“This morning, Chu Shiye accepted a job to investigate an abandoned mine with two other C-level ability users,” Kane explained, his voice tense as they hurried to the hospital.
“In the mine, they were attacked by… something. We don’t know what it was. The other two ability users are missing, and Chu Shiye was the only one to make it out alive.”
“When he came out, he was in terrible shape—covered in blood. He barely made it to the exit before losing consciousness.”
“We got him to the hospital immediately, but his condition is worse than we imagined. The doctors said it’s beyond what they can handle… unless we can find someone stronger…”
Kane’s words stabbed into Ji Mian’s heart like needles. He took a deep breath, forcing his voice to remain steady. “What exactly was in that mine?”
“We don’t know,” Kane said grimly. “It was supposed to be a normal abandoned mine. The detectors only picked up traces of metallic minerals. Even if there were beasts, they should’ve been low-level ones.”
“And the other two who went in with him? No news from them?” Ji Mian pressed.
Kane shook his head. “None. We have people stationed at the exit, but those two haven’t come out.”
Ji Mian’s brows furrowed tightly.
Chu Shiye is strong—strong enough to take down a C-level like Berg. With his cautious nature, he wouldn’t have ventured deep into danger recklessly.
Unless… the danger came so suddenly that even he didn’t have time to react.
What happened in there? And what role did those two C-levels play in this?
These thoughts flashed through Ji Mian’s mind as he quickened his pace.
Right now, he didn’t care about the answers. All he wanted was to confirm Chu Shiye’s safety.
As long as Chu Shiye is okay, everything else can wait.
The hospital reeked of disinfectant and a chaotic mix of other smells. The equipment here was far less advanced than the pristine technology of the capital planet. The facilities were even more rudimentary than Ji Mian had imagined.
“Are you Mr. Chu’s family or friends?”
A doctor emerged from the operating room, his gloves stained with blood, his expression troubled. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more we can do…”
“I’m a healing-type,” Ji Mian said immediately. “I can go in.”
The doctor shook his head. “It’s not a matter of healing. We have healing-type users as well, but Mr. Chu’s problem isn’t physical.”
He hesitated, then spoke with a heavy tone. “His spiritual energy has gone out of control.”
Kane gasped audibly.
Spiritual energy outbursts—often referred to as “spiritual power rampage”—occurred when an ability user’s spiritual energy spiraled into uncontrollable chaos.
Even mild cases were considered severe, requiring immediate intervention by a psychic-type ability user to stabilize the situation.
But psychic-type users were incredibly rare. On this planet, there were none.
Even if one existed, it wouldn’t matter for Chu Shiye.
Because this wasn’t a mild case. It was a full-blown rampage—the most severe kind of spiritual energy breakdown.
To stabilize someone in this condition, an A-level or higher psychic-type ability user was required.
But the strongest ability user on this planet was only B-level.
Without the calming influence of a psychic-type ability user, a spiritual energy rampage was tantamount to a death sentence.
“How could this happen?” Kane muttered, disbelief etched on his face. “What could have pushed him to this point?”
The doctor shook his head. “We’re truly sorry… but there’s nothing more we can do.”
Kane was silent for a moment before turning to Ji Mian. “I hate to say this, but maybe it’s time we… start preparing for his funeral.”
“Doctor,” Ji Mian interrupted, his voice firm. “Let me in.”
The doctor hesitated. “It’s pointless. To save him, you’d need a psychic-type ability user. You’re just a healing-type…”
“I know,” Ji Mian said, meeting the doctor’s gaze steadily. “Let me try.”
The doctor stared at him, momentarily speechless. After a pause, he stepped aside. “…Alright.”
Ji Mian pushed open the door to the operating room.
The nurses inside filed out one by one. The last to leave, another healing-type user, patted Ji Mian on the shoulder. “Are you his friend? Or… his lover? Don’t be too sad… At least he didn’t suffer much.”
Ji Mian replied calmly, “He’s not gone yet.”
The healer sighed, thinking Ji Mian was simply in denial, and said no more.
Though the healer was a C-level—one of the best healing-types on the planet—he had been powerless to save the young man lying on the operating table.
Without the intervention of a psychic-type ability user, this young man, though still breathing, was essentially already dead.
No one could save him. He was doomed to slip into the abyss of death, inch by inch, completely alone.
Such a pity. The healer shook his head, closing the door and sealing off the last sliver of light from outside.
Ji Mian walked to the operating table, his eyes quietly lowering as he took in the sight before him.
Spiritual energy rampage manifested in various ways. Some ability users would lash out indiscriminately, attacking anything in sight. Others would harm themselves, as if oblivious to pain.
And now, the young man before him lay utterly still.
Chu Shiye’s breathing was shallow, his face pale and bloodless. His normally steady presence was gone, replaced by a suffocating tension as his spiritual energy thrashed wildly, threatening to consume him from within.
Ji Mian’s fingers trembled slightly as he reached out.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured softly.
Closing his eyes, he extended his consciousness into Chu Shiye’s chaotic spiritual world.
Chu Shiye lay quietly, his bloodstained clothes clinging to his body, his face serene as if he were lost in a long, distant dream.
As the healer had said, perhaps he truly would pass away in this endless sleep, free from pain.
To many, it might seem like a mercy. A life marked by abandonment—cast aside by his parents in childhood, orphaned again as a teenager when his adoptive father died. His meager E-level spiritual power, incapable of even summoning a projection, painted the picture of a bleak existence.
For such a life to end here… perhaps it was better that way.
But Ji Mian thought otherwise.
“I won’t allow you to leave,” he murmured, his voice steady and calm, like the soft fall of snow.
“Your rent isn’t fully paid yet, Mr. Landlord.”
His tone carried a hint of wry humor, but his gaze burned with quiet intensity. “The promises I made to you, and the ones you made to me, haven’t been fulfilled yet. So don’t even think about leaving so easily.”
He placed his long fingers gently against Chu Shiye’s forehead. In an instant, a cascade of light, like falling stars, spilled from his touch.
—
Outside the operating room, Kane, who had been crouched by the door, suddenly looked up in shock.
“What an incredible spiritual energy fluctuation!”
A pale blue glow spread like waves crashing upon a boundless sea. Ji Mian focused his mind entirely, casting aside all hesitation. Without reservation, he poured every ounce of his spiritual energy into the room.
The light surrounded Chu Shiye, curling gently around him like strands of a spider’s silk suspended over a vast cliff, tethering someone who had already fallen.
Ji Mian’s eyes darkened with determination.
Two years ago, he had given everything for someone. Risked everything.
And he had failed.
But this time…
Cold sweat beaded on his brow, but his expression remained unyielding, his gaze as sharp as frost.
He was different back then than he is now. He had already failed once and would not fail a second time.
His spiritual energy surged like an ocean tide, pouring into Chu Shiye’s spiritual world.
It flowed like a vast sea, crossing towering mountains, splitting into rivers, and cascading into streams as it plunged into the depths of a chasm.
But the abyss remained motionless, its depths unfathomable, unyielding to the rushing tide.
Ji Mian had given his all, yet he still could not reach the man before him.
Their connection felt like a single, fragile thread hanging over an infinite void.
His grip on the edge of the operating table tightened, his fingertips turning pale. The edges of his vision began to blur and darken—a sign he knew all too well.
It was a warning. A prelude to failure.
And Ji Mian knew what failure would mean.
If he failed now, he would lose the second person he had ever dared to cherish.
Sweat dripped down his lashes, and his strength ebbed until he could barely stand. Leaning against the table, he tried once more to summon his spiritual energy.
But the once-vast ocean of power now felt like grains of sand slipping through his fingers.
The more he tried to hold on, the faster it scattered.
The scene was hauntingly familiar.
He had been here before.
His mind began to falter, spiraling uncontrollably into fragments of memories.
Two years ago… had it been this difficult, this quickly?
No, it hadn’t. He remembered…
“Only B-level spiritual power? You’re as useless as your mother!”
“So many years of the Ji family’s resources wasted on you. What a joke!”
“Good thing I still have another son. He’s so much better than you. And his mother? Ha, much more likable than yours!”
Cold sweat soaked his dark hair. Ji Mian’s trembling fingers tightened their grip ever so slightly.
Is he really not as good as he was two years ago?
…Perhaps.
His spiritual power had fallen to B-level. He could no longer sense his spiritual projection. Compared to his former self, the difference was staggering.
If he could go back to two years ago…if his spiritual body could respond to him again…
“In the future, you’ll meet so many people. They won’t care about your past. They’ll stay with you, far into the future.”
“When that time comes, the past will no longer hold you back. Your path forward will be limitless.”
Ji Mian clenched his hand into a fist.
Two years ago, when he was still an S-level, had he also desperately prayed for the impossible? Had he begged his spiritual projection for help, just like this?
The Answer Was No.
For two years, perhaps due to that fateful failure, or perhaps because of the cold, judgmental gazes of others, Ji Mian had spiraled into a vortex of despair—an uncontrollable cycle.
Doubt, pain, sorrow, and guilt—he remembered every moment of those two agonizing years with haunting clarity.
So why had the past version of him been so lost?
Why had he begged for miracles he knew would never come?
Why had he pleaded for the response of his spiritual projection, or hoped for some divine intervention?
He didn’t need miracles.
What he had—what he could do—was enough.
He must succeed.
A streak of blood seeped from the corner of Ji Mian’s lips. The searing pain pierced his mind like a jagged blade, blurring his vision. Slowly, he closed his eyes.
Crimson tears streamed down his pale cheeks, leaving vivid traces on his skin.
He didn’t look back. The blurred, distant past was not worth his gaze.
He looked ahead, where clarity lay before him.
Chu Shiye was there.
The person who had spoken those words to him—the one who had changed his world—was right in front of him.
If Ji Mian let go now, Chu Shiye would fall irreversibly into the abyss.
And if Ji Mian didn’t let go, perhaps they would both fall together.
Perhaps…
Blood dripped from Ji Mian’s fingertips, staining his pale hands. The droplets fell one after another, blossoming into cold, ominous flowers upon the ground.
His body felt like it was being torn apart, piece by piece. Covered in blood, Ji Mian could no longer see or speak.
His spiritual energy teetered on the edge of total collapse. One more step, and it would plunge into its own abyss—a death sentence.
Yet Ji Mian laughed softly.
I will not beg again. Not like the past two years.
All the doubt, guilt, pain, and sorrow—they’ve flowed away with time. They’ve left me.
So appear again.
This is not a request. It is not a plea.
It is a command.
Ji Mian tilted his head back, his icy gaze glimmering like the deep, cold ocean.
Outside the operating room, Kane froze as the C-level healer suddenly jerked upright.
“What an incredible spiritual energy fluctuation!” the healer exclaimed in horror.
“This is impossible… Don’t tell me the one who went in also lost control?”
Kane didn’t hesitate. He pushed the operating room door open and rushed inside.
For a brief moment, he couldn’t see a thing.
And then, he realized—he could see.
What he saw was light.
A light so dazzling it burned into his mind—brighter than the sun, more brilliant than the stars.
It was a light no one could bear to look at directly. Instinctively, Kane raised his hands to shield his eyes.
“Alright,” came a soft, serene voice, “don’t frighten anyone.”
The voice was clear and light, like a breeze at dawn.
The radiance receded, calming like the first light of morning after a blazing sunrise.
Kane blinked, his teary eyes adjusting to the softened glow.
When his vision cleared, he froze once more.
What he saw took his breath away.
A luminous butterfly, its wings shimmering with silver and blue, danced through the air.
It sparkled like sunlight on the ocean, casting trails of gold and diamond-like radiance.
Its wings were delicate and radiant, each movement a ripple of light, like waves breaking upon a sunlit sea.
Kane stared in awe. “What… what is that? I’ve never seen anything like it!”
The butterfly was so beautiful, so divine, it was like a goddess of light born from the sea.
Ji Mian’s lips curved into a faint smile, a gentle sigh escaping his lips.
“Long time no see.”
The luminous butterfly danced in elegant circles before descending, scattering trails of radiant stardust like a gentle rain.
It alighted on Ji Mian’s shoulder, its glowing wings brushing softly against his cheek in an intimate gesture.
“Help me one more time,” Ji Mian murmured, tilting his head slightly toward the butterfly.
“Just like two years ago, when we faced the world together.”
The luminous butterfly’s delicate antennae twitched in response. With a graceful flutter, it lifted off, trailing ribbons of light as it flew toward Chu Shiye.
The butterfly landed gently on Chu Shiye’s forehead, its wings glowing faintly.
Ji Mian closed his eyes.
In that moment, his spiritual energy fully intertwined with Chu Shiye’s.
Silver-blue light erupted like a river of stars, a boundless galaxy unfolding in the room.
Countless glowing points rose into the air, forming a radiant expanse of light—an infinite, shimmering cosmos.
Kane’s pupils trembled as he gazed upon the scene.
Kane: This… is Mr. Su’s spiritual world?
He had never witnessed such an expansive, profound spiritual world. It was as if he, a mere speck, were standing in the middle of a boundless universe. The vastness and depth overwhelmed him, making him shiver uncontrollably with fear.
But the terror didn’t last long.
The luminous butterfly—Su Lan’s Light Goddess Butterfly—fluttered gently, scattering its radiant stardust. The shimmering galaxy began to dissipate, and the butterfly gracefully circled above Chu Shiye.
Unlike its earlier deliberate, unhurried movements toward Chu Shiye, it now seemed eager to return to Ji Mian, almost impatient. Landing softly on his shoulder, it affectionately brushed its glowing wings against Ji Mian’s pale cheek.
Ji Mian’s eyelids lifted slowly.
Chu Shiye’s spiritual energy rampage had been calmed.
Ji Mian had finally pulled him back from the edge of the abyss, back to his side.
“You can begin treating him now,” Ji Mian said quietly.
Kane stood speechless for a long moment before managing to stammer, “Mr. Su… are you a psychic-type ability user?”
“No,” Ji Mian replied calmly, “I’m a support-type.”
Ji Mian was the Federation’s strongest S-level support ability user, hailed as the closest existence to an S-level psychic ability user—a versatile powerhouse.
The only S-level Omega. The only S-level support user.
Even after his fall from S-level to B-level, even if he was imprisoned(he was in a hole) for two years, he was still him.
Kane was stunned.
Support-type… Sure enough. Mr. Su didn’t seem like an ordinary healing-type.
But for a support-type to be this formidable… Mr. Su is truly worthy of being Mr. Su..
Kane hesitated, then cast a cautious glance at Ji Mian. “Um… Mr. Su?”
Ji Mian, now seated on the edge of the operating table, had his eyes half-closed. “What is it?”
Kane hesitated. “You… look pretty bad.”
“Do I?” Ji Mian’s tone remained steady.
Even as he spoke, two bright streaks of blood trailed down from the corners of his eyes.
Kane’s voice rose in alarm. “Yes! Definitely!”
Ji Mian chuckled lightly, a hint of self-awareness in his expression. “I thought as much.”
He raised a hand, and the luminous butterfly landed gently on his bloodstained fingertips before dissolving into shimmering particles of light.
“Then, do one more thing for me,” Ji Mian said softly.
—
“My child, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
A faint, distant voice murmured gently.
Chu Shiye lay still, his consciousness like a fragile leaf adrift on a rippling stream.
The voice was unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar—an echo from a past he couldn’t place.
“Don’t hate me. If one day you learn the truth, don’t shed tears for me.”
“I’m sorry… for leaving you alone.”
“When the time comes, I will…”
The splash of a stone disrupted the water, overturning the leaf, sending ripples through the surface.
Chu Shiye’s awareness burst free, and his eyes snapped open.
Dead silence. Darkness.
There was no end to it, no light.
The ground beneath him was coated in a thin, icy layer of water. He sat up slowly, black liquid seeping through his fingers and pooling into the shadowy void.
This is…the world after death?
Is he dead?
Chu Shiye remained silent, his memories frozen at the moment he had used every ounce of his strength to escape the mine.
He had emerged from the suffocating darkness only to be greeted by a gloomy, sunless sky.
He had wanted to pull out his communicator and send a final message to Su Lan.
Su Lan…
Chu Shiye stood up.
He couldn’t stay here.
He didn’t know if Su Lan was still waiting for him, but before they had parted, he had asked Su Lan to wait.
And Su Lan had said, “Alright.”
Wading forward through the icy black water, Chu Shiye pressed on, his pants soaked and heavy.
The darkness was impenetrable, stripping away all sense of direction. He moved solely on instinct.
At the beginning, he also relied on his intuition to carry back the dying Su Lan from the vast yellow sand where he could not discern the direction.
Although this time, he had no weapon, no companion, only himself, alone…
Chu Shiye looked forward, his dark brown eyes as firm and unshakable as a cliffside.
One minute, two minutes, three minutes.
One hour, two hours… perhaps the third hour.
Darkness, darkness, and more darkness.
In the vast, infinite space, his intuition felt small and powerless. The things he relied on were so pale and fragile.
The icy water seeped into his bones, freezing his blood. From the initial coldness, it turned into a stinging pain, like needles piercing into his marrow.
It was as though countless fine needles pierced into the crevices of his bones, prying apart flesh and blood bit by bit. His legs went numb, feeling like two lifeless bones dangling beneath his knees, held together by the faintest thread of sheer willpower.
Chu Shiye suddenly realized that his body seemed to be dissolving. The feet submerged in the black water were already tainted with darkness.
Not only that, but from his fingertips, the pitch-blackness silently spread.
He was merging into this darkness, or perhaps, being swallowed by it—by this deathly abyss.
At that moment, Chu Shiye did not feel fear. Instead, he felt a faint sense of desolation.
He had once heard that when someone was dying, if there were people who still cared about them, calling out to them, then in the boundary between life and death, the dying person would hear that voice guiding them back to life.
But he heard nothing.
There was nothing here.
“Yes… there’s no one here. Only a lonely, struggling, pitiful person.”
“Just let it go.”
Chu Shiye heard a small voice spoke to him.
“After all, nothing will change even if you keep walking forward. Do you really think someone will guide you out of this place?”
“Do you really think that person will wait for you? That’s impossible. He already said he would leave.”
“He’s gentle to everyone; he smiles at everyone the same way. To you, you’re nothing special.”
“Besides, you already know he’s special, extraordinary, don’t you?”
“Such a dazzling existence—how could he stay on this desolate, sunless wasteland of a planet? How could he be content, like you, to fade into obscurity and be a useless piece of trash?”
“You and he are worlds apart.”
Countless weak yet familiar voices overlapped, surging toward him from all directions, wrapping around him like a tide and suffocating him.
Chu Shiye stood still for a moment before realizing something—the voice he was hearing was his own.
This dead place was like a mirror, reflecting “heartfelt” thoughts he had never voiced.
“…”
Chu Shiye slowed down, step by step, until he stopped altogether.
He had already given his all; he was exhausted.
Yet, he still hadn’t heard anyone calling his name. In this endless darkness, he hadn’t seen even the faintest glimmer of light.
The black water, which had initially only reached his ankles, gradually rose, consuming more and more of his body.
Chu Shiye lowered his head. His dark hair fell forward, covering his eyes. His expression, hidden in the dim light, was impossible to discern.
“Isn’t this good enough?”
The voice continued softly.
“Let go of your impossible fantasies. Accept reality.”
“From the very beginning, you were always alone…”
Before the final word could be uttered, it suddenly dissolved, as though wiped away by an invisible hand.
Chu Shiye felt a sharp pain in his eyes and instinctively closed them.
But then, he realized what it was.
He raised a hand to shield his face, looking up—
Blinding light pierced through his fingers, stabbing into his dull, lifeless eyes.
The light tore through the curtain of darkness like a sword descending from the heavens.
This light did not guide him forward or show him the way to life. It was simply so dazzling and radiant that darkness could no longer exist, and death faded away without a trace.
All the lurking shadows, the filth that had permeated everything, the malicious whispers born in the darkness—under this light, they were reduced to nothingness.
There was no need for guidance. The light itself was salvation.
Chu Shiye’s eyes stung from staring into the brightness, but he refused to close them—not even for a second.
He stared at the light for what felt like forever, his eyes reddened and sore.
In the seemingly eternal darkness, he had finally waited long enough for a light that belonged to him alone.
Chu Shiye stepped toward the light like a devout follower pursuing their god.
He merged with the light, stepping into reality, stepping toward—
A face suddenly loomed close, grinning mischievously at him.
Chu Shiye: “…”
“Hey, you’re awake!” Kane waved a hand cheerfully. “The surgery was a success. Congratulations! It’s a girl!”
Chu Shiye: “…??”
“Just kidding. Have some sense of humor, will you?”
Kane put his hands on his hips.
“So, how does it feel to be alive again?”
Chu Shiye didn’t answer. He propped himself up, scanning the room.
The hospital room was quiet, with only him and Kane inside.
After a moment’s hesitation, Chu Shiye asked, “Where is he?”
Kane replied, “Oh, he left.”
Those simple words hit Chu Shiye like a bucket of cold water, freezing his blood in an instant.
Chu Shiye opened his mouth but couldn’t make a sound.
His mind went blank.
…Su Lan, gone?
So it wasn’t Su Lan who saved him just now?
Then who…
He wanted to ask but swallowed the question.
It didn’t matter anymore.
Silent, he clenched his hands into fists.
If he was only a burden to Su Lan, there was no reason for Su Lan to stay.
If he wanted to leave, it was only… natural.
Kane interrupted his thoughts. “Oh, by the way, he left a message for you. Want to hear it?”
Chu Shiye lowered his head, then shook it slightly.
Kane blinked in surprise. “Huh?”
Chu Shiye’s voice was hoarse, barely audible. “Where… did he go?”
Kane scratched his head and replied casually, “Oh, Mr. Su went next door for treatment.”
Chu Shiye’s head snapped up. “…?”
Kane met his gaze without a hint of irony.
Chu Shiye: “…Then why did you say he left?”
Kane shrugged. “Well, he did leave. Walked over there himself. What’s the problem?”
Chu Shiye: “???”
Taking a deep breath, Chu Shiye pointed toward the door.
“Get out.”
R : is Kane a friend or… ;_;
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