After several more attempts, Fang Xiu found that no matter how he tested it—even with a blade embedded in his thigh—he would still be pulled into the dream.
At this realization, he understood that the only way forward depended on Zhao Hao himself. Survival hinged on one simple requirement—overcoming fear.
— — —
"This is the emergency exit!"
"There must be a way out through here!"
Fang Xiu turned to Zhao Hao and the others, his expression solemn. "Inside this passage lurks an entity capable of weaving illusions. In its dreamscape, you will encounter terrifying visions, horrors beyond comprehension, and even the illusion that you've escaped the cursed domain. But remember—none of it is real."
"The only way to break free from the illusion is to conquer your fear. The more fear you feel, the quicker you will die."
"What?! Another entity?!" A colleague's voice trembled with panic, his face already pale with terror.
Judging by his reaction, he hardly needed the illusion—he was already terrified enough.
Fang Xiu turned his gaze to Zhao Hao. "Listen carefully—whatever you see, no matter how real it seems, is a fabrication. Do not succumb to fear. That is your only chance at survival."
Zhao Hao swallowed hard and nodded. He trusted Fang Xiu.
"Oh, and one more thing," Fang Xiu added. "If you see Li Feifei in the illusion, give her a squeeze. The difference between real and fake will be obvious. That's the flaw in the illusion."
Zhao Hao froze. "B-but… I've never touched the real one before."
Fang Xiu ignored him. Instead, he pushed open the door and stepped into the dream.
— — —
The dreamscape that engulfed Fang Xiu was the same as before. Through his earlier trials, he had confirmed that the Zhao Hao and the others in his dream were mere fabrications, meaning everyone was experiencing a separate nightmare of their own.
He could not aid Zhao Hao within the illusion.
Knowing it was all a dream, Fang Xiu remained entirely unfazed. Fear had no hold over him, allowing him to effortlessly shatter the illusion once again.
When he woke, the entity was nowhere in sight. Instead, Zhao Hao and the others lay sprawled on the floor, still alive—for now.
But their condition was dire. Terror was etched onto their faces, their expressions twisted in agony. Some had even begun convulsing.
Zhao Hao, however, was the worst off—his hands clenched around his own throat, face darkened with cyanosis, as if moments from suffocation.
Fang Xiu rushed over, prying his hands away. Zhao Hao gasped for breath, but his consciousness remained trapped in the nightmare.
"Zhao Hao, wake up."
No response.
Slap! Slap!
A dozen crisp strikes landed across Zhao Hao's face, yet still, he did not stir.
With no other choice, Fang Xiu unsheathed his scalpel and drove it into Zhao Hao's thigh, even infusing a sliver of his power to amplify the pain. Zhao Hao's face contorted in agony—but he did not wake.
Moments later, his head lolled to the side. Dead.
Fang Xiu followed.
— — —
Again and again, Fang Xiu tried. No matter how he warned them, Zhao Hao and the others would always perish in the dream.
They could not overcome their fear.
Fang Xiu fell into silence. He had wanted to save Zhao Hao. But it seemed he was beyond saving.
One final attempt.
If it failed, then Zhao Hao's fate was sealed.
How could he help Zhao Hao conquer his fear?
A thought surfaced. If fear could not be defeated, then perhaps it could be drowned out.
Fear was an instinctive emotion—one that could only be countered by another equally primal force.
He pondered Zhao Hao's nature. Not particularly remarkable. Unimpressive in appearance, introverted, timid, a classic loser with a penchant for daydreaming.
No distinct strengths…
No, wait. He had one.
A certain… interest.
An instinct.
The basest of all human instincts.
A smirk ghosted across Fang Xiu's lips. He had found the key.
"Zhao Hao, your favorite movie… isn't it Private Tutoring After School?"
Zhao Hao recoiled in horror. "H-how do you know that?! Have you been snooping through my phone?!"
"Doesn't matter how I know." Fang Xiu's voice was firm. "Right now, you need to open your phone, turn the volume to max, and play it. Out loud."
Zhao Hao stared at him in disbelief, stammering, "Y-you're kidding, right? If you want to watch, we can do that after we escape! This is no different from taking a dump in public!"
"I am not joking. This will save your life. Do it. Now."
Fang Xiu's expression was unwavering, and under the weight of his pressure, Zhao Hao relented.
As the familiar soundtrack played, echoing eerily through the darkened corridor, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to lift ever so slightly.
His two remaining colleagues turned to Zhao Hao, their gazes unreadable.
Zhao Hao's face burned with mortification.
"Now focus," Fang Xiu commanded. "Completely immerse yourself in the movie. Put yourself in the student's place. Lose yourself in it. When you enter the dream, shut your eyes and commit to the fantasy. That's the only way you'll survive."
Zhao Hao inhaled deeply, nodding resolutely before forcing himself to engage.
Fang Xiu glanced at the other two. "You as well. Find something you're passionate about. Use it to divert your attention—drown out the fear."
Unfortunately, they had neither Zhao Hao's peculiar enthusiasm nor the right "resources" on hand. In the end, they had no choice but to watch along with him.
Truly, the interests of men might differ in genre… but at their core, they were much the same.
Five minutes later, Fang Xiu assessed Zhao Hao's situation. The "tent" was pitched. It was working.
The other two, however, remained entirely unaffected.
Clearly, not everyone had Zhao Hao's… special talent for staying enthusiastic even in the face of terror.
This was the best he could do. With a final set of instructions, he led them through the door.
— — —
The dream descended once more.
Fang Xiu escaped it in an instant and turned to check the others.
The two colleagues were in worse shape than ever—faces contorted in unspeakable horror, wounds manifesting across their bodies as if something unseen was tearing them apart.
But Zhao Hao…
Though fear still gripped his features, there was something else interwoven—a flicker of something vile, something perverse.
And, of course, the tent remained defiantly upright.
Fang Xiu felt an odd sense of relief.
Perhaps… having a special talent wasn't such a bad thing after all.
He recalled a conversation they once had.
Zhao Hao had told him that one afternoon, he'd woken up unable to move—paralyzed beneath the weight of sleep. And then, he had seen her. A spectral woman in white, her complexion pale as death. At first, fear gripped him.
But then… he realized—she was beautiful.
So, naturally… he'd wanted to kiss her.
He had pursed his lips, straining toward her—
Only for the nightmare to shatter, leaving him heartbroken.
At the time, Fang Xiu had dismissed it as a joke.
But now?
Now, he wasn't so sure.
Maybe Zhao Hao really had seen a ghost.
And maybe…
Just maybe…
He had actually wanted to go through with it.
A modern-day Ning Caichen.
— — —
The dream reached its climax.
The two colleagues' heads lolled back—blood poured from their orifices. Dead.
Zhao Hao's terror surged to its peak—his tent threatened to collapse.
And then—
A strangled moan escaped his lips.
The tent stood tall once more.
His hands groped blindly at his chest, his lips quivering, his expression one of ecstatic delirium.
Fang Xiu exhaled.
It worked.