Ch. 352 - The Generous Mr. Fang?

“Xiu, what’s happening here?” Yang Ming asked again, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone.

Fang Xiu glanced away from the heap of Spirit Money on the counter, his face as steady as ever. “When a Specter dies, the Whitestone sucks up its essence and turns it into the energy that powers this place. But every Specter I’ve taken down got swallowed by Taotie instead. That leaves the Whitestone empty-handed—and without its cut, no Spirit Money shows up.”

A wave of disappointment washed over the group from the Land Between. They’d been holding out hope that today might finally offer a way out of this wretched trap, only to get hit with this harsh truth. Sure, the Taotie army looked impressive, but it wasn’t filling their wallets.

Just as the mood dipped, Fang Xiu tossed out a question that twisted everyone’s gut. “If Yue Lai Inn lets you trade Spiritual Energy for Spirit Money, doesn’t that mean the pawnshop would too?”

Lu Ziming and the others tensed up, a flicker of worry bouncing between them.

Their quick looks and clenched fists said it all—they were picturing Fang Xiu wild enough to drain their Spiritual Energy and spend it like loose change.

No one would willingly hand over their own life force to settle a bill.

After a heavy pause, Lu Ziming flashed a tight grin that didn’t touch his eyes. “You’re spot on. In the Land Between, you’ve got two currencies: Spirit Money and Spiritual Energy. Both work anywhere, even the pawnshop. They’re basically the same—can’t be swiped. Grab someone’s Spirit Money, and it’s no good to you. Spiritual Energy’s the same deal.”

“Lu Ziming, what’s your point?” Yang Ming jumped in, picking up the edge in his voice. “You think Xiu’s about to strong-arm you into giving up your Spiritual Energy for cash?”

Lu Ziming let out a thin laugh. “Mr. Fang already said he’d let us off easy. I’m sure he’s not the type to flip on that. Just stating the obvious here—no mix-ups, right, Mr. Fang?”

CRACK!

Fang Xiu’s hand shot out, smacking Lu Ziming clean across the face. The guy crashed to the floor, sprawled out like a broken toy.

“Stop acting clever,” Fang Xiu said, voice ice-cold.

“Y-yeah, you’re right, Mr. Fang. My bad,” Lu Ziming mumbled, hauling himself up with a fake smile, his anger bubbling but locked down.

Fang Xiu knew Lu Ziming wasn’t making it up.

In the Land Between, stolen Spirit Money was useless, and Spiritual Energy followed the same rules. The Whitestone’s setup was all about keeping psychics like them chasing Specters forever—it didn’t care for backstabbing.

If Spirit Money could just be grabbed, fifth-tier players like Lu Ziming would’ve emptied the place out long ago.

And if you could drag some sucker in and siphon their Spiritual Energy without them agreeing, this joint would’ve been deserted by now.

Truth was, Fang Xiu never planned to tap Lu Ziming or anyone else for their Spiritual Energy. They’d never go for it, and pushing it would just start a fight he didn’t want.

He stepped up, dropping a fat stack of Spirit Money on the counter—over twenty million he’d lifted from Lu Ziming’s crew, plus his own three thousand. “Yang Ming, you and the others cash in every Specter you’ve hunted these past few days.”

Yang Ming gave a nod, and the group got moving.

Sleeping in Taotie’s gut every night had paid off—they’d piled up a solid haul.

Even Fang Xiu was surprised when they scraped together over five million.

Added up, their total hit close to thirty million Spirit Money. Still, they were seventy million shy of the limit needed to buy their freedom.

That gap could break a weaker spirit.

Then, out of the blue, Fang Xiu’s calm voice sliced through the gloom. “Take all my Spiritual Energy, toss it in with the thirty million, and swap it for a way out of the Land Between.”

The room went still. Mouths hung open.

Lu Ziming and the others gawked, stunned. They couldn’t wrap their heads around it—Fang Xiu was ready to burn all his Spiritual Energy to get out?

For a psychic, getting drained dry wasn’t just bold—it was a death wish. This wasn’t a risk; it was lights out.

“Xiu, no!” Xiao Chuxia’s face drained white, her voice breaking as she rushed forward. “Don’t do it!”

Yang Ming and the rest piled on, desperate. “Xiu, it’s not worth it! We can keep hunting Specters, stacking cash. Give it a bit more time, and we’ll hit a hundred million. You don’t need to do this!”

Fang Xiu ignored the group’s objections, his eyes fixed on the decaying figure behind the counter, steady and unshaken.

The corpse didn’t move. No sound, no hint of life.

“Is it not enough?” someone asked, their voice quivering with fear.

Yang Ming and the others let out unsteady sighs, grateful Fang Xiu hadn’t just been sucked dry right then and there.

Lu Ziming’s crew, though, swapped quiet looks of disappointment. If Fang Xiu’s Spiritual Energy plus the thirty million had sealed the deal for a way out, they’d have scored big—freedom served up without lifting a finger.

“Xiu, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Don’t do that!” Xiao Chuxia said, still shaken, pressing a hand to her chest to calm her pounding pulse.

But Fang Xiu’s next words crashed over them like a storm, wiping away their relief with a new jolt. “All of you, come forward and offer your Spiritual Energy with me.”

“Us!?” Xiao Chuxia pointed at herself, eyes wide, like she couldn’t believe her ears.

“Xiu, you’re kidding, right?” Yang Ming’s mouth fell open, shock written all over him.

Fang Xiu held their gazes, his tone solid as rock. “I’ve seen the future.”

And just like that, everything shifted.

Yang Ming stepped up. “Shopkeep, I’m cashing in all my Spiritual Energy for a way out of the Land Between.”

Xiong Tianguang went next. “Same here. All my Spiritual Energy for the exit.”

Luo Qingxin didn’t blink. “Me too.”

Li Xiaoru flashed a quick, firm grin. “Count me in.”

Xiao Chuxia looked around, swept up in the moment, before muttering, “And… me.”

Lu Ziming and his crew stared, eyes practically popping out, floored by the bizarre, united front. “What’s going on?”

One line from Fang Xiu—just one—and they were all ready to toss their lives into the fire.

“I’ve already seen the future,” he’d said. Lu Ziming murmured to himself, "Is this some mind-twisting power? A spoken command that snapped their wills into line?"

As they stood there, stunned, the corpse behind the counter finally moved.

With a sluggish flick of its rotting hand, the thirty million Spirit Money dissolved from the counter like mist.

Then a chilling feeling bled into the air—a cold, crawling touch that clung to Fang Xiu and the others, prickling their skin like a ghost brushing past.

In a flash, their Spiritual Energy poured out like a broken dam, rushing into nothingness. 

Their faces grew paler by the second.

Xiao Chuxia, the frailest of the bunch, dropped to the floor, her strength gone.

Lu Ziming’s crew froze, mouths hanging open.

They couldn’t grasp it—couldn’t fathom why Fang Xiu’s single sentence had pushed these people to march straight into death.

Even Fang Xiu was fading fast. This wasn’t just giving up; it was the end.

A wild idea flared in Lu Ziming’s head, crazy but impossible to shake: Maybe they’d gotten Fang Xiu all wrong. The icy, cutthroat front—the guy who didn’t seem to give a damn about anyone—could that have been a cover? Was the real Fang Xiu some kind of selfless hero, ready to throw it all away for others? Had he pulled this team together from headquarters to trade their lives, not for their own sake, but to carve an escape for them?

It was a grand, almost noble thought, the kind that could choke you up. Lu Ziming and his crew felt a twinge of something like respect, even if it sounded insane. Nothing else made sense.

Fang Xiu and his squad were swapping their lives for a way out—one that could only be for the ones left behind.

After all, with Fang Xiu’s group down, Lu Ziming’s crew were the last ones standing in the Land Between.

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