No one seemed to have much faith in Ye Qingyi. Her own abilities weren’t particularly strong, she wasn’t as well-known as Su Mo, and she certainly didn’t possess his A-grade talent.
But Su Mo didn’t see it that way. After all, everything he had now—his talent, his cultivation techniques, his resources—all of it originally belonged to Ye Qingyi. Without these, he would be nothing.
Even so, Ye Qingyi still had her own strengths, and Su Mo had always believed that.
“Why don’t you share your thoughts with everyone?” Su Mo suggested.
Ye Qingyi glanced at him. The feeling of being constantly looked after caught her off guard. After a moment of contemplation, she spoke:
“When I saw Brother Clock pressing down on that tentacle monster as it descended, I already had a bad feeling. I can’t explain what it was, but it’s definitely connected to that.”
Her gaze fixed on the fleshy orb, her brows furrowed in deep thought.
Suddenly, as if struck by something, she staggered backward, unsteady on her feet. Su Mo reacted instantly, catching her before she could fall.
“What’s wrong?”
Ye Qingyi shook her head, signaling that she was fine, then pointed at the fleshy orb, her expression grave. “I can say with absolute certainty now—danger is coming, and it’s tied to that thing.”
Her strange behavior left everyone, even Su Mo, baffled.
“Is this your ability? Predicting the future?” A’Kun, the most experienced among them, asked in disbelief.
“You could say that. You’re free not to believe me.” With that, Ye Qingyi turned and walked away, pulling Su Mo along with her.
Su Mo trusted her completely—she would never harm him—so he followed without hesitation.
Sun Yuchen’s eyes swept over the other three, as if asking, “They’re leaving. What about us?”
A’Kun was the first to speak up. “The world is full of wonders. She doesn’t seem like she’s lying, and there’s no reason for her to.”
Week Eight chimed in, “Better safe than sorry.”
Only Clock remained silent. He didn’t believe that this guy named Su Mo had any prophetic abilities, and letting go of the prey he’d worked so hard to capture didn’t sit right with him.
Still, in the end, he followed Ye Qingyi. Not for any grand reason—he just didn’t want to die, even if the chance was slim.
“If I find out you’re lying…” His eyes darkened, the unspoken threat more chilling than any words.
“Predictions aren’t a hundred percent certain. If you don’t believe it, you don’t have to come.” Su Mo shot back, just as coldly.
As tensions rose, A’Kun quickly stepped in to mediate. “Hey, we’re all on the same side here, no need for this.”
But it was Ye Qingyi who spoke first. “If I’m saying it, I’m certain of it.”
Her words seemed more for Su Mo’s sake, reassuring him not to worry.
According to Ye Qingyi, if the fleshy orb was the source of danger, then the simplest way to avoid it was to get as far away as possible.
The group tried to leave the outpatient building but found they couldn’t—the barrier’s range seemed to cover the entire structure.
Ten minutes passed in eerie silence. Nothing happened. Not even the smaller tentacle monsters appeared after the larger one had been subdued.
Just as the others began doubting Ye Qingyi’s foresight, a deafening explosion erupted from the direction of the fleshy orb.
The shockwave sent them all tumbling to the ground as the entire building trembled, on the verge of collapse.
A wave of dread washed over them. Without Ye Qingyi’s warning, they realized, today might have been their last.
“This building’s about to come down. If we don’t get out now, we’ll be buried alive,” Week Eight said urgently.
No sooner had she spoken than the walls and ceiling began to crack with a thunderous roar, confirming her words.
In the midst of the crisis, A’Kun “summoned” several crystalline stones out of thin air, crushing them in his grip. A surge of dense spiritual energy spilled forth.
At the same time, he roared, “Spatial Barrier—activate!”
His body absorbed the released energy like a whale gulping water.
Almost instantly, a faintly visible wall of light materialized in the air, enveloping them all.
The collapsing debris didn’t collide with the barrier—it simply passed through as if it weren’t there.
The sight left Su Mo awestruck. This was his first time witnessing a spatial-type technique, and it was every bit as miraculous as the novels described.
The building crumbled into ruins within seconds, but the six of them, shielded by the barrier, emerged unscathed.
When the barrier dissipated, the world plunged into darkness—just like those few minutes before they’d entered the domain. Nothing was visible.
The darkness lingered, stretching the tension to its limit before finally receding.
Pale moonlight streamed through the hallway windows, illuminating their faces. The outpatient building stood intact, as if the explosion had never happened.
Su Mo supported Ye Qingyi, Clock carried the exhausted and unconscious A’Kun on his back, while Sun Yuchen and Week Eight scanned their surroundings warily, only relaxing once they confirmed there was no sign of collapse.
“Was that all an illusion?” Sun Yuchen muttered.
Week Eight rolled her eyes. “I told you, it’s a domain. It makes sense it wouldn’t affect the real world.”
“The question is, does that domain still exist?” Su Mo voiced the doubt on everyone’s mind.
But no one had an answer. Silence settled over them.
“This is beyond us now,” Week Eight said. “We should report it directly to Commander Yang and let him decide our next move.”
Everyone agreed with her suggestion.
Ye Qingyi’s prediction had been correct, which meant there really might be a B-grade—or stronger—entity behind all this.
And B-grade? That was far beyond what they could handle.
Among the six, even the highest-ranked, A’Kun, was only at the peak of D-grade. Right now, he was slumped over Clock’s shoulder, “sleeping” soundly.
It was the middle of the night, and with no cars around Jingnan Third Hospital, their only option was to walk for a while.
The other four had places to stay in the city, but Su Mo and Ye Qingyi had no choice but to return to school.
They parted ways with the group at the hospital entrance, heading across the street.
They’d arrived via that road earlier, so they figured they might be able to hitch a ride there.
But luck wasn’t on their side. Thanks to Jingnan Third Hospital’s reputation, few drivers were willing to pass through the area.
Even ride-hailing apps were no help—the moment drivers saw the pickup location near the hospital, they ignored the request, even if they had no other orders.
“Never thought we’d end up in such a predicament,” Su Mo said with a bitter laugh.
“So we don’t have a ride. Big deal. We can just walk back.”
Su Mo gave her a thumbs-up. “Now that’s gutsy.”
Walking back wasn’t impossible, but it was hardly necessary.
After a while, they came across a hotel—its pink neon sign made it unmistakably a love hotel.
Both of them stopped in their tracks, exchanging a glance.
Ye Qingyi spoke first. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Su Mo asked, feigning ignorance.
“To get a room.” Her expression was calm, betraying no emotion.