Ch. 358 - A New Fifth-Tier Psychic

Fang Xiu didn’t hang around to see Xiao Chuxia’s cheongsam flutter or catch another look at her legs, nearly exposed up to her thigh.

“Turn off your Domain,” he said. “Save your Spiritual Energy. We’re back to earning cash tomorrow.” Then he walked away, leaving her hopping in place like a kid with a shiny new gadget.

He didn’t go off to hunt more Specters after that. His Spiritual Energy was topped out—eating more wouldn’t budge him up.

Instead, he headed for the Zhous’ Mansion.

It wasn’t his first visit there in the last month. With "wife’s" Fade trick, he could glide inside, no key needed, no hassle. But every time, it was the same story: nothing. Just a huge, empty house stretched over a big plot. Not one Specter lurking. From outside, it might as well have been some forgotten ruin.

This time was no change. He slipped in with Fade, snooped around, then dropped it to search for real. Still nothing.

Fang Xiu started thinking the true Zhous’ Mansion wasn’t even here—maybe stashed in some hidden pocket of space. That key they were chasing? Likely the pass to wherever it was tucked away.

The next day, while the crew split up to rake in more Spirit Money, Fang Xiu held Luo Qingxin back. He had a little test in mind.

Xiao Chuxia wasn’t happy about being sidelined—she griped for a bit and kept pleading to stick around, but Fang Xiu brushed her off.

“Xiu, why’d you keep me here?” Luo Qingxin’s usual frosty front cracked, a hint of nerves slipping through.

“To get you to the fifth tier.”

“What!?” she disclaimed. Her eyes sparked at that, all her cool calm melting away.

“What do I have to do?” she asked.

“Get a tattoo,” Fang Xiu said, steady as always. He led her to the tattoo shop without another word.

Luo Qingxin trailed behind, mind racing. At the shop, she couldn’t hold back. “A tattoo’s going to push me to the fifth tier?”

Fang Xiu gave a quick nod, keeping it simple. He slid a million Spirit Money bills to the withered corpse behind the counter, then shut his eyes.

A second later, they flicked open—his sharp black-and-white pupils now drowned in swirling black mist.

The darkness twisted, pouring out and taking form: a Specter wrapped in shadowy fog, its blood-red eyes glowing from the haze.

Nightmare.

Not the whole thing, naturally—Nightmare’s essence was tied up in Fang Xiu himself. Want the real Nightmare? That’d be him. This was just a piece of its power, carved off for the moment.

“Xiu, what’s…?” Luo Qingxin’s voice wavered, shock cutting through her normal ice.

“Your tattoo,” he said.

“This?” A flicker of doubt crossed her face. It wasn’t about tattooing a Specter—she just wasn’t sold on this one.

Nightmare was hideous: a smear of dark mist with freaky, bloodshot eyes. Ink that on, and it’d look like a bad bruise smeared over her skin.

Fang Xiu didn’t leave space for debate. “Pick a spot.”

She let out a breath, not daring to push back against the Foreseer.

After eyeing herself, she chose her back—out of view, out of thought.

With a pause, she unzipped her top, showing smooth, perfect skin and the soft line of her spine.

She wrapped her arms around her chest to hold the fabric up, then—maybe feeling the vibe—dropped face-down on the table fast. The shift left a sliver of pale, curved skin peeking out.

Fang Xiu watched the corpse start working, his brain running through the idea. This was a trial. If it panned out, he’d be the real deal—a fifth-tier factory, with a solid method to churn out heavy hitters.

Luo Qingxin and the others had been parked at the fourth-tier peak for ages, capped by the real world’s rules. A month in the Land Between should’ve been enough to bust through, with no barriers in their way. Yet they were still jammed.

Fang Xiu had a theory. They needed a spark from outside—something to smash the limit—and a mental shove to go with it.

Yeah, they’d been tearing through Specters all month, but most were small fry—nothing worth a damn.

For top psychics like Luo Qingxin, that low-level junk wasn’t enough to bust their ceiling. They needed a real shove—something from outside to stir the pot.

And Fang Xiu’s choice for that shove? Inking Nightmare.

The Specter Pattern was like Specterization lite—a tiny dose of strange, creeping power sinking into you. For a psychic, that was a serious kick.

And why Nightmare? Simple.

First, it was Class-S—big enough to count. Second, Fang Xiu had it locked down, cutting the risk of Luo Qingxin spiraling out of control.

Plus, Nightmare could level up. Tied to him, it grew as he did. So Luo Qingxin wouldn’t be stuck with a tattoo that fizzled out later.

Tattooing a Specter God, though? No chance for her or the others. They’d never hold up under that kind of rot.

It took some time, but soon a swirling blob of black mist spread over Luo Qingxin’s back.

Right in the center, a pair of freaky Blood Pupils stared out—alive, intense, the kind of creepy that’d give anyone the chills.

The instant Nightmare’s ink set, Fang Xiu sensed it—a thin thread tying him to Luo Qingxin. Like he could slide into her head through the tattoo anytime, tap into her fear, even pull it from whatever was around her.

It was strange as hell, like he’d planted a piece of himself on her back. One-sided, though—she didn’t feel a thing.

He was Nightmare’s heart, after all.

Luo Qingxin, who’d been grumbling about Nightmare’s ugly mug, went still the second it finished.

Her whole frame twitched, eyes popping with shock. “My bottleneck—it’s cracking! I’m right there. One more push, and my Spiritual Energy’s gonna spark into Mindflare!”

Fang Xiu gave a quiet nod. Nailed it. Just as he’d thought.

All they’d needed was a whiff of Specter power to shake things loose. No surprise Joker had hit the fifth tier on the Other Side—loaded with Specter energy, he’d had it in buckets.

“Just one more tap, huh?” Fang Xiu murmured to himself.

Next move: he fired up Nightmare’s power. The tattoo on Luo Qingxin’s back kicked to life—black mist churned, and those Blood Pupils lit up red-hot.

Her mind got dragged into a dream, cut off from her body. She crumpled onto the table, out like a light, arms slipping loose to hang slack.

Fang Xiu took control, guiding Nightmare to spin a “sweet dream” for her—tailored just right to jolt her soul and light that final fuse.

He stood there, eyeing her as she slept, everything hinging on this.

If it clicked, he could use the same play to shove Li Xiaoru and the others over the fifth-tier line—maybe every fourth-tier peak psychic out there.

He’d be legit: a fifth-tier craftsman, not some hack riding Xiao Chuxia’s coattails.

Better yet, it sparked a wilder thought. He could churn out psychics like a factory.

Becoming a psychic took two things: Specter power sneaking into you, and a close call with death or some gut-punching shock.

Tattoo Nightmare on someone, and you’ve hit both marks.

The ink carried a slice of Nightmare’s juice—step one, check. Step two? Just a dream away. Way simpler than facing down the real reaper.

On paper, it seemed like a loss—dishing out bits of his power for nothing. But Nightmare thrived on fear.

Every person with that tattoo turned into a walking receiver. He could zap them with nightmares every night to hoard fear or use them to suck it up from wherever they were.

Picture dandelions: puff, and it scatters—looks like it’s done, but soon it’s popping up all over.

Give it time, and Nightmare could spread across the whole world.

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