Zhang Yuanqing remained silent, pondering for a long time before deciding to temporarily keep the existence of the Red Dance Shoes a secret. First, the matter of Ouyang Xiangrong's escape was only just beginning; the Five-Element Alliance had yet to launch its follow-up actions. As an official organization, they might very well have alternative methods to track down the seductive demon, making it unnecessary for this newcomer to get involved. Second, Zhang Yuanqing himself was only a Level 1 Night-Wanderer, a relatively new member of the spiritual realm travelers. If the existence of rule-based items were revealed, it might attract the attention and interest of others. Therefore, he would first observe the organization's subsequent moves and make his decision accordingly. With that, Zhang Yuanqing let go of further thoughts, gazing out at the night scenery through the window, waiting for the arrival of his destination. At present, strengthening his own capabilities was the most pressing priority. Five minutes later, the taxi stopped at the entrance of "Songhai Lung Hospital," and after paying the fare, Zhang Yuanqing entered the hospital, heading directly toward the emergency department building. At this time, the outpatient department had already closed, and the hospital's main activities and patient volume The emergency department was bustling with activity—patients either sat on public chairs or moved back and forth between the billing counters and various departments. Zhang Yuanqing walked through the bustling lobby, cutting through the crowd, and found a seat near the restroom. Once seated, he stretched his legs and waited patiently. For spirits, the presence of a night-watch spirit was like fireflies glowing in the dark—so vivid and striking. No deliberate search was needed; they would come to you on their own. Ordinary human spirits typically exist for only seven days. Unless someone had recently passed away nearby, patients would rarely see them arrive spontaneously. Therefore, hospitals were ideal venues for such encounters. About five minutes later, Zhang Yuanqing noticed an elderly man in a hospital gown, his gaze vacant and his steps stiff, moving steadily through the crowd toward him. The man’s form existed somewhere between ethereal and tangible—patients passing through him seemed to move through air as if he were transparent. He appeared emaciated, with pale, unsettling eyes, radiating a strong sense of pain and regret. This is a spirit of resentment. Typically, after death, people transform into such restless spirits—there are no serene, tranquil spirits—because no one willingly accepts death. Their deep attachment to life and their fear of death eventually manifest as helpless resentment. As the elderly man approached, Zhang Yuanqing gently opened his mouth and drew in a breath. The man’s spirit dissolved into a fine mist, drifting softly into his mouth. A pressure of pain surged behind his brow, and his consciousness suddenly expanded, allowing him to access the fragmented memories of the man’s life. The elderly man had died from advanced lung cancer, passing away under the combined strain of chemotherapy and the relentless progression of the disease—coughing up blood, losing his hair, experiencing shortness of breath and persistent pain—his final days anything but peaceful. His last thought was regret over having started smoking. "I’ll never smoke again…" Zhang Yuanqing said, speaking the words with a face full of regret. Surprised, the people around him turned to look at him. ……Zhang Yuanqing remained expressionless, feigning that nothing had happened, in order to conceal his own embarrassment. Until the passerby turned away and until the surging emotions settled, he opened his attribute panel, and a glowing cyan screen unfolded: 【Experience Points: 44.5%】 "Zhao Yingjun’s spiritual vitality has gained 2 experience points, while ordinary people only accumulate 0.5—similar to regular wild monsters and elite monsters? And the experience points seem to decrease as time goes on; perhaps even below 0.5. It seems he’ll have to accumulate them gradually..." Zhang Yuanqing mused. Regardless, this tangible, visible progression was deeply encouraging. He returned to his seat, as if nothing had happened, and after a few more minutes, a middle-aged man dressed in a suit, resembling a typical office worker, approached him with a blank expression. The people around him ignored him and simply passed through him. Zhang Yuanqing repeated his technique, drawing the man’s spiritual vitality, and as the vitality transformed into nourishment for the night-wandering deity, fragments of memory surged forth like waves of the sea. The man had died from exhaustion and a sudden heart attack—famously known as the reward of the 996 work culture. The elder gentleman passed away peacefully—after all, sudden death happens in an instant, and you hardly feel any pain. However, after reading his memories, Zhang Yuanqing learned that his wife had just given birth to their second child, who was still in the cradle. It was precisely to earn money for formula milk that he had worked so tirelessly, dedicating himself to accumulating merit. Even more remarkable was that the gentleman was from the 1980s—a generation where people rarely had siblings, and once they passed away, their parents would be left without support. By sacrificing their lives to earn money, they ultimately lost the very meaning of their existence. As Zhang Yuanqing regained consciousness, he felt a deep, piercing sorrow and a profound sense of confusion. What meaning did such a life hold? He sat there, expressionless, for a long time. At that moment, the third spirit arrived—a lady with striking features, Korean-style semi-permanent eyebrows, and clothing that exuded luxury and refinement. A high-quality human woman. "Such a young and beautiful woman—she passed away so early, what a pity...” As she drew closer, Zhang Yuanqing noticed the concave chest, the sleek black dress soaked in ethereal blood, and also that her back of the head seemed to have suffered an unimaginable blow, the blood having clung to her hair in clumps. Not wearing a hospital gown—this meant she hadn’t died during her hospital stay, but rather from an accident or a violent cause… Zhang Yuanqing gently inhaled, and absorbed the high-quality female spirit. Man, bed, stockings—everyone could guess what had just happened. He was incredibly grateful in his heart, mentally muttering, not to mention that he’d been lucky his memory started with the stockings. If it had been just a few minutes later, he might have been lying there or kneeling—no way to know. And thankfully, his mouth didn’t taste strange. As he was thinking this, the woman he’d taken over hummed, “That’s perfect—now you’re divorced and married to me.” The man behind him rustled his clothes and scoffed, “I have sons and daughters. Next year, I’m planning on having three more children. How can I divorce just for you? Besides, after the divorce, half my property will go to you. Didn’t we agree? You’d be the third woman, and I’d provide the money. Once you’ve saved enough, you could marry whomever you wanted—anyone, even someone steady. Just let me know when you wanted to end things. But don’t even think about it. The woman seemed upset and said nothing more, waiting until the man left, then drove her small BMW down the street at high speed, venting her emotions. In the end, she had a traffic accident and died from complications despite emergency treatment. As the scene ended, Zhang Yuanqing opened his eyes, pinching the aching bridge of his nose, feeling a growing sense of frustration. "Why bother? After all, high-end seafood merchants usually only need a simple auction—there's always a market. Why get so worked up over one man? How many truly good men are there, anyway? And as for marrying a down-to-earth person—it's simply impossible, not just in this life, but in any life. As he thought this, he suddenly realized something was off. Why do I feel so strongly connected to women? I'm a gunner, after all. A few seconds later, Zhang Yuanqing had it clear: he had been subtly influenced by high-quality women, his thinking becoming more feminine, and his desire for money and material things now strong. Even the spontaneous remark, "I don't smoke," had been shaped by the elder's spiritual presence. After he had stabilized his spirit, the fourth spirit arrived—a slender, handsome young man, easily evoking images of "a little puppy." "You're not half bad yourself, so why not draw on men's spiritual energy? That would be safer, more reliable. If things ever got serious, I'd be the one on top." He opened his mouth and drew the young spirit into his abdomen. The two of them hailed a ride and returned to the rental apartment. The physically robust friend helped him open the door to the bedroom. Although Zhang Yuanqing could not control his body, his consciousness remained clear. He noticed that the person inhabiting his body was utterly drunk, with a throbbing pain in his brain vessels—was he perhaps dead from excessive drinking, or had he suffered a sudden cardiac arrest? As he pondered this, the small puppy was laid on the bed. The friend removed his shoes, unbuttoned his pants, covered him with a blanket, and gently wiped the sweat from his face with a damp towel. That friend is quite capable—Zhang Yuanqing thought. Just as the thought formed, he realized the friend began undressing himself and lifting the blanket, swiftly stripping the small puppy bare. ...Zhang Yuanqing was momentarily stunned, sensing something was amiss. At that moment, he heard the small puppy murmuring drowsily: “Husband～” The friend, now lying atop the puppy’s body, lifted a tube of Vaseline from her hand, her mouth still full of wine, and said: “Push your bottom up—let me apply some oil!” ?? Zhang Yuanqing’s mind erupted like thunder—five thunderclaps at once! No! No! No! You can’t do this! You *can’t* do this!! Amidst profound fear and panic, Zhang Yuanqing forcibly interrupted the memory retrieval. In the outpatient building, at the seat by the restroom, Zhang Yuanqing suddenly opened his eyes, as though he had just woken from a nightmare, gasping for breath as if deprived of oxygen. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror, and sweat soaked his back. "Young man, are you all right?" the woman sitting across from him asked with concern. "Have you made an appointment? What’s wrong?" Zhang Yuanqing waved his hand, indicating he was fine, and then rushed into the restroom, turning on the tap, splashing cold water generously onto his face. How terrifying! How terrifyingly masculine! He had endured a kind of injury that a man should not have to bear.