Die, Replay, Repeat

Two minutes later…

The air around Fang Xiu rippled with spatial distortion. Waves of energy shimmered like water, and three figures appeared out of thin air.

At the forefront was Liu Shuai, panting heavily as he clutched two headquarters operatives, one in each hand.

"Xiu—uh," Liu Shuai called out, his voice brimming with excitement. "How was that? Fast enough for you? The moment the headquarters got your call, I teleported here with these guys!" 

Liu Shuai grinned proudly, clearly eager to show off his speed.

One of the operatives beside him, however, shot him a stern glare. "Show some respect! That's Chief Commander Fang to you!"

Liu Shuai's grin instantly turned sour. "Chief Commander, huh? So what? He's still my bro! Do you know what kind of bond we have? We've been through life and death together—"

Fang Xiu interrupted, his calm voice cutting through the conversation. "You can teleport with others now? That's new."

Liu Shuai's expression brightened again as he rubbed his hands together. "Yup! After reaching the second tier, my teleportation not only got a major distance upgrade, but I can also bring people along now."

Fang Xiu's gaze turned thoughtful. It was a surprisingly practical ability. Not just for travel—this kind of power could prove invaluable for strategic retreats as well.

"Come on, Xiu," Liu Shuai urged, gesturing enthusiastically. "Leave this mess to them. I'll take you back to the headquarters. We can even make a quick detour—catch a breeze and enjoy the night."

Fang Xiu gave a slight nod, seeing no reason to refuse. Liu Shuai's teleportation ability was undeniably convenient.

"Hold onto my arm," Liu Shuai instructed, extending his chubby arm. "I need physical contact to bring someone along."

Fang Xiu reached out and gripped Liu Shuai's thick arm.

He couldn't help wondering—not for the first time—if Liu Shuai's awakening of teleportation powers had things to do with his weight and laziness. Perhaps he'd developed the power simply because he was too unwilling to walk.

"Hold tight, Xiu! Off we go!"

WHOOSH!

In an instant, both of them vanished from their spot.

When they reappeared, they were standing in the middle of a wide, empty street.

"Huff… huff…" Liu Shuai wheezed, bending over as if his lungs were about to stage a protest. His face glistened with sweat, and he wiped it away with a quick swipe of his sleeve.

"I… I can't teleport straight to the headquarters in one go. Huff... We're gonna have to do this in short hops," he muttered, gulping air like it was in short supply.

WHOOSH!

In an instant, their forms flickered out of sight, reappearing briefly before vanishing again as they zigzagged across Shangjing. 

The teleportation left them like shadowy phantoms—ghostly blurs that danced between the folds of reality.

After what felt like an eternity of jumps, the two finally halted near an old antique market.

Even at this late hour, a handful of stubborn vendors still clung to their stalls. One of them, a middle-aged guy with a cigarette dangling precariously from his lips, froze mid-puff the moment Fang Xiu and Liu Shuai materialized out of thin air.

His face went pale as if he'd just seen a ghost—or worse.

The stall owner stood stock-still for a beat, then opened his mouth to scream.

Before he could let loose, Fang Xiu's eyes glimmered faintly with an eerie crimson hue. 

The scream died in the man's throat, and his expression softened into an unnatural calm. 

Without a word, he went back to rearranging his trinkets, completely ignoring the two strangers like they were part of the night itself.

"Huff… huff…"

Liu Shuai sounded like an old engine sputtering its last. He bent forward, hands braced on his knees, looking ready to keel over.

"Xiu… I can't… I'm tapped out. No more Spiritual Energy. We're gonna have to hail a cab the rest of the way," Liu Shuai groaned, his shoulders sagging like someone had let all the air out of him.

Fang Xiu didn't reply. His attention was locked elsewhere—fixed on something far beyond the tired complaints of his companion.

At the far end of the market, a crowd had gathered. But this wasn't your usual late-night bargain hunters.

They were Specters.

A mass of grotesque, nightmarish figures huddled together in unsettling silence.

Fang Xiu saw Specters from the Other Side almost daily, but to see so many gathering here, in the human world? That was bizarre. Stranger still was the way they lingered as if they were attending some kind of cult meeting.

"Hey! Headquarters is that way. What're you doing? Don't tell me you're actually stopping to shop," Liu Shuai muttered, now slightly recovered. "You know all this antique junk is fake, right? Total scams."

Ignoring him, Fang Xiu began strolling toward the stalls.

Seeing this, Liu Shuai reluctantly trudged after him, muttering under his breath.

As they drew closer to the eerie gathering, the purpose of the Specters' meeting became apparent.

They weren't just gathering—they were clustered around a single stall.

The vendor at the center of it all was a balding man slouched in a rickety folding chair. His face was lit by the glow of his phone, where he scrolled through short videos with the dead-eyed boredom of someone desperately trying to stave off sleep.

He barely glanced up as Fang Xiu and Liu Shuai approached.

"You can look, but don't touch," he muttered lazily, his eyes flickering back to his screen.

Fang Xiu ignored the warning and casually picked up a ceramic bowl from the table.

The stall owner's demeanor changed in a heartbeat. His face twisted with irritation, and he snapped upright.

"Hey! Are you deaf? I said no touching! And if you break it, you're buying it. That's a genuine Ming Dynasty (1368-1644 AD, TR's note) artifact—used by Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang himself when he was begging for food. It's worth 188,000 yuan!"

Liu Shuai snorted, unable to keep a straight face. "Ming Dynasty? That junk? Please. Even a stray dog wouldn't bother with that bowl."

The stall owner scowled, but Fang Xiu paid neither of them any mind. He placed the bowl back and methodically picked up a piece of jade, turning it over in his hand before setting it back down.

Then his fingers closed around a small bronze bell.

The moment Fang Xiu lifted the bell, the air shifted.

The previously motionless Specters suddenly stirred, their attention snapping to the object in his hand.

Dozens of grotesque heads turned as one, their hollow eyes gleaming with an unnatural hunger.

Fang Xiu stilled, his eyes narrowing. He moved the bell slightly to the left.

The Specters' heads followed in perfect unison.

Then to the right.

Again, the Specters mirrored the movement like puppets on invisible strings.

It was unnerving.

The Specters' twisted forms crowded around, their ghastly faces contorted with ravenous desire. To them, the small bronze bell wasn't just an object—it was prey, a feast they craved with every fiber of their being.

Fang Xiu studied the bell closely. It was tiny, barely the size of his palm. Its surface was rough and weathered, the green patina suggesting it had been buried for centuries. It looked fragile enough to crumble at the slightest touch.

After a brief moment of thought, Fang Xiu began channeling his Spiritual Energy into the small bronze bell.

He focused, his energy flowing like a steady current. But despite his efforts, nothing happened.

The bell remained silent and inert, its plain bronze surface unchanged. No energy flickered to life; no hidden power stirred from within.

To the untrained eye, it was nothing more than an unremarkable relic—a mundane piece of metal without significance. Yet the very ordinariness of the bell was precisely what made it so peculiar.

A simple bronze bell couldn't possibly captivate a horde of Specters. Its allure had to lie in something deeper, something invisible to conventional senses.

"Hey! You deaf or something? I said no touching unless you're buying!" The stall owner's patience finally snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "That bell's a genuine artifact from the Western Zhou Dynasty (1046-771 BC, TR's note)! You don't just wave it around like a toy!"

Liu Shuai scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Western Zhou? Please. More like made in last week!"

"I'll take it," Fang Xiu interrupted, his calm tone cutting through the argument like a blade.

Liu Shuai's jaw practically hit the floor. "Wait, what? You're really buying this? Xiu, if you're into antiques, there are actual shops for that! Ones with walls and air-conditioning, and a legit license!"

"Hey! Who are you calling illegitimate?" the stall owner snapped back, puffing his chest indignantly. "This stall's been in my family for three generations! We've been dealing with antiques since before you were even born!"

DING!

The sudden chime of a phone notification cut through the heated exchange.

"Balance update: 10,000 yuan credited to your account."

The stall owner froze, his eyes glued to the glowing screen of his phone. For a moment, he looked like a fish out of water, caught between disbelief and elation.

When he finally looked up at Fang Xiu, the glint of greed in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Hold on—wait a second! You think 10,000 yuan is enough for an authentic Western Zhou artifact? That bell's—"

Before he could finish his protest, Fang Xiu turned back to face him, his eyes glowing with a menacing crimson light.

The stall owner's words choked off mid-sentence. His body slumped, and his defiant expression melted into a blank, vacant stare. Slowly, like a puppet on strings, he sank back into his folding chair, his fingers automatically swiping at his phone screen as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Fang Xiu turned and walked away, the bronze bell in hand.

*****

The Next Day, at the headquarters…

A silver-haired elderly man stood before Fang Xiu, holding the bronze bell delicately, as though it were a fragile treasure.

"We've conducted a thorough analysis, sir," the man began, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. "The bell appears to date back to the Han Dynasty(202 BC – 9 AD, 25–220 AD, TR's note) and was likely used in Taoist rituals. However, it is made of ordinary bronze, with no unique properties or spiritual traces."

Fang Xiu took the bell from the man's hands, examining it once more.

A ritual object from the Han Dynasty, made of nothing but plain bronze?

As an antique, it might hold historical value to humans, but to Specters? No Specter would be drawn to an ordinary, lifeless object, regardless of its age or origin.

Turning the bell over in his hands, Fang Xiu narrowed his eyes in thought. 'So why were Specters so captivated by this bell? What's it about this seemingly mundane relic that sparks such hunger, such desperation?'

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