Late at night, the city of Melbourne lay shrouded in hush, the only sounds the distant drone of a tram and the soft patter of rain against the windows. Xiaohuo sat alone in his room, the overhead light etching sharp shadows across the walls. On his desk, the black box waited—a silent, inscrutable presence. The conversation with Li Qing lingered in his mind, stirring a storm of anxiety and self-doubt. He realized he could no longer remain passive, swept along by this bewildering power. He needed answers—he needed to know what governed the spirits, and whether he could ever take control.
He began by retracing every "awakening" he'd experienced. There was Su Wan'er, Li Qing, even the lawyer Joy. Each had changed in subtle, unique ways: Su Wan'er's gentle devotion, Li Qing's growing dependence, Joy's strange fixation. But one thing connected them all—when a genuine emotional link formed between them and Xiaohuo, the spirits' influence grew stronger, more obvious.
"Could it be… that emotion is the key?" Xiaohuo mused, frowning. He decided to test his theory.
The next morning, before the restaurant opened, he invited Su Wan'er to come early. This time, he gave her no instructions, deliberately keeping his distance and watching carefully. At first, Su Wan'er bustled about as usual, tidying tables and setting out chopsticks. But when Xiaohuo became cold and unresponsive, her enthusiasm faded. She grew hesitant, even glancing at him with uncertainty.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked quietly.
Xiaohuo shook his head, feigning indifference. But inside, he was electrified—realizing the spirits' power wasn't absolute, but depended on an "active emotional connection." He made a mental note: perhaps the spirits' grip could be weakened, even broken.
But danger, as always, came unannounced.
During the lunch rush, a middle-aged Asian man entered the restaurant. He wore a sharp suit and scanned the room with a cool, predatory calm. He ordered only a glass of water, and Xiaohuo barely noticed him—until the man's voice, low and steely, cut through the din as Xiaohuo set down his drink.
"You're Xiaohuo, aren't you?"
Xiaohuo froze, nodding instinctively.
The man leaned forward, his words barely above a whisper. "You think you're the only one who's noticed how strange the women around you have become? You really think you're the only one with this kind of power?"
Cold prickled across Xiaohuo's skin. He tried to steady himself. "Who are you?"
The man's mouth curled into a thin smile. "I'm like you—a spirit holder. But I awakened years before you did. You're still a novice. You have no idea about the rules or the cost of this power."
A bead of sweat trickled down Xiaohuo's temple. For the first time, he felt a true and present danger. He realized that he was not only struggling against the temptation of the spirits, but was now entangled in a secret world, a contest of hidden powers.
"You'd better be careful," the man warned, voice as sharp as a knife. "If you're not, the spirits will consume you."
He stood and strode out, leaving only a chill in the air and a warning hanging between them.
Xiaohuo sat motionless, mind spinning. The rules were far more complex than he had imagined. It wasn't just emotion—there were traps and enemies hiding in the shadows.
And this, he realized, was only the beginning of the crisis.
The Melbourne sky had darkened to a threatening gray by late afternoon, clouds rolling in and casting long shadows across Chinatown's narrow streets. The encounter with the suited stranger haunted Xiaohuo all day, his words echoing like a riddle he couldn't solve. He'd always assumed his struggle was a solitary one; now, he realized he was only a small piece of a much larger, hidden game.
By evening, the restaurant was nearly empty. Xiaohuo slipped out the back door, adrenaline and dread warring inside him as he dialed the number the stranger had left behind. He kept his voice steady: "Hello. I want to know more about… the spirits."
A pause, then the same cold voice replied, "Tomorrow night. The alley behind Chinatown. Come alone."
The line went dead. Xiaohuo stared at his phone, feeling a chill settle over him. He knew this meeting could be dangerous, but he also knew he had no choice. If he wanted to protect himself—and those caught in the web of his power—he had to understand the rules. He had to confront the truth, no matter how dark it might be.
That night, sleep eluded him. He lay in bed, mind racing with questions. What were the true rules of the spirits? Was there a way to control or even break free from their influence? Or would he, too, become a puppet—his soul eroded with every use of their seductive power? He thought of Li Qing, of Su Wan'er, of all the people whose lives had been quietly twisted by forces they could never see.
The following evening, Xiaohuo made his way to the appointed alley. The city's neon lights flickered over the wet pavement, the air thick with the scent of rain and distant stir-fry. The alley was narrow, lit only by the faint glow of a nearby kitchen window. The stranger was already there, waiting in the shadows.
"You came," the man said, his expression unreadable. He motioned for Xiaohuo to sit beside him on a battered bench.
Xiaohuo got straight to the point. "Is it possible to control or even break the spirits' hold?"
The man laughed—a short, bitter sound. "Everyone asks that at first. Listen carefully: The spirits are the embodiment of desire and dominance. The more you indulge, the more you lose yourself. Rule one: the deeper the emotional connection, the stronger their grip. Rule two: if you hesitate—if you let doubt or guilt fester—the spirits can turn on you. You lose control, and sometimes, you lose yourself."
Xiaohuo felt a cold weight settle on his chest. "Has anyone ever escaped?"
The stranger's eyes flickered with something like regret. "Very few. Most fall—either they drown in the pleasure of power, or the spirits consume them from within. Every time you use the spirits, they take a piece of you. That's the price."
Xiaohuo's voice was little more than a whisper. "So what am I supposed to do?"
The man placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Never let yourself forget that this power is not who you are. Never use it for pleasure. Never abuse it. If you want to survive, hold on to your conscience—your self-awareness. That's the only defense we have."
With that, the stranger melted back into the shadows, leaving Xiaohuo alone in the humid night, the weight of new knowledge pressing down on him.
He walked through Chinatown, neon signs reflecting in puddles, the familiar chaos of the market now tinged with a sense of otherness. The city was both home and mystery, comfort and threat. For the first time, Xiaohuo felt truly alone—but also, deep within, a fragile resolve was taking root.
Back in his room, he stared at the black box—his link to the spirits. He felt the stirrings of resistance for the first time. If he was ever to escape the spirits' grip, he would have to learn restraint. He would have to fight for his soul.
He didn't know what the future would bring, but he was determined to search for answers—not just for himself, but for those whose lives had been changed by the spirits' silent hand.