Knock, knock!
The knocking resumed, its rhythm identical to the previous attempt, with intervals precise to the millisecond.
It was hard to imagine a human being capable of such meticulous control over timing.
Could it be Aunt? Zhang Yuanqing's head throbbed violently, his mind foggy. As he swung his legs off the bed to answer the door, he lifted the blanket, only to freeze mid-motion.
He suddenly realized:
There were no footsteps outside.
That's right—no footsteps. Before the knocking began, he hadn't heard a single sound. For a Level 2 Nightwalker with his heightened senses, even a slightly soundproofed door couldn't completely block his hearing at such close range.
This wasn't an ordinary person.
Zhang Yuanqing pressed a hand against his throbbing temples, his mind racing:
Has someone discovered my true identity? Are they here to confront me? Is it the Night Rose, the Black guard of Impermanence, or the Taiyi Sect?
His body tensed, adrenaline surging through his veins, temporarily suppressing the headache.
Regardless of which faction it is, infiltrating my home at this hour means they have hostile intentions. I can't fight them here—it would endanger Aunt and the others. I need to find a way to lure them outside.
Just then, the knocking stopped, and Zhang Yuanqing saw the doorknob slowly turn.
Click
With a faint click as the latch disengaged, the bedroom door creaked open a crack, revealing a thick, pitch-black darkness beyond.
Zhang Yuanqing stared intently at the widening gap, every muscle tensed. He still couldn't sense any hostile presence, yet cold sweat trickled down his back.
Slap! Suddenly, a dark-skinned hand shot through the gap, gripped the doorframe, and shoved the door wide open.
As the door swung violently open, Zhang Yuanqing finally saw his uninvited guest.
It was a disheveled woman, draped in a filthy white cloak that dragged across the floor.
Her posture was bizarre, twisted and contorted like a doll with mismatched limbs.
In her right hand, she held a rusty kitchen knife, its blade pointed behind her.
Thick, tangled hair obscured her face, and between the strands, drops of pitch-black blood dripped continuously.
This... this appearance evoked a strange sense of déjà vu. Where had Zhang Yuanqing seen this before? Then it struck him: The White-Clad Murderess? The Vengeful Spirit from the daytime text message?
This isn't a prank?!
His face twisted in disbelief. He never imagined that the spam text he'd received earlier that day could actually be real.
This is impossible to guard against! But if it's just a Vengeful Spirit, I'm not afraid. As he thought this, the White-Clad Murderess at the door lurched toward him with clumsy yet swift steps.
Her posture was bizarre, as if she were walking backward, her body twisting and contorting with each step, her limbs contorted at unnatural angles.
"Hmph!" Zhang Yuanqing's eyes flickered with dark energy as he channeled Lunar Power.
His expression suddenly changed as he realized he had lost the abilities imprinted in his genes—his innate suppression of Vengeful Spirits.
At that moment, the White-Clad Murderess staggered backward, raising her cleaver high. Her right arm twisted 180 degrees with a sickening crack, the blade now facing Zhang Yuanqing. She swung down with brutal force.
Zhang Yuanqing rolled off the bed.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The cleaver followed him relentlessly, hacking deep gashes into the mattress.
Zhang Yuanqing tumbled from the bed to the floor, his face growing paler. Not only had he lost his skills, but his physical abilities had also reverted to those of an ordinary person.
He had been completely stripped of his powers, reduced to his original form.
He couldn't help but recall the description from the text message.
This is a dream realm?!
It wasn't that my skills had vanished; I was trapped in a nightmare where none of my abilities or Items could be used.
Before I could dwell on it, a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision revealed the Vengeful Spirit, draped in filthy robes, raising its cleaver once more.
Zhang Yuanqing rolled aside again, hearing the splintering of the elmwood floor beside him. Had that blow landed, he would have been cleaved in two.
Fuck. He braced his hands against the floor, springing to his feet and sprinting toward the living room, the entryway, and the security door.
He had to escape this house.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't turn the security door's handle. The bolt seemed rusted solid within the frame.
A whistling sound tore through the air behind him. Without hesitation, Zhang Yuanqing ducked low.
Clang!
The cleaver spun through the air and embedded itself in the security door.
It can throw the cleaver too?! Zhang Yuanqing swallowed hard, instinctively reaching to pull the weapon free and retaliate. But when he glanced up, the cleaver was gone, leaving only a deep gash in the door.
The White-Clad Murderess was already advancing backward, cleaver in hand.
Seeing this, Zhang Yuanqing darted to the dining table, grabbed a high-backed chair, and slammed it down to meet the descending cleaver.
The high-backed chair shattered with a crack as the cleaver sliced through it, striking Zhang Yuanqing in the chest.
Agonizing pain surged through him as the rusty blade tore open his chest, severing several ribs.
In this Dream Realm, he had lost his self-healing ability.
Zhang Yuanqing smelled the stench of death, staggered back a few steps, and leaned against the edge of the dining table.
The White-Clad Murderess trembled as she retreated and advanced, raising the cleaver high above her head.
Zhang Yuanqing suddenly twisted his body, and the rusty blade slammed into the table with a thud, embedding itself deeply.
The White-Clad Murderess tugged at the cleaver several times, but it wouldn't budge.
Seizing the opportunity, Zhang Yuanqing endured the searing pain in his chest, grabbed a nearby high-backed chair, and swung it with all his might at the Vengeful Spirit's waist.
Crack!
The White-Clad Murderess's waist snapped instantly, contorting into a grotesque twist as she collapsed to the floor.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The Vengeful Spirit convulsed on the ground, her head twisted to the left, limbs contorting in opposite directions—her left knee facing right, her right knee facing left, like a crudely assembled human doll.
With a series of sickening cracks, her spine twisted, her lower body snapping upright while her upper body remained dragging on the floor.
Fuck! Zhang Yuanqing's scalp tingled at the sight. Clutching the knife wound on his chest, he staggered back to the bedroom.
This thing can't be killed.
After locking the door, he stumbled to the window.
Zhang Yuanqing opened the window and peered out. Pitch darkness enveloped the scene—no streetlights, no cars, and no nearby residential buildings were visible.
In the real world, he might have risked jumping onto the air conditioning unit outside. But this was the Dream Realm.
Even if jumping out the window could save him, what if it led to death instead?
What now?
Trapped in the Dream Realm, unable to kill the Vengeful Spirit, and with his skills and Items unusable, Zhang Yuanqing found himself in a desperate situation.
Worse still, the blood gushing from his chest wound refused to stop. At this rate, he'd bleed out in less than ten minutes.
What happens in reality if I die in the Dream Realm?
He didn't dare to think about it.
Who wants to kill me? I remember the Dream Realm is the domain of Illusion Masters, but I have no grudges against them, nor have I ever crossed paths with one.
Just then, the doorknob twisted. Finding the door locked, the Vengeful Spirit outside grew visibly agitated, rattling the handle with frantic clicks.
After a few seconds, it stopped, seemingly giving up on opening the door.
Suddenly, with a deafening BANG, half a kitchen knife burst through the door panel.
Despair flooded Zhang Yuanqing's eyes as he watched the spirit hack at the door. He glanced at the pitch-black window, considering whether to risk a desperate leap.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
With each savage chop, the door panel splintered further, the gash widening relentlessly.
Finally, with a resounding CRASH, the door shattered. The disheveled Vengeful Spirit, knife in hand, lurched through the wreckage in a grotesque posture.