Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 177 Forgetting is the True Death

The deathly silence that followed the retreat of the ghost tide weighed heavily on my shoulders.

Xu Yan leaned against the thin door of the inner room and could clearly hear Chen Zhiwei's shallow but uneven breathing in the bedroom.

Each breath was drawn out too long, like a taut string, reminding him how close they had come to complete collapse.

His gaze swept over the mess in the room.

On the doors and windows, broken talismans hung limply like torn butterfly wings.

Beneath their feet, the patterns of the concealed array seemed to have been plowed by an invisible giant claw, with occasional sparks of electricity flashing hoarsely at the broken points before quickly disappearing into the deeper darkness.

The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder, the burnt smell of psionic energy, and... a faint but chilling smell of disinfectant.

That's the smell of the "Abyss"; they've been here and left their mark.

not over.

This feeling was even more suffocating than facing the horde of ghosts.

Chen Zhiwei managed to sleep soundly inside. The depletion of her spiritual energy forced her body into a deep sleep as a form of self-protection, temporarily setting aside all the chaos and questions.

Outside that door, all the weight, all the unsolved mysteries, and the looming threats pressed down on him alone without any cushioning.

The coldness of the door seeped into my skin through my clothes, but it was nothing compared to the chill in my heart brought by the weariness and urgency that had been repeatedly washed away by the tide.

The spiritual dam, riddled with holes, groans under its unbearable burden in this silence.

He must know.

We can no longer wait passively, and we can no longer rely on scattered clues and Granny Xue's vague hints.

What exactly is this photo studio called "Forgotten" left behind by the master?
Its true function is far more than simply sealing away a few wandering ghosts.

It must... it must be able to do more.

His gaze swept past the scattered ancient books and overturned furniture on the floor, finally settling fixedly on the door to the dark room.

The dark wood seemed to devour all the light around it, standing there silently, like an ancient riddle, or a dangerous promise.

That place was a forbidden zone, a place his master had explicitly forbidden him from easily entering, yet it might also be the only source that could give him answers at this moment.

Xu Yan took a deep breath, his lungs stinging slightly from the cold air.

He reached out and pushed open the door.

The door closed behind him, completely shutting out the last glimmer of light and sound from the outside world.

It is not darkness.

It was something thicker and more penetrating, like a cold, deep sea, instantly engulfing his mouth, nose, ears, and eyes.

It wasn't a lack of light, but rather that the light had been swallowed up by something—countless broken, cold fragments of memory with sharp edges, coalescing into a liquid darkness that enveloped and permeated him.

The chill didn't come from the air, but rather from deep within his bones, as fine as needles, pricking at the core of his soul, making him almost tremble.

A strong odor assaulted my nostrils; it wasn't just fixative and dust. It contained... a mixture of rusty blood, burnt psionic energy, and... the rotten sweet scent of spider lilies.

The smell was so strong it almost felt heavy, pressing down on his chest and making it hard for him to breathe.

He forced himself to adapt to the suffocating environment and looked up.

There were no cabinets or shelves as expected.

Countless spots of light floated on the walls... or rather, on this dark boundary.

They are not stationary, but rather slowly and irregularly floating and rotating, their lights flickering.

Some shone brightly like a dying candle, while others were as dim as the embers of death. Together they formed a silent, chaotic sea of ​​stars, permeated with endless sorrow.

There is no time, no order here, only these frozen moments of pain.

His gaze was involuntarily drawn to the nearest, brighter spot of light.

The light seemed to pulsate slightly, carrying an ominous sense of familiarity.

He stared intently—

It wasn't seeing, it was falling!

The viscous darkness around him vanished instantly, and he was roughly dragged into another time-space node.

The fifth cycle!
The cold rain pelted my face, carrying a fishy smell.

Ahead, Ah Zhe turned around, his face still bearing that carefree, roguish smile, but deep in his eyes was a seriousness he had never seen before.

"Hey, Xu Yan, next time..."

The words have not yet been spoken!

A jet-black lightning bolt, formed purely from the malice of "Abyss," tore through the distorted sky and struck down at a speed beyond perception.

His target is him!

But A Zhe was faster.

The guy used all his strength to shove him aside, the force so great that his bones were cracking.

Then, he saw Ah Zhe being precisely pierced by that black lightning bolt!

No screams.

Before his eyes, A Zhe's body, like shattered glass, instantly disintegrated into billions of points of light shimmering with a ghostly blue data stream, scattering in all directions.

Before the last glimmer of light vanished, he clearly saw A-Zhe's eyes—the mockery had completely disappeared, leaving only boundless apology and a resolute determination that had burned out completely. Those lips opened and closed silently, conveying an echo that transcended reincarnation:
"Next time... you absolutely have to... win..."

"Ugh—!"

Xu Yan suddenly arched his back, his heart felt as if it had been struck by an invisible lightning bolt, and the sudden, sharp pain made his vision go black.

A sweet taste rose in his throat, and a hot, metallic liquid surged uncontrollably into his mouth. He clenched his teeth tightly, but a trickle of blood still escaped from the corner of his mouth, dripping into the invisible darkness before him and disappearing in an instant.

This is not a memory! This is the soul being forcibly ripped open of old wounds, and then that despair and pain being poured in again, both intact and doubled.

He awkwardly, almost instinctively, looked away, trying to escape the torture.

However, another spot of light, which was originally dormant, was passively triggered by his violently fluctuating mental state.

The scene suddenly changed!

The end of the first cycle!

Standing on the ruins, his father, Xu Haoyu, was covered in blood and covered in countless deep wounds. The "golden" armor he remembered as the strongest was now shattered and broken, revealing the bone beneath.

The father's eyes were no longer the usual calm or stern gaze, but a broken, burning with a final, desperate madness.

"Yan'er...live on!"

The father roared, his right hand, fingers clenched like a knife, plunged into his chest.

That wasn't an attack. Xu Yan could feel his father's hand piercing through his flesh, but it didn't bring physical pain. Instead, something deeper was being touched, torn apart, and then forcibly inserted into him by something... a huge, cold, ominous presence.

A core, shimmering with a dark light and seemingly compressed from countless tormented souls, was forcibly pressed into the depths of his soul by his father.

"Remember...remember everything!!"

His father's roar was like a final thunderbolt, crashing against the barrier of his consciousness. Then, the scene collapsed, and his father's figure vanished completely in the scattered light.

"Ho...ho..."

Xu Yan could no longer hold on and collapsed to one knee, his hands gripping the ground tightly—if this void even had a ground.

Cold sweat instantly soaked his back, and a crushing pain shot through the depths of his soul.

Every breath carried the smell of rust and the lingering tremor of the soul.

He got it.

There are no heartwarming memories here, no records to refer to.

This sea of ​​stars is the graveyard of his seven reincarnations.

Each spot of light is a tombstone, burying his repeated failures, losses, and moments on the verge of utter madness.

Stepping into this place is not about revisiting history.

This is using his still intact soul to devour the remnants of his own reincarnation.

Each step he took was on the bones and shattered fragments of his own soul, producing a sickening cracking sound.

My soul felt like it was being fried in a pan of oil, and every breath it took ripped apart my cracked spirit.

Xu Yan was almost drowning in this sea of ​​stars built from his own pain. The remnants of reincarnation wrapped around his ankles like seaweed, trying to drag him into eternal madness.

Just as his consciousness was about to completely dissipate, a glimmer of light, like a lighthouse piercing the deep sea, stubbornly drew his unfocused gaze.

He struggled to lift his head.

It floats in the deepest part of the dark room.

It wasn't a physical entity, but rather a representation of a concept—an enormous, yet blurred, "negative."

It hung there silently, without any image, only a chaotic, gray halo like a primordial nebula slowly flowing and rotating, tranquil and profound.

An indescribable feeling seized him.

It's not visual, it's not auditory, it's a...sense of belonging.

An incredibly familiar and warm aura emanated from him, like amniotic fluid in his mother's womb, like a fireplace on a cold winter night, gently enveloping his battered soul.

This feeling resonated strongly with a forgotten corner of his soul, and an instinctive sense of closeness and sorrow instantly broke down his defenses.

It's Shen Mengyao!

Not as "Chen Zhiwei," but from an earlier time, the real, complete, and the "true self" that he desperately wanted to find... her original self.

"boom--!"

A bolt of lightning, not from the outside world but from the deepest part of his soul, carrying all the confusion, pain and obsession accumulated over seven lifetimes, ruthlessly cleaved through the fog of his perception.

All the fragments found their place at this moment, piecing together a cruel yet clear truth.

“I was wrong…we were all wrong…” A chilling thought grew wildly in his mind, carrying a terrifying shock, “This photo studio… ‘Developing and Fixing’…it wasn’t for sealing souls at all…”

His breathing suddenly became rapid, and his heart pounded so hard it felt like it was about to shatter his sternum.

"It is an anchor! An anchor that goes against the tide of the entire dream, firmly anchored in the gap between reality and illusion!"

The chaotic halo of the "negative" before him transformed into a tragic yet gentle barrier against the entire false world.

"It is using its own existence to resist the assimilative power of dreams, forcibly anchoring and fixing the 'reality' that 'she' is about to be completely erased!"

Therefore, protecting this place, protecting this seemingly empty "negative", is protecting the last and only spark that can awaken Shen Mengyao.

And it was at the very moment that this earth-shattering realization was born—

"Don't forget yourself..."

"Forgetting is the real death."

His father's whispers before he vanished were no longer vague prophecies; each word transformed into a heavy drumbeat, carrying a completely new and deafening meaning, resounding loudly in every corner of his soul.

So that's how it is!

“These words… these words were never just spoken to me!” A surge of emotion, a mixture of immense sorrow and sudden enlightenment, welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. “This is… the only guide to survival that Father left for ‘her’!”

This dream, woven by Shen Mengyao herself, this cage with "Chen Zhiwei" as its shell, is rooted in her attempt to escape the unbearable real trauma in reality.

She not only altered the world, but she also completely and willingly... forgot herself.

Forcibly breaking the dream from the outside is tantamount to directly destroying her last spiritual sanctuary, and the only outcome can be mutual destruction, turning into nothingness along with the collapse of the dream.

The only way out was in her own heart!

We have to make her remember it herself!
Let her tear off the disguise of "Chen Zhiwei" herself, and face and embrace the truth of the abandoned "Shen Mengyao"!

Only when the "dream owner's" self-awareness is fully awakened, and when she no longer needs this false world to escape from, will this magnificent cage naturally crumble because it has lost its meaning.

A shiver, a mixture of immense hope and deeper fear, shot through his spine like an electric current, making the hairs on his body stand on end.

This glimmer of light piercing through endless darkness is so fragile—it rests on the faint hope of "awakening" of a soul mired in self-deception.

A spark of hope ignited in his heart, but it instantly seared him—because the path it illuminated was a bottomless abyss.

Protecting the negatives? Guiding memories?
On what grounds? On his Silver Level I strength?

Xu Yan almost sneered out loud, but a bitter, rusty feeling welled up in his throat.

The idea itself is like an ant raising its tiny limbs to a torrent, absurd to the point of despair.

What he is protecting is not an object, but a soul that is being eroded and assimilated by the entire false world.

The power he needs is a mighty force strong enough to shake the foundations of dreams and directly confront the backflow of the "Abyss".

Gold level... that threshold that once seemed so far away, yet is now so close, yet also like an insurmountable chasm.

He knows it all too well.

His spiritual energy accumulation had long been overflowing, and his physical refinement had reached the limit of his current level.

That thin yet indestructible barrier lacks not quantity, but quality!
It is a "flame" that can ignite the soul and cause a leap in the essence of life!
Refine a D-rank ghost and absorb its core spiritual energy.

The moment the thought crossed my mind, a chill ran up my tailbone.

Class D... those are no longer just confused remnants; they are catastrophic entities that have acquired rudimentary intelligence and teeter on the edge of madness and cunning.

They know how to lie in wait, how to hunt, and how to sow despair like seeds.

Searching for them is like lighting a campfire in a dark forest; what you attract may not be prey, but more likely the hunter.

And refining? That's an even greater torture and gamble on the level of the soul.

To forcibly incorporate such vast, chaotic, and negatively charged psychic energy into oneself, to purify and absorb it... if one is not careful, it will not be an advancement, but rather a pollution and assimilation, turning one into an existence more terrifying than a ghost.

Nine out of ten chances of survival? Perhaps even a ten percent chance of survival is a pipe dream.

He staggered backward, almost fleeing as he burst through the door to the dark room, throwing himself back into the mess of reality.

The door closed behind him, separating that painful sea of ​​stars from the only source of hope.

He leaned against the cold door, breathing heavily, the dried blood at the corner of his mouth like some kind of brand.

The wounds deep within his soul, torn by fragments of memory, still throbbed with pain, reminding him that what he had just experienced was not an illusion.

But what is clearer than the pain is a realization—he can no longer exist as a victim of history; he must become a molder of the future.

The darkroom was a graveyard, and also an arsenal.

Those painful remnants of reincarnation were no longer the ghosts that tormented him, but the flames that tempered his resolve.

His father's scheme, the truth about the photo studio, Shen Mengyao's predicament... all these heavy fragments were forcibly fused together in his heart by a cold force, pointing in a clear direction: action.

A crazy plan, born from this extreme exhaustion and pressure, sprouted from the depths of his heart like a poisonous vine, quickly ensnaring his reason.

Dangerous, deadly, but... perhaps the only way.

He moved step by step to the window, pressing his palm against the cold glass.

Outside the window, the city's disguised "normal" outline stretches out in the night, but deep in the sky, the purplish-red bruises, like the world's septicemia, still pulsate stubbornly, mocking this fragile calm.

He looked at the illusory night sky, and the last trace of uncertainty in the depths of his eyes was completely burned away.

Feeling lost? That's a luxury now.

Instead, there was a resolute determination, cold as iron, forged in despair.

At the heart of this resolve was a flame willing to burn everything—including himself—for that faint hope. The path had never been so clear, nor so brutal.

In silence, he must continue to play the role of "senior brother and lover," carefully planting clues to awaken "Shen Mengyao" in every detail of daily life, as if walking on thin ice.

In the face of life and death, in every battle to come, he needs to guide her to touch reality, to make her perceive the illusion of the world and her own abnormality under extreme conditions.

This was tantamount to a delicate neurosurgery, but he was wielding a battle axe.

His gaze swept over Chen Zhiwei's sleeping profile, and that unguarded tranquility stung him like a needle.

In an instant, a completely different figure pierced through the fog of memory and clearly appeared before my eyes—it was Shen Mengyao.

In real life, her eyes are clear as water, and she always has a bright smile.

When he was struggling with complicated academic subjects, she would patiently come closer, pointing at the book with her fingertips, and using vivid and interesting metaphors to bring the dry knowledge to life.

Sunlight streamed through the library windows, dancing on her slightly curled hair. When she got excited talking, she would unconsciously wrinkle her nose, her radiant expression more lively than any painting.

The Chen Zhiwei before her was like a meticulously sculpted reflection of the moon in the water—serene and gentle. A single soothing glance from him would ease her brow, and she would completely believe every lie he wove, entrusting all her reliance and trust to him without reservation.

One was a fellow artist who had created alongside him in the studio, their brushstrokes brimming with vitality and bold imagination; the other was a fragile piece of glass who saw him as her whole world, someone he needed to cherish with all his heart.

He had to plan carefully, using a single sentence or a scene as a scalpel to precisely pierce the depths of 'Shen Mengyao's' consciousness, which was wrapped up in layers of protection, when she was completely unprepared.

Every attempt could lead to her cognitive breakdown; every moment of silence could be watching her slide into the abyss.

This kind of 'calculation' in the name of 'love', this process of having to personally forge lovers as fragile as glass into comrades of steel, is itself a cruel paradox.

He cherishes the warmth before him, yet his goal is to destroy it; he loves her present, but he must personally push her into a potentially painful past.

And the prerequisite for all this meticulous planning and tightrope walking is strength!
It is the strength that can support him to the end, so that he won't be crushed halfway through!

He needs to hunt down D-class ghosts.

One needs to fight for that one-in-a-lifetime opportunity for promotion amidst a near-death experience.

He pressed his hand tightly against his left chest, feeling beneath his skin.

The abyss throbbed steadily, cold and lifeless.

This core, originating from the "Abyss," forms the ultimate contradiction with this photo studio that opposes the "Abyss."

Was the father sealing it into his body a form of "anchoring" in itself?
He raised his head, his gaze seemingly piercing through the false night sky, staring directly at the cold, cruel reality beyond the dream.

"Old Town Data Port—" The name of his next destination appeared in his mind. It was the place indicated by the memories his father had given him, a place where the rules of dreams and "the abyss" flowed erratically, and it was undoubtedly the best hunting ground for hunting D-level ghosts.

“Father…” His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out. Only an unwavering will resonated in his chest. “I will never forget again. I will make her… remember. Then, together, we will personally put an end to this cycle of reincarnation…”

The silent vow blended into the thick darkness, like a stone thrown into an ancient well, sinking to the bottom, yet stirring up ripples on the unseen surface that were destined to overturn everything.

After a sleepless night, the Forgotten Photo Studio appeared exceptionally quiet in the morning light.

The mess from last night has been roughly cleaned up, but the broken window frames and charred walls still tell a harrowing story.

Sunlight streamed through the broken windowpanes, cutting pale beams of light through the dust, gently enveloping Chen Zhiwei's sleeping profile.

Her eyelashes trembled slightly in her dream, like the wings of a startled butterfly, making Xu Yan's heart tighten as well.

He sat on the old sofa, his gaze tracing her familiar silhouette, his eyes deep as the sea—containing both the pure tenderness of a lover and the heavy consideration of a gravedigger.

He was measuring an invisible abyss, and she was the only light on the other side of the abyss.

In silence.

These four words are like a brand, etched into his soul.

He watched as she unconsciously furrowed her brow in her sleep, his fingertips twitching slightly on his knee, almost reaching out to smooth away that unease—was there a silent cry imprisoned within her?

He must find that "key," a key that can unlock the lock without causing his entire mental world to collapse.

This is not a battle; it is far more dangerous than any battle.

He was like an infiltrator who deeply loved her, trying to modify the deepest code of the prison that protected her and imprisoned her without her noticing.

He rose, moving with utmost care, as if afraid to disturb a fragile dream.

When preparing breakfast in the kitchen, he deliberately kept the sounds of running water and clattering pots and pans to a minimum.

Every move he made was precisely calculated. He had to play the role of "senior brother and lover" well, but he couldn't let his overly heavy concern, which arose from knowing the truth, show in the slightest.

As the aroma of rice porridge wafted out, a slight noise came from the inner room.

Chen Zhiwei woke up.

Xu Yan immediately adjusted her state, letting the exhaustion from not sleeping all night naturally remain in her eyes, but not letting solemnity dominate.

He carried warm water into the inner room, and as she tried to sit up, he naturally sat on the edge of the bed, his arm around her shoulder and back, supporting her steadily.

His movements were skilled and gentle, a tacit understanding that had developed between lovers over a long period of time.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice low and gentle, with a slightly hoarse quality as he carefully brought the water glass to her lips.

Chen Zhiwei drank a few sips of water from his hand, and the warm water seemed to bring a little life back to her pale face.

She forced a smile at him: "Much better, just...I feel so weak." Her gaze swept across the room, landing on the unrepaired damage, and her eyes darkened. "Last night...those things..."

"Oh, I've already cleaned it up." Xu Yan replied, his tone deliberately carrying a hint of relief. He gently wiped the water stains from the corner of her lips with his fingertip, a natural and intimate gesture. "Don't think about these things. Restoring your spiritual energy is the most important thing. I made your favorite barley porridge."

He helped her to the outer room and carefully placed a soft cushion behind her waist.

The sunlight just happened to illuminate the small, light brown mole behind her ear, and Xu Yan's heart felt as if it had been gently pierced by something.

It was this detail that, like a key, unlocked the rusty lock of his memory.

So, what will be the key that belongs to "Shen Mengyao"?
How many moments like this will it take him to piece her back together?

He pushed a bowl of warm porridge in front of her, the rim of the bowl making no sound as it touched the table.

In his mind, several "keys" that might trigger her deep memories instantly surfaced: the inspiration she had when she first wielded a high-level talisman, her life-or-death battle with the information ghost, and perhaps even... the final traumatic moment before she decided to construct this dream.

But all of this is too dangerous, like dancing on the edge of a cliff.

He ultimately chose this most insignificant anecdote from "Chen Zhiwei's" teenage years as his first target.

The force should be light, and the landing point should be off-center. He needs to listen to the echo first to see if it is a solid solid or hollow.

He watched her pick up the spoon, and then, as if casually, brought it up, his tone carrying the unique, slightly teasing tenderness between lovers:

"Speaking of which, you used to be most afraid of these kinds of creepy things. Once at school, you were so scared by watching a horror movie that you grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go. The next day, you insisted that you smelled disinfectant and dragged me to the hospital for a long time to get checked out."

As he spoke, his gaze, carrying a faint smile, fell upon her face, as if he were completely immersed in that slightly comical memory that belonged to "them".

However, his senses were heightened to the extreme, like the most sophisticated radar, capturing every subtle reaction of hers—the frequency of her breathing, whether there was a moment of confusion or resistance in her eyes.

While loving her, he was also calculating the best way to awaken her. This contradiction meant that beneath his gentleness lay a heavy sorrow that only he knew.

Chen Zhiwei paused slightly in the hand holding the spoon, looked up, a hint of confusion in her eyes, then chuckled:

"Really? Senior brother, are you mistaken? When have I ever been afraid of those things? On the contrary, you always complained that the talismans I drew weren't 'fierce' enough during training."

Her reaction was natural, with a slight teasing tone about her "senior brother's" misunderstanding of his memory, and there was nothing unusual about it.

The first attempt failed.

Xu Yan remained completely unmoved; this was entirely within his expectations.

He just smiled, with a hint of self-deprecation: "Maybe so. Too many fragments of my memory have been lost, and some memories have become mixed up." He attributed his earlier "slip of the tongue" to this, cleverly dispelling any suspicion it might have caused.

He knew he couldn't rush things.

This lock is so strong that every attempt must be made as light as a feather, with the landing point absolutely precise.

He needs to try more, to piece together the true outline of "Shen Mengyao" from her unintentional words, habits, and even her sleep murmurs.

Breakfast ended in an atmosphere that seemed peaceful but was actually fraught with tension.

As Xu Yan cleared away the dishes, the crazy plan in his mind became clearer and clearer.

Protecting requires strength, and guiding requires confidence.

Silver-level I power isn't even good enough to serve as a stepping stone on this path of tempering.

He needs a raging fire, a tempering that can reshape both his soul and body.

Refine a D-rank ghost.

This thought brought not fear, but an almost cold-blooded desire.

He needed that pure and violent yin energy to ignite the fire of his soul and break through the barrier of gold.

This was not only to gain power, but also to verify—to verify whether he was qualified to bear the responsibility of the "gravekeeper" and to carry out the meticulous calculations "in silence".

Target: Data Port in the Old Town Area.

That is where the father's beacon finally pointed, the chaotic boundary between the rules of dreams and the "Abyss," a breeding ground for terror, and the most suitable soil for powerful "abnormalities" to flourish.

There, he might find traces of a Class D ghost, or follow the clues left by his father.

“Zhiwei,” he turned around, his tone regaining its usual calmness when discussing missions, “the photo studio’s defenses need a complete overhaul and reinforcement, which will consume a lot of materials. I plan to go to ‘Liuquan Market’ to trade for some items.”

This is a plausible excuse.

The black market is a mixed bag, well-informed, and also one of the gray hubs leading to the data port.

Chen Zhiwei, unsuspecting, nodded: "Be careful. If you need me..."

"You stay here." Xu Yan interrupted her, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Someone needs to guard this place, and your condition isn't suitable for going out." He paused, as if suddenly remembering something, and casually asked, "By the way, are there still any left of the Soul-Eroding Talismans and Chaos Stones that A Zhe brought last time?"

Upon hearing this, Chen Zhiwei immediately looked down to examine the dimensional storage ring on her hand.

After a moment, she raised her head, a hint of doubt in her eyes: "Not a single Chaos Stone is left, strange... but there are still some Spirit Erosion Talismans left." She took out a small stack of talismans with a dark purple hue.

Xu Yan remained expressionless. He stepped forward and took the stack of corrosive talismans from her hand with utmost ease, putting them into his pocket. He explained in a calm tone, "Well, I just happened to have A Zhe bring over another batch of goods."

This action and explanation, however, caused Chen Zhiwei to frown slightly.

She keenly caught the slight unease: "The Spirit-Eroding Talisman... is an interference talisman specifically designed for E-rank ghosts, with limited power. Senior brother, you were just going to the black market to buy materials, why would you need to replenish this? Are you... about to do something dangerous again?" Her voice carried a barely perceptible tension, her gaze fixed intently on him.

Xu Yan paused almost imperceptibly, then turned and walked towards the workbench, using her back to block her probing gaze.

His voice came through his shoulder, carrying a hint of deliberate ease, yet mixed with unmistakable resolve: "It's just better to be prepared. The black market is a mixed bag; bringing some unconventional methods is never a bad thing."

He didn't give her a chance to ask further questions and began to quickly and calmly organize the equipment.

First and foremost is that Soul-Sealing Camera.

He carefully examined the fuselage, his fingertips brushing across the cold metal casing before finally settling on an external flash unit with an antique design and silver threads wrapped around it.

This lamp may look old, but it is one of the secret treasures left by my master. It can, with a very small probability, trigger the deeper power of the camera at a critical moment, causing the power of the soul-sealing technique to increase exponentially. It is a true trump card.

Then, he skillfully opened the card slot on the side of the camera, where a thin, cicada-wing-like film, emitting a warm white light, lay quietly.

He carefully felt the peaceful energy flowing within with his fingertips—it was well-preserved and intact.

This calming tablet is the key to offsetting the potential consequences of frequent use of the Soul-Sealing Camera, such as memory disorder or even loss. It is also one of the reasons why he dares to use this forbidden camera multiple times.

Then, he took out a jade cicada with a warm, smooth texture from his inner bag.

This jade cicada can effectively isolate its own life force, avoiding the perception of most low- to mid-level ghosts.

He stroked the smooth surface of the jade cicada, thinking to himself: Zhiwei was left in the photo studio, protected by the power of "developing and fixing the image," so ghosts dared not easily invade. This jade cicada is more suitable for me to use for now.

However, it remains to be seen how much of its effectiveness will remain when facing D-class ghosts that may materialize and have more acute senses.

After doing all this, he subconsciously pulled up the sleeve of his right hand, revealing faint bluish-black lines on his forearm that seemed to be alive, coiled beneath his skin. These were the indelible marks left on him by "Yuan".

He lowered his sleeve and opened his right palm, revealing a clear, ancient, and mysterious soul-suppressing iron brand, radiating a slight heat. Feeling the soul-stabilizing power emanating from the brand, his confidence in fighting to the death seemed to solidify even further.

His every movement was fluid and precise, exuding a cold determination, as if silently telling Chen Zhiwei that his decision was irreversible.

Chen Zhiwei leaned back on the sofa, watching his busy figure, her eyes, which always held a lively and cunning quality, shifting with complex emotions.

She could clearly see the glaring gray at his temples, and the inescapable weight in his eyes, as if he were carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

But what alarmed her even more was the kind of resolute determination that surrounded him at that moment... a desperate gamble.

“Senior brother,” she finally couldn’t help but speak, her voice trembling slightly, no longer a question but a statement, “something’s wrong with you. Ever since we came out of the Matrix, something’s been off. The way you look at me… sometimes it’s like you’re looking at a… fragile object that needs to be handled with care. And now, you’re preparing all this…”

Her gaze swept over the equipment that exuded an ominous aura. "Tell me, are you really just going to the black market?"

Xu Yan's hands, which were tidying up the equipment, came to a complete stop.

He realized that in this seventh layer of the dream, he was not only her senior brother, but also her lover with whom she had given her heart and soul.

She possessed a far more acute intuition than her fellow disciples regarding all his changes.

Simple cover-ups and orders seem pale and powerless at this moment.

He took a deep breath, turned around, and faced her.

The coldness and determination on her face melted away like snow melting in the spring sun, replaced by a gentleness that was both weary and incredibly genuine.

He walked to the sofa, knelt down to bring his eyes level with hers, and then reached out and gently took her slightly curled fingers, which were trembling with unease.

“Fool,” his voice deepened, carrying the intimacy and helplessness only lovers share, “how can you expect me to feel at ease seeing me like this?”

He was referring to the gray in his temples and the heaviness in his brows, cleverly using the fact that she could see it.

So much happened in the Matrix, I almost... almost lost you again.

His words were half true and half false, yet full of genuine emotion. His fingertips were slightly cold, conveying a sense of lingering fear.

He raised his other hand and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles brushing against her warm earlobe. This intimate gesture made Chen Zhiwei relax slightly.

“Some hidden dangers must be dealt with. Some powers must be acquired.” He gazed into her eyes, his gaze deep, as if trying to etch her into his soul. “I assure you, I will do everything in my power to return to you unharmed. Because…”

He paused, his voice even softer, yet with an unwavering resolve, "Here, is the person I care about most."

He didn't give a specific answer, but cleverly used the identity of "lover" and sincere feelings to cover up the unspeakable secret.

This sweet burden was more convincing than any cold explanation, and more likely to hold her back from asking further questions.

Looking at his face so close to hers, and at the genuine affection and worry in his eyes, Chen Zhiwei finally felt a slight relaxation in her tense heart.

She grasped his slightly cool fingers with her own, squeezing them tightly. A thousand words, in the end, turned into a choked farewell: "...Come back soon. I'll be waiting for you."

A huge weight lifted from Xu Yan's heart, but at the same time, a deeper sense of sorrow and determination welled up within him.

He leaned forward and placed a gentle yet solemn kiss on her smooth forehead.

"Ah."

He replied, just like any ordinary man making a promise to his lover to come home.

He stood up and put the last piece of equipment into the inner pocket of his specially made trench coat.

He didn't turn around, but kept his back to her, and said one last thing in a low and solemn voice:
"Don't let anyone in before I get back. Granny Xue... if she comes again, don't open the door."

After saying that, he opened the door and stepped into the seemingly normal, but actually dangerous, morning light outside.

The door closed behind them.

Inside the door was a fortress he had just reinforced with sweet lies and tender kisses, and inside lived his lover, whose peace he had to destroy with the truth.

The warmth still lingered on his lips, but it had already transformed into the most scorching fuel, which was poured into the furnace in his heart called "determination".

Outside the door was the tempering ground he had chosen for himself.

He needs the blood and souls of his enemies as a coolant, and he needs to forge this mortal body into a vessel that can bear truth and hope through near-death experiences.

The softness of silver must die, and the sharpness of gold must be born.

His figure disappeared at the end of the street, like a sword that had just been imbued with tenderness in a vow and then resolutely thrown into the flames; from then on, only a cold gleam remained within its sheath.

(End of this chapter)