Zhang Yuanqing thought in silence for a long time, then decided not to reveal the existence of the Red Dancing Shoes just yet.
First of all, Ou Xiangrong had only just gone on the run. The Five Elements Alliance hadn't made its next move yet, and as an official organization, it might have other ways to track down that Bewitching Demon.
There was no need for a rookie like him to get involved.
Second, he was only a Level 1 Night Wanderer, a newcomer among Spirit Realm Walkers. If he revealed that he had a rule-based item, it might attract unwanted attention.
He'd wait and see what the organization did next, then decide what to do based on the situation. Zhang Yuanqing stopped thinking about it. He gazed out at the night scenery through the car window, waiting to reach his destination.
For now, improving his strength was the most important thing.
Five minutes later, the taxi stopped outside Songhai Pulmonary Hospital. After paying the fare, Zhang Yuanqing entered the hospital and headed straight for the emergency department.
At this hour, the outpatient department had already closed, leaving the emergency department as the main gathering place for the hospital's patients.
The emergency department was packed. Patients either sat on the public benches or moved between the payment counters and various departments.
Zhang Yuanqing passed through the payment hall and the bustling crowd, then found a seat near the restroom.
He sat down, stretched out his legs, and waited for something to come to him.
To spirits, a Night Wanderer's aura was like a firefly in the dark—bright and unmistakable.
He didn't need to search for them. They would come to him on their own.
An ordinary person's spirit could linger for only seven days. Unless someone had died nearby, he couldn't expect a spirit to show up by itself. That made hospitals the best place to level up.
About five minutes later, Zhang Yuanqing saw an old man in a hospital gown walking toward him through the crowd, his gaze vacant and his steps stiff.
The old man's body was caught between the illusory and the real. Patients passed right through him as if he were air.
His face was gaunt, his eyes were a ghastly white, and an aura of pain and regret emanated from him.
He was a vengeful spirit.
Generally speaking, people became vengeful spirits after death. There was no such thing as a peaceful spirit, because no one was willing to die.
Their attachment to life and fear of death ultimately turned into helpless resentment.
As the old man came within reach, Zhang Yuanqing opened his mouth and drew in a soft breath.
The old man's spirit turned into a wisp of blue smoke and drifted into his mouth.
A dull ache throbbed between his brows, and his consciousness swelled abruptly. Zhang Yuanqing absorbed fragments of the old man's memories from his life.
The old man had died of late-stage lung cancer. During the final stretch of his life, he had endured both chemotherapy and the cancer before passing away. He had coughed up blood, lost his hair, struggled to breathe, and suffered constant pain. His death had been far from peaceful.
His last lingering thought was regret that he had ever smoked.
"I'll never smoke again."
Zhang Yuanqing opened his eyes and blurted out the words, his face full of regret.
The people around him turned to look at him in surprise.
Zhang Yuanqing kept his face blank and pretended nothing had happened, trying to hide his embarrassment.
He waited for the passersby to look away and for the surging emotions to settle. Then he opened his status panel, and a glowing blue screen appeared:
[Experience: 44.5%]
"Zhao Yingjun's spirit was worth two experience points, but an ordinary person's is worth only 0.5. Are they like regular monsters and elite monsters? And the more experience I gain, the less I get. I'm afraid it'll eventually drop below 0.5. Looks like I'll have to build it up bit by bit." Zhang Yuanqing pondered.
Either way, this tangible, visible improvement was encouraging.
He returned to his seat and pretended nothing had happened. A few minutes later, a middle-aged man in a suit, dressed like an office worker, shuffled toward him.
The people around them ignored the man and walked right through him.
Zhang Yuanqing absorbed the man's spirit in the same way. As it turned into power that nourished the Night Wanderer, some of the man's memories surged into him like a tide.
The middle-aged man had died of exhaustion, struck down by a sudden heart attack after working himself to the bone—a victim of the notorious "996 blessing."
The man had died peacefully. After all, sudden death came in an instant. He probably hadn't even felt any pain.
But after reading his memories, Zhang Yuanqing learned that the man's wife had just given birth to their second child, who was still in swaddling clothes. He had worked himself to the bone to earn money for formula, throwing himself into that so-called blessing.
More importantly, the man was born in the eighties, a generation in which few people had siblings. Now that he was gone, his parents would have no one to rely on in their old age.
He had traded his life for money, only to lose everything in the end.
Zhang Yuanqing's consciousness returned, and a sharp, crushing sadness and confusion swept over him.
What was the point of a life like that? He sat there in a daze, expressionless for a long time.
Just then, a third spirit approached.
It was a woman with beautiful features, expertly tattooed Korean-style eyebrows, and clothes that looked luxurious and elegant.
A high-quality woman.
"She was so young and beautiful. What a shame."
Once she came closer, Zhang Yuanqing saw that her chest was caved in and her fitted black top was soaked with illusory blood. The back of her head also seemed to have suffered an unimaginable blow, and blood had matted her hair into clumps.
She wasn't wearing a hospital gown, which meant she hadn't died in the hospital. She must have died in an accident or been murdered. Zhang Yuanqing drew in a soft breath and swallowed the high-quality woman's spirit.
His brow swelled, and memories that weren't his flooded into his mind.
His vision went black. Then he saw a pair of long, slender, fair legs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, someone slowly rolled a pair of black stockings up her thighs.
Oh, so that was how women put on stockings. Zhang Yuanqing, a twenty-year-old virgin, had just learned something new.
Then a man's raspy voice came from behind him:
"Don't message me at night again. My wife almost caught me last night."
Zhang Yuanqing's heart skipped a beat.
A man, a bed, stockings. Anyone could guess what had just happened.
He'd better not swallow women's spirits so casually in the future. It wasn't appropriate! He muttered to himself, immensely relieved. At least the memories had started with her putting on her stockings. If they'd picked up a few minutes later, he might have been lying down—or on his knees.
Well, at least his mouth didn't taste funny. Thank goodness. Just then, he heard the woman he had possessed snort.
"Then why don't you get divorced and marry me?"
The man behind her rustled as he got dressed, then scoffed.
"I have a son and a daughter, and I'm planning to have a third child next year. Why would I divorce my wife for you? Besides, if we divorced, I'd have to split my assets.
"Didn't we agree from the start? You'd be my mistress, and I'd pay you. Once you'd saved enough, you could marry whoever you wanted. You could even marry some honest guy. If you ever want to end things, just tell me. But don't get any ideas you shouldn't."
The woman seemed angry and didn't say another word. After the man left, she drove her little BMW wildly through the streets, venting her frustration.
In the end, she got into a car accident and died despite the doctors' efforts.
The scene ended. Zhang Yuanqing opened his eyes and rubbed his aching temples. A surge of indignation welled up in him. Sister, why bother? High-end seafood merchants often needed nothing more than a straightforward auction. There was a market for them everywhere. Why get mad over a man? How many men were any good?
And marrying an honest guy? That wasn't going to happen in this lifetime.
As he thought this, he suddenly realized something was wrong.
Why was he identifying so strongly with a woman? He was a straight man.
A few seconds later, Zhang Yuanqing understood. Without realizing it, he had been influenced by the high-quality woman. His thoughts had taken on a feminine slant, and deep down, he had developed a powerful desire for money and material possessions.
The old man's spirit had also influenced him when he blurted out that he'd never smoke again.
Once his mind had steadied, a fourth spirit approached. It was a slender, handsome young man, the sort of person who brought the term "pretty boy" to mind.
"He's not much better-looking than me. I'll stick to men's spirits. It's safer and more reliable. If something like that really happens, I'll be the one on top."
He opened his mouth and swallowed the pretty boy's spirit.
Piercing noise rattled his eardrums. Full-color LED lights spun overhead, creating a blinding wash of color.
Everywhere he looked, bodies swayed and heads bobbed. A pungent smell of smoke hung in the air.
He was in a bar.
Zhang Yuanqing felt his body swaying beyond his control. At the same time, he grabbed a glass from the booth and drank with his friends.
Amid the cathartic release of emotion and the hollow thrill of drinks and dice, the pretty boy and his friend stayed out until two in the morning.
They called a rideshare and returned to their rented apartment. His muscular friend helped him open the bedroom door.
Zhang Yuanqing couldn't control the body, but his consciousness was clear. He sensed that the person he had possessed was dead drunk, with throbbing pain in the blood vessels of his brain. He guessed the man had died from drinking too much—or perhaps from sudden cardiac death.
As he was wondering, the pretty boy was tossed onto the bed. His friend helped him take off his shoes and pants, covered him with a blanket, then wiped the sweat from his face with a damp tissue.
This friend's a keeper, Zhang Yuanqing thought.
The moment the thought crossed his mind, he saw the friend start undressing, then pull back the blanket and quickly strip the pretty boy.
Zhang Yuanqing froze, sensing that something was wrong.
Then he heard the pretty boy mumble sleepily:
"Hubby~"
The "friend" climbed onto the pretty boy's naked body and raised a tub of Vaseline. Reeking of alcohol, he said:
"Stick your butt out. I'm gonna lube you up!"
??? Zhang Yuanqing's mind went "boom," as if struck by a bolt from the blue.
No! No! No!
You can't do this! You can't!!
In the grip of extreme fear and panic, Zhang Yuanqing forcibly cut off the memory.
At the emergency department, beside the restroom, Zhang Yuanqing's eyes flew open. He'd just had a nightmare. He gasped for air as if he were suffocating.
His face had gone pale, his eyes were wide with fear, and sweat had soaked his back.
"Young man, are you all right?" the middle-aged woman in the next seat asked with concern.
"Did you check in? Where does it hurt?"
Zhang Yuanqing waved her off, indicating that he was fine, then rushed into the restroom. He turned on the faucet and splashed handfuls of cold water onto his face.
That was terrifying. Men were terrifying!
He had suffered a kind of trauma no man should have to endure.
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