Right—almost forgot about that guy.
Li Dongze's comment reminded the other team captains that the Kangyang District spirit realm team had already recruited a Night Wanderer. There was no need to borrow one from the Taiyi Sect anymore.
Muscleman lit up. "What are we waiting for, then? Get in touch with him ASAP. See, this is why we need to train our own Night Wanderers—when things go south, your own people are the only ones you can really count on."
The other captains visibly relaxed.
He had a point. The Taiyi Sect's Night Wanderers were cooperative enough on official business, but in the end, they were outsiders. It was never as convenient as having one of your own.
Li Dongze glanced at Fu Qingyang. Seeing the nod of approval, he took out his phone and walked out of the conference room.
"I'll call him now."
...
After morning classes, Zhang Yuanqing slung his backpack over one shoulder and left the lecture hall. He planned to skip the afternoon lectures and head over to the second team office of the Kangyang District spirit realm division.
His future—social circle and all—would revolve around the spirit realm team.
School never held much appeal for him. He lacked interest in academics. In Songhai, young people had a laid-back air about them, a kind of ingrained laziness, too little fight, not enough grit.
There were only two types of people who fought hard in life—those raised with ambition and discipline, and those forced to by circumstance.
After becoming a spirit realm walker, Zhang Yuanqing had rediscovered that long-lost sense of drive.
Partly because his life was on the line, and partly because—finally—he had a chance to live out that teenage dream of roaming the world with sword in hand.
Yes, the spirit realm was dangerous and eerie. But once you'd tasted its rewards, you couldn't go back to being ordinary.
Downstairs, just as he was about to unlock a shared bike, his phone buzzed.
It was Li Dongze.
"Squad Leader?" Zhang Yuanqing answered.
"Where are you right now?" Li Dongze's voice was sharp, urgent.
"Campus."
"Songhai University? I'll have Guan Ya come pick you up."
Pick me up? Zhang Yuanqing picked up on the urgency in his voice. "What's going on?"
"One of our people got killed. We need a Night Wanderer to devour the spirit and extract the last memories. You... you can handle that, right?"
Uh... I think so. "I can try?"
Devouring spirits was a basic talent of Night Wanderers. His instincts told him he could. But extracting memories? He'd never actually done that before. Zero experience. No guarantees.
"Alright. That's all," Li Dongze said and hung up.
Zhang Yuanqing put his phone away and started walking toward the school gates.
A few minutes later, he arrived and waited quietly. Not far away, on the sidewalk, he spotted a girl in a pleated skirt holding a luxury handbag—clearly waiting for someone.
Xu Yingying?
Zhang Yuanqing gave the "class beauty" a once-over. Her fashion sense was elite—bracelets, earrings, necklace, purse—all name-brand, high-end stuff. A cut above the average college girl.
You couldn't fake that kind of aesthetic. This girl came from serious money.
Noticing his gaze, Xu Yingying smiled faintly. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, straightened her back, and struck her most elegant pose. A subtle rush of superiority bloomed in her chest.
This guy was good-looking. Subconsciously, she wanted to impress him.
But now, she was no longer in the same world as your typical college student. She was above them. Her entire outfit probably cost a year's living expenses for an average student.
Just then, a blue sports car pulled up at the gate.
The driver was a woman in a crisp white shirt and sunglasses. Though her eyes were hidden, the sharp jawline and elegantly curved lips marked her as a certified beauty.
Xu Yingying subtly adjusted her posture and made sure the brand logo on her purse was angled toward the car.
Then she watched in stunned silence as Zhang Yuanqing jogged over, opened the passenger door, and slipped inside.
The "rich lady" hit the gas and took off with her boytoy.
Xu Yingying's jaw fell open. Shocked.
Was he secretly some low-key rich kid? Or... one of her own—part of the "seafood trade" or maybe the "steel wool industry"?
...
Kangyang District Police Bureau — Morgue.
Zhang Yuanqing stood beside the autopsy table and lifted the white sheet. A brutalized corpse lay beneath it.
The body was covered in bruises and stab wounds. The chest had a gaping cut, flesh torn wide open—a grisly sight.
Two days ago, this would've turned his stomach. But after what he went through at the mountain temple, corpses no longer fazed him.
"Go ahead," Li Dongze said, leaning on his cane.
Zhang Yuanqing nodded. He focused on Zhao Yingjun's corpse, sensing the faint remnant of spirit within. It was stirring, gradually awakening.
The aura of a Night Wanderer had a fatal allure to spirits—it roused them from sleep.
Zhang Yuanqing silently summoned his yin energy. His eyes turned pitch black, iris and sclera alike, as he reached toward the corpse.
His hand pulled back a hazy figure.
It looked like Zhao Yingjun—same features—but hollow-eyed and expressionless.
When a person died, ninety percent of their consciousness dissipated. The spirit left behind was always dull and vacant. Most memories were gone, except for a few strong emotional imprints.
Usually, the memories closest to death were the clearest—the freshest.
Zhang Yuanqing suddenly felt a strange hunger—an instinct to feed. Without thinking, he opened his mouth and took a gentle breath.
Zhao Yingjun's spirit turned to blue smoke and drifted inside him.
His forehead pulsed with pain. A flood of foreign memories poured into his mind.
...
He heard weeping. Quiet sobs. And a harsh, menacing voice growling:
"My patience is thin. You'd better start talking."
Zhang Yuanqing realized he was inside the final memory of the deceased.
He "opened" his eyes. The scene sharpened.
He was in a luxurious hotel suite, sitting naked on a plush bed. Clothes—his and a woman's—were scattered across the floor.
In the corner, huddled at the head of the bed, was a young woman—also naked. Pale legs, toned stomach, proud curves.
The crying was coming from her.
A woman? Naked? Zhang Yuanqing blinked, startled.
Would've been nice if Squad Leader gave him a warning. This kind of scene... way too spicy for someone his age.
Through Zhao Yingjun's eyes, he looked toward the man by the bed.
A vicious-looking guy. Scar on his cheek. Sparse brows. Eyes dark and full of violence. In his hand was a gleaming dagger.
That's the killer... Zhang Yuanqing memorized the face.
Half the job was done.
The man pressed the tip of the blade against Zhao Yingjun's chest, snarling:
"Where's the Holy Grail? Where's the list?"
He'd clearly asked this question over and over. His tone was fed up. His eyes brimming with murderous intent.
"I don't know. I really don't..." came Zhao Yingjun's desperate plea.
The killer crouched beside the bed, exasperated. He rubbed his face and muttered,
"Gave you a chance, and you blew it. Gave you a chance, and you blew it..."
Then he drove the blade into Zhao Yingjun's chest.
Pain exploded. Zhang Yuanqing's vision went fuzzy. He collapsed.
The last thing he saw was the man unbuckling his pants and grabbing the woman by the ankle.
Her scream was cut short—the memory ending there.