse into light.

“He doesn’t know any of this is fake, and that’s much better than forcing him to face his so-called reality,” Yuan Anqing said. He didn’t believe his actions were problematic in any way.

Reality was too grim. How could one truly ‘face’ it? Those monks who renounced the world spent their entire lives meditating and still couldn’t transcend earthly suffering; how could Zheng Shouquan, a broken farmer who couldn’t even get enough to eat, possibly do so?

“You don’t feel any psychological burden when you ‘kill’ people?” Zhuo reached out and pinched Yuan Anqing’s lean cheek, giving it a gentle tug. “I was waiting for you to feel sick and want to throw up, then collapse into my arms for comfort.”

“This isn’t killing. Zheng Shouquan has been dead for a long time.” Yuan Anqing didn’t consider Zheng Shouquan a person anymore. Zheng Shouquan no longer possessed logical thought; he couldn’t even weave a dream for himself without Yuan Anqing pulling the strings. He was just a ‘shadow’ whose existence had been forcibly extended, fueled only by ‘pain.’

“We still need to deal with the other desires,” Yuan Anqing said, watching this world of illusions collapse, his expression blank. “Otherwise, these scattered desires could cause further inferior differentiation.”

He pulled Zhuo by the hand toward another mass of desire.

Then, the scene shifted, and Yuan Anqing saw himself, weeping bitterly.

Yuan Anqing: “…”

He watched as his pathetic, tattered ‘self’ covered their face, sobbing and clinging desperately to an illusory Zhuo. The weeping Yuan Anqing’s voice was choked. “Don’t leave me! I was wrong, so terribly wrong!”

Yuan Anqing silently looked at the real Zhuo beside him, then raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow.

“Wait a minute! This… this isn’t mine!” Zhuo stammered, his face flushing dark purple. He tried to physically drag Yuan Anqing away. “It must be your ability acting up! Let’s switch worlds!”

However, this time, his immense strength couldn’t budge Yuan Anqing. Yuan Anqing planted his feet; he simply wanted to know what the plot of this ridiculous desire world was.

The weeping Yuan Anqing illusion could be seen sobbing and hugging the illusory Zhuo’s waist. “I shouldn’t have started smoking! My teeth aren’t as clean and white as yours anymore! I shouldn’t drink either; my body has become so weak, you could easily knock me down with one finger!”

“Wuwuwu, and I shouldn’t have ignored your amazing physique! Can I touch you now?!”

The cold, arrogant Zhuo in the illusion proudly raised his head. “You’ve missed your chance, foolish human.”

The weeping Yuan Anqing cried even louder, shouting in despair, “Please don’t!”

Yuan Anqing slowly turned and met Zhuo’s horrified gaze.

Zhuo: “…Your power is acting up.” His voice was incredibly small.

“Perhaps,” Yuan Anqing said noncommittally, adjusting his glasses. “Shall we move on to another desire space?”

“Change! Change! Change!” Zhuo panicked, quickly using his massive body to block Yuan Anqing’s view of the embarrassing fanfiction.

Dealing with the desires of an entire town was a monumental task. Fortunately, time in the mental world differed vastly from reality. Yuan Anqing felt he had spent at least half a month untangling those chaotic desires, but in actuality, it had been only an instant.

Yuan Anqing and Zhuo awoke in the real-world grass. Zheng Shouquan was gone. The storm was over.

Yuan Anqing’s face was deathly pale; he had severely overused his mind.

“You might get sick when you go home.” Zhuo reached out and placed a hand on Yuan Anqing’s forehead. He felt Yuan Anqing’s skin was cold and clammy.

“Probably.” Purifying the Vortex had severely drained Yuan Anqing’s stamina. He felt an unprecedented abundance of emotion swirling in his chest, as if he could burst into euphoria or tears at any moment. He still needed some time to calm his hormones and emotions.

“Can you get up?” Zhuo asked him.

“I think so.” Yuan Anqing tried to stand, but his foot slipped on the wet grass. Zhuo reached out eagerly to catch him, but Yuan Anqing swiftly regained his footing on his own.

“Eh?” Zhuo was a little disappointed. “You react really fast.”

“It’s alright,” Yuan Anqing said, curving his lips slightly in a mocking smile. “Even though you could knock me down with one finger, I still hope to avoid being a burden to you as much as possible.”

Zhuo: “…” He felt these words sounded familiar. Was Yuan Anqing implying something?

He wouldn’t, would he? Yuan Anqing isn’t that kind of sadistic person.

Soon, Zhuo realized that Yuan Anqing was exactly that kind of sadistic person.

As he and Yuan Anqing walked back into town, passing a small convenience store, Yuan Anqing suddenly stared at the cigarettes in the display case and let out a cold, mocking laugh.

That laugh sent shivers down Zhuo’s spine.

“Even though you eat a lot of candy and have cavities, my teeth aren’t as smooth and white as yours,” Yuan Anqing sighed dramatically. “How troublesome.”

“Stop talking!” Zhuo grabbed Yuan Anqing’s arm and practically dragged him toward the hotel. This wasn’t the mental world; Zhuo’s physical strength and Yuan Anqing’s were not on the same level at all.

“Oh my, so strong,” Yuan Anqing deadpanned as he was dragged. “No wonder you can knock me down with one finger.”

Zhuo clamped a massive hand directly over Yuan Anqing’s mouth.

Zhuo’s height and build made this action look exactly like a kidnapping. Fortunately, everyone in town had already recognized Yuan Anqing and Zhuo from earlier, otherwise they would surely misunderstand the situation.

Zhuo, still covering Yuan Anqing’s mouth, shoved him back into their hotel room. He tossed Yuan Anqing onto the bed, then shut the door with lightning speed. “You’re acting weird!”

Yuan Anqing looked at Zhuo with a half-smile. “What’s weird about me?”

“Your tone is super flippant right now.” Zhuo felt goosebumps rising. “This isn’t like you. And there’s no Vortex anymore, so why are your eyes still golden?”

“Don’t you like gold?” Yuan Anqing countered smoothly. “Didn’t you always praise these eyes of mine the most?”

Zhuo gasped, sucking in a cold breath.

“I thought looking at them would make your appetite soar.” Yuan Anqing stood up, walking toward Zhuo step by step.

As he advanced, Zhuo retreated, until he was backed against the door, his back pressed tightly to the wood, his neck retracting. Yuan Anqing stopped in front of him, smiling, the distance between them just a fist’s width.

Yuan Anqing reached out and poked Zhuo’s abdomen. Zhuo’s lower stomach instantly tensed.

“And then you’ll graciously let me touch your amazing body,” Yuan Anqing whispered, tilting his head.

This was too strange!

Zhuo instantly became wary, though his monstrous ego wouldn’t let any compliment fall to the ground. “My body is indeed amazing.”

Yuan Anqing: “…”

Yuan Anqing clicked his tongue. “Boring.”

Then he turned and walked away to the window, pulling back the curtains and watching the frolicking, oblivious crowd outside with dark amusement.

“Do you know why they feel happy?” Yuan Anqing asked Zhuo. Without waiting for Zhuo’s answer, Yuan Anqing continued, “Because they have suffering to compare it to. Heh. Rather than living and constantly experiencing pain, it’s better if everyone just died together.”

Zhuo felt it was urgently necessary to send a message to Bai Tian; this Savior had clearly gone bad.

However, just as Zhuo opened the chat page with Bai Tian on his phone, Yuan Anqing walked back over.

Yuan Anqing reached up and pinched Zhuo’s cheek. With a slight squeeze, he forced Zhuo’s jaw open. It wasn’t that his physical strength was great; it was just that Zhuo instinctively cooperated, bewildered. Zhuo was well aware that Yuan Anqing’s body wasn’t strong, so Zhuo wasn’t worried about suffering any damage.

“Just like you love sweets because you know how awful bitter tastes make you feel.” Yuan Anqing leaned in to inspect Zhuo’s sharp teeth. “Hmm. They’re very healthy now.”

“I brush them daily,” Zhuo mumbled defensively. He knew he wouldn’t get cavities again, but after having them once, he always felt a little apprehensive; some things were better safe than sorry.

“Oh? So you’re a good boy,” Yuan Anqing said, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “So well-behaved.”

Zhuo: !!!

Why was Yuan Anqing smiling and saying such things?! So strange! Yuan Anqing’s smile was particularly fake; one could tell at a glance that he was being sarcastic, and yet it carried an unknown… lewd feeling.

Yuan Anqing’s emotions were in serious trouble. It was a severe psychic hangover from purifying the Vortex.

Zhuo thought for a moment, trying to break the tension, then reminded Yuan Anqing, “The Vortex is gone. We can go back to the city today, you know.”

“I know.” Yuan Anqing was still smiling that creepy, flippant smile.

“And then you have to write an incident report, and you’re back at work at the office tomorrow morning,” Zhuo added casually.

Yuan Anqing’s smile vanished instantly.

The Yuan Anqing who had been full of sadistic mischief suddenly wilted, like a small cabbage lacking water and scorched by the sun.

He turned, opened the hotel window, and extended his leg, as if preparing to step out onto the ledge.

“Wait! What are you doing?!” Zhuo lunged, wrapping his massive arms around Yuan Anqing’s waist to yank him back.

Yuan Anqing said calmly, staring at the ground four stories below. “I want to end all of this.”

“You can’t jump!” Zhuo wouldn’t accept it. “I don’t want you to die yet! You’re just emotionally unstable right now! Don’t jump!”

Zhuo pulled Yuan Anqing down onto the floor, hugging him close and gently patting his back. “Just calm down. Calm down.”

“When are you going to destroy the world?” Yuan Anqing asked him, his voice muffled against Zhuo’s chest.

“Not that fast! And it’s not necessarily world destruction!” Zhuo felt he wasn’t that world-weary.

Yuan Anqing became even more despondent. “Not necessarily world destruction…?”

“I’ll destroy it! I’ll destroy it!” Zhuo panicked, feeling the light almost vanishing from Yuan Anqing’s golden eyes. “Why don’t you try doing it yourself?”

Yuan Anqing looked up and met Zhuo’s gaze. After staring at the monster for a moment, he turned his head away listlessly. “Destroying the world is so tiring. Too much paperwork. It’s so complicated.”

Had even his apocalyptic enthusiasm vanished in the face of a 9-to-5 commute?!

“Actually, there’s no need to destroy the world.” Yuan Anqing simply hugged Zhuo back, resting his chin on the monster’s shoulder. “Just deal with me.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll definitely eat you,” Zhuo said, reaching up to pat Yuan Anqing’s hair awkwardly a couple of times. “When I feel like it.”

Certainly not now. Nor tomorrow. Or next month.