Tansen staggered out of the elevator, covered in blood. The first-floor lobby was littered with his subordinates lying on the ground, groaning in pain.
Tansen trembled as he took in the sight: amidst the bodies of fallen bodyguards in the center of the lobby stood two people.
The young man who had just been as cold and ruthless as a god of death was now gently patting another young man’s head with a soft, clear voice: “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take you back now.”
The other young man lowered his eyes, appearing meek and docile, as if saying, “I’m obedient, I’ll listen.”
“Okay,” he responded.
However, his body was stained with blood, and he still held a bloodied short knife in his hand.
The remaining bodyguards stared at him in terror.
Tansen: “…”
Originally intending to crawl downstairs for help, Tansen shrank back trembling, not daring to make a sound.
Chu Shiye stood silently beside Ji Mian.
The hand that rested on Ji Mian’s head felt warm, a comforting temperature that seemed to ease even the pain.
Chu Shiye closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, his blood-streaked vision still showed that familiar figure standing before him.
The Alpha beside him remained silent. Ji Mian turned his head, his icy gaze sweeping over the trembling Tansen.
His voice was cold and emotionless: “The promise you made earlier, you won’t go back on it, will you?”
Tansen trembled even more, his fear causing him to stutter: “No… no, absolutely not!”
“Mr. Su, take your time leaving!”
Ji Mian walked out without looking back.
Chu Shiye obediently followed behind him. Only after they left the building did Chu Shiye speak: “What did he promise you?”
“To keep what happened today a secret and to stop bothering us,” Ji Mian replied. “I’ve realized that dealing with people like that requires being a bit fiercer.”
He had broken every bone in Tansen’s body. Even with healers, it would take a long time to recover.
Chu Shiye stared at Ji Mian’s pale fingertips: “Hmm.”
He quietly reached out his hand.
Noticing his blood-stained fingers, he hesitated for a moment and then slowly withdrew them.
Ji Mian took his hand.
Chu Shiye: “!”
Ji Mian spoke gently, “How are you feeling now? Are you uncomfortable?”
Chu Shiye: “…No.”
Ji Mian sighed softly: “Actually, you didn’t need to come. I wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
Chu Shiye stared at their clasped hands: “…Hmm.”
In his blurry vision, his hands appeared filthy, covered in blood and grime. Yet Ji Mian held them without the slightest hint of disdain.
Ji Mian continued: “I know you came because you were worried about me. But next time, I hope you’ll think more about yourself.”
Chu Shiye stared at their hands: “Hmm.”
Ji Mian: “But you were amazing. You defeated so many people, including several C-level ability users. None of them could beat you. Well done.”
Chu Shiye stared at their hands: “Hmm.”
Ji Mian stopped walking.
Chu Shiye stopped as well.
Ji Mian turned his head to carefully study this Alpha, thinking to himself: Why does he seem so dazed?
Is he running a fever?
He touched Chu Shiye’s forehead.
Chu Shiye remained still, obediently letting Ji Mian touch him.
The temperature beneath his palm wasn’t hot—in fact, it was almost too cold.
…This Alpha definitely isn’t feeling well.
Recalling Chu Shiye’s state before they left, Ji Mian couldn’t help but feel worried. He said, “I’ll carry you back.”
Chu Shiye looked at Ji Mian for a few seconds without moving.
Then he crouched down in front of him.
Carry me.
Ji Mian: “…”
Great. He really is dazed.
And not too bright.
He hurriedly took Chu Shiye back home.
As soon as they entered the door, perhaps because he knew he was finally in a safe place, Chu Shiye’s body swayed and fell toward Ji Mian.
Ji Mian immediately caught him and helped the Alpha to the bed. His voice was soft: “Does your head hurt a lot?”
Chu Shiye lowered his head, replying faintly, “Hmm.”
It did hurt—a pain so intense that he could hardly speak.
Ji Mian’s slender white fingers lightly touched Chu Shiye’s cheek, lifting his face.
Chu Shiye: “…”
His already sluggish expression froze, his body briefly stiffening. But Ji Mian didn’t notice.
He was observing Chu Shiye’s eyes.
Originally a dark brown like mountain rocks, his eyes were now veiled with a faint red glow, like molten lava beneath an apocalyptic sky.
It was both dangerous and peculiar.
Chu Shiye’s mental state was on the verge of collapse, yet he clung to control with sheer willpower—a single thread of a spider’s web dangling over a cliff.
One thread between death and survival.
Was he confident?
Ji Mian asked himself in his heart.
Within moments, he had his answer.
No matter what, he couldn’t fail.
“I’ll perform a mental calibration for you right now,” Ji Mian said seriously. “It might be very painful, but no matter what, you must endure it.”
“If you endure this, you’ll break past your old limits and awaken your spiritual entity again.”
Chu Shiye raised his eyes, and though they were unfocused and blurred, Ji Mian’s image still reflected in them.
Ji Mian whispered, “Trust me, okay?”
The response was Chu Shiye’s simple, unwavering “Hmm.”
Ji Mian smiled faintly.
The Light Goddess Butterfly flitted into the air. Points of light shimmered from Ji Mian’s fingertips as he closed his eyes, his forehead lightly touching Chu Shiye’s.
A connection of mental power.
In Chu Shiye’s mental world, the vast desert stretched to the edge of an even darker abyss.
Ji Mian stood on the thin edge of the abyss, raising his hand. The Light Goddess Butterfly landed on his fingertip.
He leaped into the abyss.
In that moment, he willingly plunged into the chasm, entrusting his life to the fragile thread Chu Shiye had managed to maintain with great difficulty.
In reality, Chu Shiye gritted his teeth, his trembling back bending under the strain.
It was an excruciating process, like being flayed inch by inch with a blunt knife, only to be reforged after the flesh was torn apart. It was as though a new version of himself was being reconstructed from his bloody remains.
For anyone else, this hellish agony would have driven them to bite their tongue and end it all.
But Chu Shiye didn’t.
He swallowed the metallic taste of blood, holding on to a sliver of clarity.
He couldn’t lose consciousness—he had to stay awake and endure this seemingly endless torment.
If he lost consciousness, his mental power would spiral out of control, and the connected Ji Mian would also…
The world blurred, his vision awash in crimson. Amid it all, a clear voice echoed in Chu Shiye’s ears.
Su Lan…
In his heart, he clung to that name, as if it were etched into the core of his being, into the trail of blood dripping from him.
Su Lan.
At the same time, Ji Mian completely let go of his consciousness, fully plunging into the depths of Chu Shiye’s mental abyss.
The Light Goddess Butterfly shed its blue starlight, weaving wings of light that surrounded and protected him.
The abyss was dark and endless. Ji Mian closed his eyes and steadied his mind.
His mental power was fully unleashed.
In an instant, a shimmering light blue brilliance illuminated the vast abyss, as if the entire Milky Way had overturned. No matter how deep and cold the abyss, the silver sea of stars flowed endlessly, unstoppable.
The radiant brilliance, like the sun and moon combined, pierced through layers of darkness. At the bottom of the abyss, a pair of eyes, veiled as if by black silk, slowly opened.
They were golden pupils.
In that moment, Ji Mian felt as though he had fallen into a bottomless abyss, his body shattered into countless fragments, the excruciating pain tearing through him.
Yet even amidst such agony, his gaze remained unwavering, as resolute as eternal, unmelted ice. The Light Goddess Butterfly danced on his trembling fingertips, its starlight pointing directly at those golden eyes.
Chu Shiye pressed his hand to his forehead.
Throughout the years, his mental power had been like a frozen lake, desolate and lifeless beneath its thick layer of ice.
Now, a warm beam of light shone upon the surface of the lake. This light was so warm, reminiscent of the beam that had driven away despair and death when he had hovered near death just days ago.
Even the hardest ice would melt under the warmth of such light.
The frozen lake’s surface began to melt silently, faint cracks spreading across it. The cracks grew, spider-webbing across the ice—yet the lake itself still didn’t collapse.
Ji Mian withdrew his hand, cold sweat dampening his eyelashes. He quietly observed Chu Shiye.
Chu Shiye’s eyes remained tightly shut. The light seemed to have faded, and the ice remained thick… but beneath those cracks, faint traces of new life had begun to stir.
Ji Mian had brought him to this turning point. From here, it was up to Chu Shiye to fight against the current and rely on himself. Finally, he touched that faint, yet undeniably real, strand of mental power.
At that moment, Chu Shiye was like a prisoner long trapped beneath the frozen lake. Ignoring his battered body and countless injuries, he smashed through the ice, reaching desperately for that beam of light—
*Plop.*
Something fell into his hand.
It was a small creature, pure white and soft… a little snake.
It didn’t look exactly like an ordinary snake. There were some subtle differences, but without close inspection, it appeared very much like a tiny white snake.
It was very small—so small that its slender body was no thicker than a finger.
Chu Shiye: “…?”
Ji Mian: “…Ah.”
The little white snake, like a newborn child, opened its damp, dark brown eyes.
Its first sight was not its own master but Ji Mian standing in front of it.
The little snake tilted its head, staring at Ji Mian for a few seconds before blinking its wet eyes.
Then, with great enthusiasm, it slithered around Ji Mian’s fingertip, attempting to crawl into his sleeve.
Chu Shiye: “???”
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