Chapter Twenty-Five: The Curse

Chen Zi’ang had never imagined that, in this day and age, someone would still try to strike up a conversation with him using the old line, “Haven’t we met before?”
And twice, no less!
Well, to be fair, the first time Yuelin Suzuna hadn’t said those exact words, but the look in her eyes constantly suggested, “We’ve actually met long ago,” which often led Chen Zi’ang to misinterpret her intentions.
Facing Xia Zili’s earnest expression now, he replied bluntly,
“We haven’t met.”
“I see.” Xia Zili nodded, not showing much disappointment. “Would you mind listening to what I have to say?”
“Go ahead.”
“I think this isn’t my fault,” Xia Zili said softly. “When he died... I wasn’t there, so I couldn’t stop it.”
“I understand,” Chen Zi’ang responded perfunctorily.
“But I can’t convince myself,” Xia Zili sighed. “The ‘me’ in my dreams keeps pressing that heavy sense of guilt onto my shoulders.”
“But I’m innocent... I haven’t even been in love, yet I have to bear the agony of losing a beloved. Isn’t that a bit much?”
Chen Zi’ang: …………
“Well, yes, it is,” he sighed along with her. “I’ll try to help.”
“Thank you.” Xia Zili forced a smile, then gracefully bent forward in a bow. “Nika said I might be entangled by something unclean, but I don’t understand much about such things, so I can only rely on you.”
“No need for thanks, this is our duty,” Chen Zi’ang replied instinctively with the usual phrase of a security officer, then quickly corrected himself, smiling. “Miss Kiryu, please sit on the couch. We’ll inform you if we find anything.”
“Alright.” Xia Zili returned to the sofa and sat down.
Watching her back, Chen Zi’ang silently activated his dream-walking ability.
He intended to pass through the collective unconscious and enter Xia Zili’s subconscious, to see what exactly was lurking there, causing her distress.
Of course, if he could eliminate whatever anomaly was hiding and collect fire seeds, that would be even better.
He entered the preconscious, then the subconscious layer, where he saw Xia Zili still sitting on the sofa, though now with a forced smile.
Descending into the collective unconscious, the surroundings shifted abruptly, finally settling into a lush riverside meadow.
Chen Zi’ang sat cross-legged by the river, focusing his mind on Xia Zili’s likeness.
Ah, there it was.
In the collective unconscious, to find someone’s subconscious, one must rely on a vivid and accurate perception of that person, using meditation as a guide.

Fortunately, Xia Zili was quite… distinctive, so Chen Zi’ang found her subconscious with ease and activated his authority again.
He began to infiltrate her subconscious.
The environment changed once more; it appeared to be a bathroom.
Wearing a thin, translucent nightgown, Xia Zili lay sideways in the bathtub, her golden hair disheveled, and a lifeless aura clinging to her brows, creating a bizarre, delicate, and fragile beauty.
Crimson blood flowed slowly down her pale arm, which rested against the bathtub, reminding Chen Zi’ang of the painting “The Death of Marat.”
He opened his senses and quickly noticed something amiss:
From the bathroom window, numerous pitch-black tentacles extended, wrapping around Xia Zili’s neck.
Nika had guessed correctly—Xia Zili was indeed entangled by something unclean. These tentacles, lurking in her subconscious, were undeniably affecting her mental state, though their exact nature was unknown.
After a moment’s silence, Chen Zi’ang raised his Mandala Sword and sliced apart all the tentacles.
Eighteen fire seeds received! Each tentacle yielded one fire seed; a total of eighteen, absorbed completely by the Mandala Sword—delightful.
Immediately, Xia Zili, half-reclining in the bathtub, began to awaken.
“Chen Zi’ang?”
“It should be resolved,” Chen Zi’ang replied, putting away the Mandala Sword. “Please rest and recover…”
Before he could finish, Xia Zili suddenly pressed her hands to the edge of the tub, pushed herself up, and hugged him tightly.
“I’m sorry…” she sobbed uncontrollably, tears streaming down her cheeks and soaking into Chen Zi’ang’s collar. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
“Uh…” Feeling the warmth and softness in his arms, Chen Zi’ang was at a loss, his hands awkwardly hovering. “I don’t think you owe me any apology, Miss Kiryu…”
As soon as he spoke, the beauty in his arms suddenly went limp, sliding back into the bathtub as if slipping into unconsciousness again.
Chen Zi’ang carefully checked the surroundings and found no more tentacles.
Though Xia Zili lay unconscious, the lifeless aura on her face was gone, and the blood on her arm had vanished without a trace.
His senses detected nothing unusual; there were no missed anomalies.
He activated his authority once more, exited Xia Zili’s subconscious, and teleported to the ancient city of Enlank within the collective unconscious, intending to consult Priest Neko about the matter.
After listening to Chen Zi’ang’s account of the incident, Priest Neko was silent for a moment, then replied,
“Ten merit points.”
Chen Zi’ang: ?

“You mean a consultation fee?” he asked tentatively.
“Exactly,” Neko replied with a smile. “If it were a matter concerning the Shadow Faction, I could tell you for free, since that falls under official business.”
“But this issue you’ve described is completely unrelated to factional war, so I can’t offer you answers without compensation—knowledge does have value, after all.”
“That may be, but isn’t ten merit points a bit expensive?” Chen Zi’ang asked with a frown.
“Not at all,” Neko said, smiling. “There’s a certain risk involved in this.”
“Risk?” Chen Zi’ang struggled to understand. “You mean…”
“Telling you the truth puts me at some risk,” Neko affirmed.
“Alright!” Chen Zi’ang finally made up his mind.
He had just received eighteen fire seeds, and now he’d have to hand over ten—this felt like daylight robbery.
Yet the “risk” Neko mentioned filled Chen Zi’ang with a sense of imminent danger. If she wasn’t lying, then what could possibly warrant ten fire seeds’ worth of risk?
Once the fire seeds were transferred via the shadow cloak and Neko confirmed receipt, she spoke crisply,
“According to your description: being strangled by numerous tentacles in one’s own subconscious is, in fact, a curse.”
“A curse?” Chen Zi’ang raised his eyebrows.
“Didn’t I mention before the authority known as ‘Touch of the Abyss’?” Neko continued. “To slowly, imperceptibly strangle a target’s spirit from their subconscious is a highly advanced application of ‘Touch of the Abyss.’”
“So the perpetrator belongs to the Shadow Faction,” Chen Zi’ang realized.
“And their rank is at least twenty levels above yours,” Neko said. “Even I likely wouldn’t be their match, so my advice is to let this matter rest in your heart. Don’t investigate further, or there will be no escape from death.”
Chen Zi’ang fell silent, gaze shifting once more to the Chaos Altar.
The altar projected an updated exchange list: ‘Profane Sorcery’ and ‘Thousand Faces’ still cost fifty fire seeds, while ‘Touch of the Abyss’ had risen to one hundred, with a note—‘Upgradeable.’
In other words, investing one hundred fire seeds would upgrade ‘Touch of the Abyss,’ summoning even more powerful and bizarre tentacles.
The question arose: How many times had the culprit who cursed Xia Zili upgraded ‘Touch of the Abyss’? How many more potent authorities had they mastered?
At this thought, a chill ran down Chen Zi’ang’s spine.