Chapter Eleven: What Now? There Is Only "Sand"

The suit Zhao Menghua handed to Lu Mingfei had no packaging. Because Lu Mingfei did not reach out to take it, it fell directly onto the restroom floor, inevitably picking up large, unsightly stains.

Watching Lu Mingfei, whose mouth curled into an irrepressible smile, Zhao Menghua flew into a rage.

"What the hell are you smiling at? I tossed you the clothes and you didn't catch them? Are you retarded?!"

Lu Mingfei glanced lightly at the clothes on the floor and said with a smile:

"That’s not important."

Zhao Menghua thought he had misheard.

"What did you say?"

Lu Mingfei repeated:

"What you just said is not important."

"The movie is starting soon, and it's your clothes that are dirty! Either you don't watch it and go rent another set, or you lick the damn clothes... and clean them!"

Perhaps recalling that Lu Mingfei’s long-missing parents had reappeared and utilized significant influence to send him to a prestigious overseas university, Zhao Menghua’s tone softened slightly, swallowing back his most aggressive words.

"Do you really have to wear formal attire to watch a movie?"

"Didn't you hear me say earlier what Chen Wenwen said..."

Compared to the blustering Zhao Menghua, Lu Mingfei’s voice was low, yet his tone, like the sound of a flowing mountain spring, always managed to drown out Zhao Menghua’s clamor.

"That really is not important," Lu Mingfei paused. "What comes next is important."

He thought for a moment, then suddenly chuckled to himself:

"Actually, what comes next probably isn't important either, because it won't change anything. But just consider it a good deed to satisfy my burgeoning curiosity."

Zhao Menghua didn't want to admit he was unsettled by Lu Mingfei’s cryptic demeanor. This unacknowledged fear transformed into anger:

"Who the hell cares about you! You brain-damaged freak!"

Lu Mingfei hit the nail on the head:

"Do you like Chen Wenwen, too?"

"I’ll like whoever I want! Do I need a bastard like you—raised without parents—to manage me?"

"Because you think I also like Chen Wenwen, you deliberately bullied me at school?"

"That’s because you’re a stray dog. Does one need a reason to kick a stray on the side of the road?"

"Today’s suit was part of your plan, and you intended to bully me once more, but because I didn't play along, you’re very unhappy?"

"A pathetic loser like you thinks you're fit to compete with me for her? Isn't it normal for me to step on you?"

Lu Mingfei didn't know why Zhao Menghua had completely dropped the mask; every question he asked was met with a barrage of abuse.

He, the victim, remained unmoved, while Zhao Menghua was the one turning red with rage.

In truth, there were other questions he could have asked—such as who else knew about this plan or what the plan actually entailed—but Lu Mingfei had lost interest.

He did not deny that his heart still held onto the obsessions of the original "loser" he once was, fixated on high school experiences and a crush that had been cut short, but that was all.

He only owed a "dead man" so much respect.

Lu Mingfei was not affected in the slightest by Zhao Menghua’s insults. His expression remained gentle and compassionate, somewhat like a monk under the dim light of a temple lamp:

"Perhaps in the time you have left, you will spend your remaining thoughts regretting the attitude you just showed me. But I must tell you, this has nothing to do with your temper; it is simply because there is a cause and effect between us that was sown long ago."

Because he liked Chen Wenwen, and Lu Mingfei liked her too, he had spread rumors about Lu Mingfei like a joke? He had trampled on Lu Mingfei’s dignity, using him as a backdrop for his own confession?

The "house dog" Lu Mingfei might have forced himself to swallow this bitter pill, curling up in some corner to silently lick his wounds while waiting for the next person willing to "keep" him.

But the resurrected Lu Mingfei would not.

Even if there was no hatred in his heart, this cause and effect was a debt Zhao Menghua had to repay.

This was his retribution.

A foul, magical light swirled in Lu Mingfei’s eyes as he flicked his finger.

*The Glimpse of Truth technique.*

Accompanying this foul gaze was a talisman—a talisman as hard as steel and as sharp as a blade.

It sliced easily through Zhao Menghua’s throat, severing his windpipe and leaving him collapsed on the floor as his life slowly ebbed away.

Even as his life reached its end, Zhao Menghua remained trapped in a deep, dark nightmare, entirely unresponsive.

Money, power, status—sometimes they are such fragile things. By comparison, Truth is so mesmerizing that everything in the world must yield to it.

Everything Lu Mingfei was about to do had only just begun.

He slowly withdrew a talisman from his person. On the yellow paper were eight scrawled, unrecognizable ancient characters, devoid of any aesthetic or order:

*Decree of the Sun and Moon Piercing the Spirit Sand.*

*The Immortal Sand Soul-Returning Talisman.*

Lu Mingfei’s reason for prioritizing this talisman was not merely because it was the first one in the *Seven Secret Records of Xuanjun*, nor because it required the least amount of energy.

The Immortal Sand Soul-Returning Talisman was a variant of the resurrection spell. If the ritual were perfect, it could directly transform the deceased into a sentient ghoul.

It was ugly, to be sure, but having an extra life was a tangible asset—this was Lu Mingfei’s "insurance."

Furthermore, the talisman could be used in reverse to turn a corpse into "Immortal Sand."

This pale blue dust could be consumed to increase the magical power within one's body or used as a reagent to significantly boost the success rate of spells.

It was easy to acquire, versatile, and powerful, though perhaps a bit cruel.

A human body is merely a foul skin-bag. According to Lu Mingfei’s observations, the reason this "Immortal Sand" possessed such miraculous effects was because it was likely the dust of the deceased’s soul.

What was even more terrifying was that he could not rule out the possibility that this soul-dust still felt pain.

If the soul were denied peace after being ground into powder, suffering the agony of being pulverized for all eternity...

Well, there was nothing he could do. He couldn't just *not* use such a convenient spell, right?

Though it felt a bit like crocodile tears, Lu Mingfei still prayed silently that his hypothesis would not become reality.

His movements did not pause for a second. He ignited the talisman with the incense, and the pungent smell of burning yellow paper filled his nostrils as he began to chant softly:

"Three souls and seven spirits, return to the spirit, reverse the infant. Ascend to the Supreme, arrive at the thousand spirits. Three souls dwell on the left, seven spirits guard the right. Silently listen to the divine command, observe the ominous. Walk without being seen, sit without being known. By the order of the law, fulfill this now!"

Something inexplicable seemed to be wriggling in the air, as if one had fallen into a cave teeming with earthworms.

As magical energy saturated the confined space, the air began to warp, carrying a repulsive dampness and stickiness. Only the burning yellow paper in Lu Mingfei’s hand provided a sliver of warmth.

Disinfectant, excrement, mothballs, incense—a fifth scent emerged.

It took hold with a tyrannical force, quickly overpowering the previous four and occupying Lu Mingfei’s nostrils.

That was the scent of "Immortal Sand."