Late at night.
The bedroom was pitch black.
Red neon light from a distance stread in through the window, casting an unpredictable glow on his face.
Fang Cheng sat in front of his desk, looking at two postcards.
The patterns printed on the front were different; one was of scenic landmarks, and the other depicted a cartoon character.
Presumably, they were purchased on a whim from a store.
Turning them over, one could see two lines of nearly identical, strange characters written on the back.
Moreover, no sender’s na or address was filled out.
Clearly, these two postcards ca from the sa person.
Fang Cheng’s gaze flickered as he scanned the ssages addressed to the recipient.
"I hope to have the honor of hearing your voice..."
"Are you afraid of ?"
The two sentences conveyed completely different anings.
The forr held the tentativeness and caution of a first-ti encounter.
The latter seed to carry a hint of annoyance and disdain.
And.
Just beneath the words "Are you afraid of ," a cartoon smiley face was starkly drawn.
Although the drawing appeared childish, Fang Cheng felt a sense of déjà vu emanating from it.
The upturned corners of the smile subtly overlapped with a face buried deep in his mory.
Click!
A scene flashed instantly through his mind.
Rain poured heavily, lightning sliced the sky.
The victim’s harrowing scream, a figure running madly through the pouring rain.
A face covered by the hood of a raincoat, when lifted, revealed a pair of eerily glowing eyes.
Two gazes intertwined and touched in the rainy night.
That face also had its corners twisted upward in a smile, a silent greeting to himself.
......
"Sigh—"
Fang Cheng exhaled, his brows slightly knitted, and he murmured in a low voice,
"Could it be that murderer who created the hotel massacre?"
Contemplating, his fingertips unconsciously twirled the fountain pen on the desk.
That soone who sent the postcards seed very eager to establish a connection, to engage in so form of communication with him.
Fang Cheng, too, was quite curious about the other party’s intentions.
However.
Previously, he had little involvent in the realm of the spirit, essentially an outsider.
For safety’s sake, he chose not to open that door and connect with the individual sending the postcards.
In those circumstances, it was a wise decision.
But now, the situation was different.
Fang Cheng couldn’t help but speculate in his heart.
Did the sender’s repeated invitations contain so kind of warning or threat?
What would happen if he chose to refuse again?
All this, Fang Cheng could not be certain of.
After all, the other party hid in the shadows, while he was relatively exposed in the light.
"..."
With this thought, Fang Cheng imdiately put down the fountain pen in his hand.
His gaze beca introspective, watching the "fla" burning within his mind.
Now, he himself had also changed drastically from before.
He had successfully mastered ditation skills, advancing to an expert level and manifesting the miraculous Spiritual Fire.
Coupled with the breakthrough of his Spirit Attribute reaching beyond the 40-point mark, he should not be much inferior to those with spiritual powers.
"Let’s give it a try then."
After weighing his options carefully, Fang Cheng’s gaze fell upon the string of bizarre characters.
He then sat cross-legged on the bed, his eyelids drooping slightly, swiftly entering ditation State.
Once in ditation, his lips moved slightly, fluently reciting an extrely awkward Spell.
"Om, ah, mi, ma, wa, she, mo..."
As the Spell was chanted, each character and sound resonating clearly in the air.
The scenery around seed to fast forward, rapidly retreating backward.
At the sa ti, countless noises rushed towards him like waves in his ears.
Rustling sounds and an exceedingly chaotic chatter filled his hearing.
Like a radio changing frequencies, it soon returned to normal, as the tide quickly receded.
Fang Cheng remained calm and composed, suddenly observing his surroundings.
His small bedroom had been completely engulfed by darkness.
Looking around.
All that could be seen in his field of vision were tiny points of light twinkling like stars, and the boundless, all-enveloping black fog.
Vast, silent, ethereal.
As if standing at the edge of the world, taking one more step forward would an plumting into an even deeper, darker Abyss full of countless malevolent beings.
Even with a high Spirit Attribute of 43 points.
His vision could not fully penetrate the slowly flowing, extrely thick black fog.
The first ti he ventured here, Fang Cheng felt an indescribable shock.
But after systematically learning ditation and practicing it, upon re-entering this place, he had gained so insights.
If the world of the subconscious were to be divided into layers.
This special Spirit Space would be located at the junction point between the subconscious and consciousness, as a transitional layer.
It was a level that many average people could accidentally reach during vivid dreams.
As long as one’s Spirit Attribute was sufficient, there was no need for ditation, and with certain diating diums, one could easily enter and exit.
The dium he now controlled was this string of characters on the postcard, akin to an audio password.
With this thought, Fang Cheng gathered his focus and locked onto a target that was faintly visible not far away.
In an instant, his figure appeared before a slightly weak point of light.
Looking up at the grand carved door that presented itself, Fang Cheng whispered the "audio password."
At this mont, if one were to observe from a distance.
As the door opened slowly, two similarly sized points of light drifted closer and finally converged.
..................
West Gate Suburb, inside a church.
The lights were out, darkness and silence.
Deep in the night, in front of the pulpit in the nave, there was still a man kneeling in prayer.
He was dressed in a black tracksuit and a baseball cap, his palms tightly clasped, head bowed and whispering, displaying an extraordinary devotion.
The dim moonlight flowed in like water through the stained-glass windows, faintly illuminating the pointed arches of the ceiling and the solemn walls.
Religious murals depicted apocalyptic scenes of demons and apostles in battle.
The god on the crucifix lowered his gaze and closed his eyes, silently watching his kneeling worshipper.
However.
Beneath this dignified and sacred space, there was a scene that resembled the horror of Hell.
More than a dozen corpses laid scattered in pools of blood, their faces twisted, limbs severed.
A stench of blood emitted, filling the church.
"What do you think?"
The praying man suddenly lifted his head, looking straight at the god hung on the cross, questioning:
"Haven’t I always prayed to you not to let beco a monster?"
"Now look, you see, since you can’t even save your own worshippers, how are you qualified to be called a god!"
The moonlight highlighted his blood-stained face and subtly upturned lips.
"I will continue to go on, to judge your immoral worshippers, until you are willing to have rcy and to give at least a bit of response..."
The man seed insane, murmuring to the statue of the deity.
Suddenly, his smile froze, his gaze piercingly bright, like a wild beast unexpectedly catching sight of its prey.
User Comments
0 comments from readers