Chapter 24 Part 2

Ten minutes later, the link snapped back into place.

The Evil Spirit was furious. Beyond furious.

Who in their right mind ditched their own spirit for some other guy?

“Don’t say things like that anymore. I don’t like it.”

For once, the timid boy mustered a streak of steel in his voice.

The Evil Spirit opened his mouth, thought better of it, and settled for a huff. He fell silent.

It wasn’t a concession. He just needed the right moment to prove he’d been spot on.

Less than two days went by before Jing Chi got hauled in by the parent of that filthiest bully.

The homeroom teacher eyed him with a world-weary headache, but Jing Chi stayed utterly composed.

They pushed open the office door. A pot-bellied middle-aged man sat inside.

The ringleader from that day was right beside him, face pale. The moment his eyes landed on Jing Chi, they twisted into a venomous glare laced with smug triumph.

“You’re Liu Yinan’s father, right? Please, calm down—this has to be a misunderstanding,” the homeroom teacher said first, already mopping sweat from his brow.

Everyone knew the man had a reputation for being a shameless bully, especially with his connections pulling strings from above. He never gave anyone the time of day.

And Liu Yinan? A repeat offender who stirred up trouble every other day. The staff were numb to it.

The homeroom teacher also had Jing Chi’s number—a cool customer through and through.

“You. You made my boy rinse off by the pool. He went home and spiked a fever right away,” the man snarled at Jing Chi, his accusation dripping with menace.

Jing Chi didn’t bother denying it. He nodded once, owning it outright.

His face remained impassive, utterly unconcerned.

The homeroom teacher’s heart sank. Bad sign. This kid didn’t back down even when he was in the wrong. With right on his side? He’d be unstoppable.

Jing Chi cut in coolly. “And you’re not going to ask what your precious son did first?”

Liu Yinan flinched, guilt flickering across his face.

The father knew his boy’s ways all too well. He bulldozed ahead. “I don’t give a damn what he did or said. You admitted to your part—that makes it fact.”

“Two options for you. One: you drop out. Two: you apologize to my son.”

He spoke like he owned the damn school.

Jing Chi nearly rolled his eyes.

Liu Yinan, though, was practically crowing. He leaned in to whisper to his dad, “No way, Dad—a plain apology’s too soft. I burned up all night. Make him kneel and beg.”

He declared it with iron conviction, utterly sure Jing Chi wouldn’t push back. His face beamed with vicious glee, already savoring the image of Jing Chi on his knees.

Father Liu paused, then nodded. “My boy’s right. Get on your knees, apologize to him, and we’ll call it square.”

He wore the smug air of a benevolent king granting mercy.

The homeroom teacher’s face darkened. “Father Liu, that’s too much. It’s just kids roughhousing.”

Father Liu slammed the table in fury, showing no kindness to the homeroom teacher. “I’m the one being excessive? What’s excessive about any of this?”

“Hurry up already,” Liu Yinan said, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the drama unfold with a smirk.

His gaze suddenly shifted to the doorway. There, a pair of pitch-black eyes stared back. The moment he met them, his mind went blank.

No one noticed the change in him.

Jing Chi overheard their words and found it all laughable, a sneer curling his lips.

What a bizarre family.

Before he could say anything, Liu Yinan stumbled out, his eyes dull and vacant, as if he’d lost his soul.

With a thud, he dropped to his knees before Jing Chi, kowtowing repeatedly as he babbled, “It was my fault. I was wrong. I apologize. I apologize.”

Father Liu was utterly stunned by his son’s outburst. He hurried over, trying to pull Liu Yinan to his feet while muttering, “Son, what’s gotten into you?”

But Liu Yinan shook him off violently. Father Liu, with his hefty build and unsteady balance, crashed to the floor.

Everyone was shocked by the sudden turn of events, baffled by Liu Yinan’s abrupt change of heart.

Jing Chi had a vague suspicion of what was happening. He glanced toward the door, where a familiar figure was just slipping away.

Seeing the tide turn, the homeroom teacher seized the chance to smooth things over. “Since Liu Yinan has apologized of his own accord, let’s put this matter behind us.”

But the kneeling Liu Yinan suddenly sprang to his feet, mumbling, “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.”

He kept repeating it under his breath as he shuffled toward the window, moving like a man without a soul.

Before anyone could react, he flung open the office window and leaped out.

A sickening splat echoed up from below—the sound of a body hitting the ground.

This was the sixth floor. No one survived a fall like that.

The people in the office were horrified by what they’d just witnessed.

Father Liu, who had only just climbed back to his feet, watched his son plummet right before his eyes. His vision blurred, and he fainted dead away.

Downstairs, blood pooled from the boy’s shattered skull, spreading slowly across the pavement. A passerby who happened to glance over let out a piercing scream.

‘Yu Xingzhou’ stood on the second-floor corridor, gazing down at the scene with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“How perfect. This is his true fate. Our desk can claim another little wooden doll. Excellent.”

Another voice in his mind hesitated. “What if he figures out it was us?”

‘Yu Xingzhou’ narrowed his eyes confidently. “He won’t.”

The voice sighed in relief, murmuring, “I’m just afraid he’ll be scared of me.”

‘Yu Xingzhou’ rolled his eyes in exasperation, then spoke in a chilling tone laced with temptation. “No worries. If he fears you, we can turn him into a puppet too. Then he’ll never leave you.”

In the next instant, the Evil Spirit was shoved out of the body.

“Don’t you dare target him,” the boy said, his face darkening. Then, with a hint of dejection, he added, “I just want a friend, that’s all.”

The Evil Spirit was at a loss for words. He hated seeing the boy upset—it hurt him too. Finally, he relented. “Fine, fine. I won’t touch him.”

But the Evil Spirit didn’t notice the subtle smirk on the boy’s face.

He’d forgotten one crucial thing: he himself had been born from Yu Xingzhou. They were one and the same. Manipulating oneself was the easiest thing in the world.

Meanwhile, an ambulance arrived swiftly.

Doctors rushed out, examined Liu Yinan, and shook their heads regretfully. They covered the body with a white sheet, loaded it onto the vehicle, and took the still-unconscious Father Liu away as well.

In less than a month, the school had seen two deaths.

The entire campus was gripped by unease and fear.

Jing Chi felt a tangle of emotions stirring within him.

He knew the true reason behind Liu Yinan’s death, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak up.

He had no right to preach forgiveness. He hadn’t endured the boy’s despair—how could he demand that the boy let it go so lightly?

No one had shown mercy to the boy back then. Now, Yu Xingzhou refused to spare anyone. It was only natural.

Jing Chi stared out at the sky, which seemed heavier and more oppressive than before.

He wondered if he should let Yu Xingzhou continue this slaughter. It wasn’t sympathy for the victims that stayed his hand—it was pity for the boy himself.

These people were all manifestations of Yu Xingzhou’s inner demons, the very reason he lingered in this school.

With each successive death, the boy would not find release. Instead, he would gradually descend into utter ruin.

He would become trapped in this endless, repeating Illusion Realm until he lost his sanity completely, transforming into a fallen spirit with no future ahead.

Jing Chi believed the most he could do was to infuse this originally drab memory with fresh color.

Moreover, he and the System had confirmed it: as long as Yu Xingzhou could let go of the obsession buried deep in his heart, Jing Chi could restore the boy to a living, breathing person.

That was Jing Chi’s ultimate goal.

When Jing Chi returned to the classroom, he saw Yu Xingzhou sitting quietly in his seat.

He made his way back to his own desk and turned to the boy beside him with a tentative question.

“Liu Yinan jumped off the building and killed himself. How do you feel about that?”

The boy’s eyes widened in shock at the words. His grip tightened on his pen, knuckles paling beneath his skin.

Jing Chi pretended not to notice the boy’s unease. He simply watched him steadily before asking, “What’s wrong? Something the matter?”

Yu Xingzhou shook his head and rested his hand on his knee.

He shot back, “And what about you? How do you feel?”

The boy’s fingertips dug nervously into his knee.

Jing Chi paused, as if giving the question genuine thought, then replied, “Something feels off about it. He didn’t seem like the type to take his own life.”

Yu Xingzhou’s face went rigid.

“Maybe he just lost his head in the moment,” Jing Chi added quickly, noticing the flicker of panic in the boy’s eyes.

But he pressed on, speaking as much to himself as to Yu Xingzhou. “Death is too easy, after all. The dead stay dead, but the living? They’re haunted by them forever. That’s the real torment—especially for someone with an unresolved obsession weighing on their heart.”

His words carried deeper meaning.

“Is that right?” Yu Xingzhou murmured.

The Evil Spirit popped up at once, ranting, “Don’t buy his bullshit! Doing this should make us thrilled—watching them writhe and die in agony. Isn’t that what we’ve been craving?”

“But I don’t feel all that happy,” Yu Xingzhou said suddenly.

“You—you’re not happy?”

The Evil Spirit sounded wounded by the admission.

Jing Chi saw Yu Xingzhou drifting off and held back his next words. Speech suddenly felt too flimsy for the boy; perhaps he had already said too much.

With a smile, he changed tack. “Just forget I said anything.”

Yu Xingzhou gazed at him hesitantly before nodding slowly.

There was something endearingly dazed about the boy’s expression.

Jing Chi couldn’t help himself. He reached out and ruffled Yu Xingzhou’s hair.

The boy forgot all about their earlier conversation, his focus now entirely on Jing Chi’s touch.

“Sorry,” Jing Chi said as he started to pull his hand away. “If you don’t like it, I won’t do it again.”

But Yu Xingzhou caught his arm. He rubbed his head against Jing Chi’s palm of his own accord, then fixed him with wide, shimmering eyes and said deliberately, “No… I don’t dislike it.”

After all, no one else ever touched him willingly.

The gesture utterly melted Jing Chi.

Luckily, they sat in the back row, and with the tense atmosphere lately, no one was watching them. Otherwise, the whispers would have started up again.

The Evil Spirit scoffed inwardly: Tsk, what a sight. Can’t even watch.

In truth, though, he felt just the tiniest pang of envy—a truly minuscule one.