With a grim expression, Wang Zitong picked up the discarded contraceptive wrapper he had thrown earlier. Realizing it was no illusion—indeed, it was his usual spiked design—his face darkened even further.
"Enough! Stop panicking!" he bellowed. "My cousin once told me that ordinary people can never escape a Ghostly Wall Trap. The only way to break free is through spiritual awakening. Check yourselves—does anyone feel a surge of spiritual power?!"
Having spoken, he desperately focused all his will on silent prayers, hoping for an awakening. He had no idea if being hunted by an entity counted as a brush with death, but at this point, prayer was his only option.
Fang Xiu, however, ignored the commotion. Instead, he pressed his hand against the right-side wall, feeling his way forward. He had never placed his hopes in others to awaken as Spirit Masters.
Because among all of them, the one most likely to succeed in that transformation was himself.
He was the only one who had truly faced death, who had come into close, intimate contact with an entity.
If even he had not awakened, then expecting the others to do so was nothing but wishful thinking. Rather than relying on miracles, it was far more practical to search for clues.
Recalling the asylum's layout, he reasoned that the path to escape should be on the right side.
Earlier, he had navigated through the stairwells, and the exit had indeed been to the right. Though he was uncertain which building of the asylum they were in, the general structure should be consistent.
Since the Ghostly Wall Trap was merely an illusion, the key was to move without relying on sight.
Closing his eyes, he let his fingers trace the rough, unyielding surface of the right-side wall and began his descent.
His peculiar action immediately caught the attention of the others.
After all, while the rest remained frozen in place, he alone had taken decisive action.
Wang Zitong, observing him, fell into deep thought. By now, he could see that Fang Xiu was different. Too composed—throughout everything, he had not once shown fear. Even when confronted with the entity itself, he had remained unnervingly calm.
Memories of their earlier encounter surfaced in his mind.
When the spectral doctor had appeared, his first instinct had been to flee. But what had Fang Xiu done?
He hadn't run. Instead, he had pressed himself against the wall, ensuring he wouldn't be jostled in the panic.
He had been in the best position to escape first, yet he had chosen not to. And in the end, only three had remained—Fang Xiu, Zhao Hao, and Li Feifei.
Now, Li Feifei was gone.
Dead, no doubt.
But Fang Xiu and Zhao Hao had lingered in that corridor for at least a full minute.
What had they been doing during that time?
Why hadn't the entity killed them?
Why hadn't they fled?
Two men alone with a spectral woman for a full minute... Had they, perhaps, taken some unspeakable advantage of her?
Wang Zitong immediately dismissed that absurd notion.
He might not know what had happened in that minute, but one thing was clear.
The entity only killed one person at a time. Three minutes for men, two minutes for women—within that time frame, it did not attack again. Even standing in its presence posed no immediate threat.
Fang Xiu and Zhao Hao's survival was proof enough.
By now, Fang Xiu had descended the stairs, increasing the distance between himself and the group.
Wang Zitong, sensing something crucial, imitated him—eyes closed, hand against the wall, moving downward. The others, captivated by their actions, followed suit.
At first, Fang Xiu's fingers traced only rough, uneven plaster. But on the fifteenth step, the texture beneath his hand changed.
It grew smooth. And cold.
Like steel.
His eyes snapped open. Before him, the wall remained unbroken, but without hesitation, he pressed both hands against it, searching for a handle.
Behind him, Wang Zitong, mimicking his movements, also felt the shift in texture.
Elated, he shouted, "It's a door!"
With a soft click, Fang Xiu turned the handle he had just found.
A door materialized from what had appeared to be an unbroken wall—an iron door, now swinging open to reveal a dimly lit corridor.
Swoosh!
Wang Zitong lunged forward like a madman, diving into the passageway first.
Fang Xiu, unbothered, followed at a steady pace.
The rest, glimpsing an escape route, scrambled in after them, their desperation palpable.
They ran.
Strangely, though Fang Xiu had entered second, he soon found himself among the last.
It wasn't that he was slow.
He simply saw no need to hurry.
Against the spectral doctor, speed was irrelevant. You didn't need to outrun her—you only needed to outrun the last person.
Besides, lingering at the back had its benefits.
It gave him the opportunity to touch a little longer, increasing his chances of awakening his spiritual sense.
And sometimes, being at the front was a death sentence.
Fang Xiu knew this asylum was home to more than just the spectral doctor.
Most entities were locked away in their cells...
But asylum doors had a way of opening when you least expected.
Just as these thoughts crossed his mind, Wang Zitong, who had been leading the charge, suddenly skidded to a halt.
The others followed suit.
Before them, the corridor forked into two equally dark paths.
Neither path allowed visibility beyond a meter. The oppressive gloom concealed whatever lay beyond.
No one dared move.
If they chose wrong, they would be cornered like rats in a trap.
Instinctively, every eye turned toward the one who had led them this far—Fang Xiu.
He, too, frowned.
Unlike before, he had no answer.
He hadn't explored the asylum thoroughly. His movement through its walls had been ghostlike, slipping between them rather than navigating the halls. He understood the layout—generally—but not these particular routes.
"Fang Xiu," Wang Zitong urged, his voice tense. "Which way?"
Fang Xiu smirked inwardly.
How amusing.
When running for their lives, they had shoved him aside.
Yet now, when lost in the unknown, they looked to him for salvation.
A perfect tool.
Then again, that was fine.
Because to him, they were just tools as well.
Against the spectral doctor, there was no fighting back. Their only currency was time, and the only way to buy it...
Was with lives.
Without a word, he chose the right-hand path.
He had no way of knowing if it was correct.
But he did know that wasting time here was fatal.
Every second was paid for in blood.
The others, seeing him move, followed without hesitation.
And just then—
Crack... Crack...
A sickening series of joint pops echoed through the corridor.
They turned.
Suspended from the ceiling like a grotesque spider, the spectral doctor loomed overhead. Her hollow, pallid gaze fixated upon them. Her pristine white coat stood stark against the oppressive dark.
"AAAHHHH!!"
"RUN!"
"Get out of my way!"
Panic erupted like wildfire.
They sprinted, throwing their last reserves of strength into their flight.
But against the spectral doctor, human legs were no match.
Two legs could never outpace four.
With a flickering blur, she flickered into motion—scuttling along the ceiling like a nightmare given form.
Her ink-black hair cascaded downward, reaching for the last among them.