Zhang Yuanqing silently thought for a long time and decided to temporarily keep the existence of the Divine Object hidden. First, Ou Xiangrong’s escape was only just beginning, and the Five Elements Alliance had not yet taken any follow-up actions. As an official organization, there might be other methods to track down that Enchantment Demon—fundamentally, he didn’t need this newcomer to get involved at all. Second, he was merely a Level 1 Night Wanderer, a new member of the Realm Walkers. If the existence of the prop_type were revealed, it could easily attract attention and jealousy. So he would observe first, see what actions the organization takes next, and then decide accordingly… Zhang Yuanqing didn’t need to think any further. He looked out at the night scene outside the window, waiting for arrival at his destination. Now, strengthening his own capabilities was the most urgent priority. Five minutes later, the taxi pulled up at the entrance of "Songhai Pneumology Hospital," and Zhang Yuanqing paid his fare before stepping inside to head directly toward the emergency department building. At this time, the outpatient wing had already closed, and the hospital’s main concentration was in the emergency department. Inside the emergency department, it was bustling with people—patients either sat on public chairs or moved between billing counters and various clinics. Zhang Yuanqing walked through the lobby, passed through the throngs of people, and found a seat near the restroom. Once seated, he stretched his legs and waited patiently. For spirits, the presence of a Night Wanderer was like fireflies glowing in darkness—so bright and distinct that they didn’t need to be actively searched for—they naturally came to him. A typical human spirit only lasted seven days; otherwise, it would not appear spontaneously unless someone had recently passed away. Therefore, hospitals were ideal locations for such spiritual growth. About five minutes later, Zhang Yuanqing noticed an elderly man in a patient gown walking slowly through the crowd with a vacant expression and stiff gait, heading steadily toward him. The man’s body existed somewhere between the real and the ethereal—patients passed right through his form as if they were going through air. He was emaciated, with pale eyes that seemed unsettling, radiating both pain and regret. This was a spirit of resentment. Typically, after death, people transform into such resentful spirits; there are few spirits who maintain a calm and peaceful presence, because no one willingly accepts death. Their lingering attachment to life and deep fear of mortality eventually turned into helplessness and sorrow. As the old man approached, Zhang Yuanqing opened his mouth and gently drew in a breath. The man’s spirit dissolved into delicate vapor and drifted softly into his mouth. A sudden pressure formed at the center of his forehead, and his consciousness expanded rapidly—then he read the fragmented memories of the elderly man's life. The old man had died from terminal lung cancer, passing away after enduring chemotherapy and the relentless pain of his illness—the final days filled with coughing up blood, hair loss, shortness of breath, and constant discomfort—he did not leave peacefully. His last thought was regret over why he had started smoking. “I’ll never smoke again…” Zhang Yuanqing said aloud, face full of regret. Surrounding people looked at him in surprise. …Zhang Yuanqing remained expressionless, pretending the incident hadn’t happened to conceal his own embarrassment. Only after the onlookers turned away and emotions settled did he open his attributes panel, which unfolded as a glowing blue screen: [Experience Level: 44.5%] “Zhao Yingjun’s spirit contributed two experience points—ordinary people only contribute half a point—that’s similar to regular wild monsters or elite monsters? And the experience points decrease further over time—perhaps even below 0.5—so it seems I’ll have to accumulate them gradually.” Zhang Yuanqing reflected thoughtfully. Regardless, this immediate and visible progress was deeply encouraging. He returned to his seat, pretending nothing had occurred, and after a few more minutes, an older middle-aged man in a suit approached him. The people around ignored the man and passed through him as well. Zhang Yuanqing repeated the same process—drawing in the spirit of this man—and as the spirit transformed into nourishment for his Night Wanderer abilities, memories flooded into his mind like waves. The man had died from exhaustion due to a heart attack—an outcome known widely as the 996 work culture reward. He passed away peacefully, since sudden death happened instantly—no pain was felt at all. But after reading through his memories, Zhang Yuanqing learned that the man’s wife had just given birth to twins, and their child was still in its infancy—so he worked tirelessly just to afford formula milk, fully committed to this 996 lifestyle. What stood out even more: the man was from the 1980s generation, a time when people typically had few siblings; once someone passed away, their parents would lose all support. Dedicated one’s life to earning money—only to find that everything eventually lost its meaning. Zhang Yuanqing regained consciousness and felt a deep sorrow and sense of confusion. What kind of meaningful life was this? He sat there in silence, his expression blank for a long time. Then the third spirit arrived. It was a woman with beautiful features and Korean-style semi-permanent eyebrows, dressed in elegant and refined clothes—clearly one of the high-quality human women. “Such a young and beautiful person to pass away—it’s truly unfortunate…” Zhang Yuanqing remarked. As she came closer, he noticed her chest was sunken, her dark tailored dress soaked with ethereal blood—and her back of head appeared severely injured; the blood had adhered to her hair in distinct clumps. She wasn’t wearing a patient gown—meaning she hadn’t passed away during hospitalization but had died suddenly or violently. Zhang Yuanqing gently drew in her spirit and absorbed it. … A pressure built at his forehead, unfamiliar memories flowed into his consciousness. Zhang Yuan 305 felt dizzy; then he saw a pair of long, slender, pale legs sitting by the bed, slowly rolling black stockings up over her thighs. Ah—now he understood how women wear stockings! This was a new experience for Zhang Yuanqing, who had never been married and had lived alone since his twenties. Then, a man’s voice came from behind: “Please don’t send me messages at night anymore—I nearly got caught by my wife last night.” Zhang Yuanqing felt a sudden jolt in his heart. A man, a bed, stockings—everyone could guess what had just happened. He realized now that he shouldn’t easily absorb female spirits—this wasn’t appropriate! He was deeply relieved to realize the memory started with her wearing stockings—if it had been just a few minutes later, he might have ended up lying or kneeling on the ground… And his mouth didn’t taste unpleasant either—thankfully! While thinking this, he heard the woman he now embodied humming: “That’s perfect—why not get divorced and marry me?” The man hurriedly dressed himself with a chuckle: “I already have two children. I’m planning to have a third baby next year—I don’t see how I can divorce you for that. Also, after the divorce, half of my property will go to you. Back then, didn’t we agree—you would be my third wife and I would provide funds until you saved enough money—then you could choose your own partner? You could even marry someone steady if you wished. But once you wanted to end things, just let me know. And please don’t have any unreasonable thoughts.” The woman seemed annoyed and didn’t speak again. After the man left, she drove her small BMW down the streets, rushing to vent her emotions. Eventually, she was involved in a car accident and died from treatment failure. As the scene ended, Zhang Yuanqing opened his eyes, pinching his forehead with growing frustration—thinking internally: “Why is it so unreasonable? A high-end seafood merchant doesn’t need anything extravagant—he can find markets everywhere. Why be so stubborn toward one man? How many truly good men are there?” Also, marrying someone steady would never work—that was impossible for the rest of her life. While thinking this, he suddenly realized something was off: Why did I have such a strong sense of identification with women—when I am actually a soldier? A few seconds later, Zhang Yuanqing finally understood—he had been subtly influenced by these high-quality female spirits, his thoughts becoming more feminine and increasingly driven by desires for money and material things. Even the spontaneous statement “I’ll never smoke again” came from the influence of the old man’s spirit. After stabilizing his own consciousness, a fourth spirit arrived—this was a slim, handsome young man who reminded him immediately of "a small puppy" type. “Not much worse than myself—I should absorb a male spirit instead—it would be safer and more reliable. If something happens, I’ll definitely be on top.” He opened his mouth and gently drew in the young man’s spirit into his abdomen. … A sharp noise vibrated through his ears; colorful LED lights rotated continuously, creating an overwhelming visual pollution. Looking around, everything appeared to be moving—shifting bodies, swaying heads—with a strong, noticeable smell of smoke in the air. This was a bar. Zhang Yuanqing felt his body uncontrollably sway as he reached for a wine glass on the table beside him and began drinking with his companions. In the joyful emotional release, amid the empty yet satisfying happiness created by drinks and dice games, the young man and his friend stayed until two in the early morning hours before leaving. They called a ride-share service to return to their rental apartment; the fit friend assisted Zhang Yuanqing in opening the bedroom door. Although he couldn’t control his body, Zhang Yuanqing remained mentally aware—he noticed that the person he had become was completely drunk, with a persistent throbbing pain in his brain vessels—and speculated that either the man had died from excessive drinking or had suffered a sudden cardiac arrest. As he pondered this, the young man was laid down on the bed, and the friend helped remove his shoes, undress him, cover him with a blanket, and gently wipe away sweat from his face using a damp paper towel. That friend was truly competent—Zhang Yuanqing thought. Just as that thought formed, he noticed the friend beginning to take off his own clothes and lift the blanket, quickly stripping the young man completely bare. …Zhang Yuanqing felt momentarily confused—something seemed amiss. Then he heard the young man whispering sleepily: “Husband~” The friend pressed down on him, lifted a tube of petroleum jelly from her hand, full of wine aroma and said: “Push your hips up—I’ll give you some oil!” ??? Zhang Yuanqing’s mind erupted—like thunder striking five times. No! No! No! They cannot do this! They cannot do this!! In deep fear and panic, Zhang Yuanqing forcefully interrupted the reading of memories. At the seat by the restroom in the outpatient building, Zhang Yuanqing suddenly opened his eyes—as if having just woken from a nightmare—taking sharp, shallow breaths for lack of oxygen. His face was pale, his gaze wide with shock, and sweat soaked through his back. “Are you alright, young man?” asked the woman sitting across from him, concerned. “Have you made an appointment? What’s wrong?” Zhang Yuanqing waved his hand to indicate he was fine, then rushed into the restroom, turned on the faucet, and poured cold water over his face in generous amounts. How terrifying! How intimidating for a man! He had endured a gender-appropriate injury that was truly unacceptable.