Start the liver experience with push-ups

Late at night.

The bedroom was pitch black.

The red glow of distant neon lights cast through the window, illuminating the face with shifting light and shadow.

Fang Cheng sat at his desk, looking at two postcards.

The patterns printed on the front were different; one was a scenic spot, the other a cartoon character.

They were probably bought casually from a store.

Turning them over, two lines of bizarre characters, almost identical in style, were visible.

Neither had the sender's name or address filled in.

Clearly, both postcards came from the same person.

Fang Cheng's eyes flickered, skimming over the two messages written to the recipient at different times.

"Hoping to have the honor of hearing your voice…"

"Are you afraid of me?"

The two sentences contained completely different meanings.

The first sentence held a tentative and cautious tone of initial acquaintance.

The latter seemed to carry a hint of annoyance and disdain.

Moreover.

Below the words "afraid of me," a cartoon smiley face was drawn.

The drawing skill seemed childish, but Fang Cheng felt a sense of familiarity.

The upward curve of the smiley face's mouth vaguely overlapped with a face in the depths of his memory.

Crack!

A scene instantly flooded his mind.

Torrential rain, flashing lightning.

The victim's shrill screams, a figure running wildly in the rain.

A face obscured by the hood of a raincoat, revealing a pair of eerily glowing eyes when lifted.

Two gazes intertwined in the rainy night.

That face also had the corners of its mouth stretched upward in a smile, greeting him.

… … … … … …

"Huff—"

Fang Cheng exhaled, his brow slightly furrowed, and muttered to himself:

"Could it be the serial killer who caused the hotel tragedy?"

Lost in thought, his fingers unconsciously twirled the pen on the desk.

The person who sent the postcards seemed eager to connect with him and engage in some kind of communication.

Under the circumstances at the time, this was a wise move.

But now, the situation was different.

Fang Cheng couldn't help but wonder.

Did the other party's repeated invitations carry some kind of warning or threat?

If he chose to refuse again, what would happen next?

Fang Cheng couldn't be certain.

After all, the other party was hidden in the dark, while he was relatively exposed in the light.

“… …"

Thinking of this, Fang Cheng immediately put down the pen in his hand.

His eyes narrowed as he observed the burning "lamp flame" in his mind.

He was now completely different from before.

The meditation skill had successfully been mastered and advanced to the expert level, giving birth to a spiritual fire with miraculous effects.

Coupled with a mental attribute that had broken through the 40-point mark, he should be no less capable than those with mental abilities.

"Then, let's give it a try."

After carefully weighing the options and making a decision, Fang Cheng's gaze fell on the string of bizarre characters.

Then, he sat cross-legged on the bed, closed his eyes slightly, and quickly entered a meditative state.

Once he entered a state of deep concentration, his lips moved slightly, and he fluently recited an extremely awkward incantation.

"Om, a, mi, ma, wa, she, moo…"

As the incantation was recited, word by word, its clear echo reverberated in the air.

The surrounding scene seemed to fast forward, rapidly rewinding backward.

At the same time, countless noises surged into his ears like a tide.

Rustling, incredibly noisy voices filled his ears.

Like a radio picking up interference, it quickly returned to normal, receding like a tide.

Fang Cheng remained calm and composed, suddenly observing his surroundings.

The small bedroom was now completely enveloped in darkness.

Looking around.

Apart from the tiny specks of light twinkling like stars, there was endless, all-encompassing black mist.

Empty, silent, ethereal.

As if he were at the end of the world, one more step forward would plunge him into a deeper, darker abyss, hiding countless evil things.

Even though Fang Cheng now possessed a mental attribute as high as 43 points.

His vision still couldn't completely penetrate this slowly flowing, extremely dense black mist.

The first time he ventured here, Fang Cheng had an indescribable sense of shock.

But after systematically studying meditation and practicing it, entering this place again, he had already gained some understanding.

If the world of the subconscious were to be divided into levels.

This special spiritual space should be located at the connection point between the subconscious and the conscious mind, belonging to a transitional level.

That is, a level that many ordinary people can accidentally reach when they have lucid dreams.

As long as the mental attribute meets the standard, there is no need to meditate. By using certain mediums for communication, one can smoothly enter and exit.

And the medium he now possessed was precisely the string of characters on the postcard, like a voice password.

With this thought in mind, Fang Cheng collected his thoughts and locked onto the vaguely visible target not far away.

In the blink of an eye, his figure appeared in front of a slightly weaker point of light.

Looking up at the ornately carved door that was now in front of him, Fang Cheng softly recited the "voice password."

At this moment, if viewed from a distance.

As the door slowly opened, two similar points of light gradually approached as they drifted, eventually merging.

… … … … … … … … … … … …

In the western suburbs, inside a church.

The lights were off, pitch black and silent.

It was late at night, but in front of the altar in the chapel, there was still a figure of a man kneeling in prayer.

He was wearing a black tracksuit and a baseball cap, his hands clasped tightly, muttering with his head bowed, appearing unusually devout.

The dim moonlight, like flowing water, leaked in from the stained-glass windows, dimly illuminating the pointed arched ceiling and the solemn walls.

Religious-themed murals were painted on them, vaguely showing the scene of the Last Judgment where demons and apostles fought.

The suffering God hanging on the cross lowered his eyes and silently watched the believer kneeling before him.

However.

Beneath this solemn and sacred space, there was a terrifying scene like hell.

More than a dozen dead bodies lay scattered in pools of blood, their faces twisted and their limbs incomplete.

A bloody stench emanated, filling the chapel.

"How is it?"

The man in prayer suddenly raised his head, looked directly at the God hanging on the cross, and questioned:

"Haven't I been praying to you all along, not to let me become a monster?"

"What about now? You see, since you can't even save your own believers, how are you qualified to be called God!"

The moonlight was faint, revealing his blood-stained face and the slightly raised corners of his mouth.

"I will continue, judging your immoral believers, until you are willing to have mercy and give me a little response…"

The man was in a state of madness, looking at the idol and muttering to himself.

Suddenly, his smile froze, his eyes gleaming with a penetrating light, like a beast that had unexpectedly spotted prey.