Chapter Eighty-Four: The Third Round of Qualifying Begins

Chapter Eighty-Four: The Third Round Qualifiers Begin

Thrown high into the air, Xia Zhen lost consciousness immediately, but soon revived under the relentless wind, only to realize he was plummeting toward the ground. If he were to land as he was, it could result in damage to his brain and cervical spine. Though the physique of a psychic far surpassed that of normal humans, it was still too risky.

He quickly summoned a strand of his spiritual sense, transforming it through imagination into a soft, sloped blanket, allowing himself to roll smoothly to the ground and dissipate the force of gravity.

Shaken, Xia Zhen stood up, rubbing his aching body, feeling waves of soreness—even after greatly reducing the impact.

“The difference between attraction and repulsion is astonishing,” Xia Zhen mused, realizing he had vastly underestimated the power of spiritual intent. He had assumed that mastering repulsion would naturally lead to mastery of attraction, but reality proved him wrong.

He did not become discouraged. Instead, he settled his mind to think clearly. Spiritual intent could manipulate distance through the opposing attributes of “repulsion” and “attraction,” with a maximum range of one hundred meters, a five-second interval between uses, and a significant drain on spiritual energy.

“Although attraction is the opposite of repulsion, they are fundamentally the same force—both are manifestations of spiritual power. There shouldn’t be such a great disparity. Perhaps I should first forget the repulsion technique?” With this thought, Xia Zhen stood up again, determined to erase all his mental associations with repulsion. He regretted starting to cultivate spiritual intent too early; if he had begun both techniques simultaneously, things might not have been so complicated.

He slowly emptied his mind, letting memories of repulsion fade away—a difficult process, for remembering and forgetting are equally arduous, especially when habits have become ingrained in the body.

Half an hour later, Xia Zhen resumed training. He split his spiritual sense into several strands, weaving them into an arcane force that acted upon the air two meters away. Instantly, a surge of attraction appeared, pulling his body forward. But as he neared halfway to the target, a flicker of confusion in his memory caused him to be flung skyward once again.

Fortunately, this time Xia Zhen was prepared, and the force was less intense than before, enabling him to land unharmed.

“No, the memory of repulsion still lingers—it hasn’t vanished.” Xia Zhen pondered, stroking his chin, and continued his efforts to erase the memory of repulsion.

He tried again. This time, he was drawn more than halfway before being repelled into the air. Thus, for several hours, he endured a monotonous cycle of being pulled and thrown, over and over again. Due to the tremendous drain on his spiritual energy, he began consuming energy pills; otherwise, the recovery time would be too long to keep pace.

He was gradually forgetting the repulsion technique, though remnants remained. Each time he neared his target, he was rebounded at the last moment. However, as his proficiency increased, the impact of the rebound became negligible.

A few more hours passed. Xia Zhen was utterly exhausted, having consumed over twenty energy pills. Though he felt regret at their use, he had no other choice.

Yet his long night of relentless practice bore fruit. He had nearly achieved his goal; just a little more refinement was needed for perfect traction.

As dawn approached, Xia Zhen sensed the coming sunlight. Despite his fatigue, his confidence grew stronger.

“Though I haven’t achieved perfection, this should be enough before I encounter Lyan.” Xia Zhen had hoped to practice the advanced ‘Summoning’ attack skill from the Visualization Diagram, but time no longer allowed.

Returning to the manor’s rest area, he met President He Shunhua.

“I heard you’ve been training madly these past few days?” President He was still dressed in her signature hooded robe, reluctant to show her face.

Xia Zhen nodded, spotting the sumptuous breakfast laid out on the table. Without pretense, he threw himself upon it, devouring food ravenously.

“After opening your sea of consciousness, you must find spiritual energy always insufficient. Methods of simple recovery can’t keep up with consumption, am I right?” He Shunhua continued.

Xia Zhen swallowed a pastry whole, like a python, and replied quickly, “Exactly, President He. It takes me at least an hour to restore my spiritual sense, but in combat, I can only rely on quick-recovery medicine. Otherwise, I just have to conserve as much as possible.”

He Shunhua asked for more details, seemingly satisfied with Xia Zhen’s solution, then produced a delicate box the size of an eyeglass case. Xia Zhen noticed her movements mirrored those when retrieving items from a storage pouch, indicating she possessed one as well.

“With her status, owning a storage pouch is nothing unusual,” Xia Zhen thought, accepting the box.

“What is this?” he asked, looking up curiously.

He Shunhua smiled, motioning him to open it.

Inside lay a bronze wristguard, its appearance hinting at extraordinary power.

“Put it on,” He Shunhua urged.

Without hesitation, Xia Zhen removed his watch and donned the wristguard.

“Hm?” As soon as he wore it, a strange force flowed into him. He sensed his previously depleted sea of consciousness rapidly replenishing; within ten seconds, he had recovered nearly half his spiritual energy.

“What a treasure, President He!” Xia Zhen was stunned, having never imagined equipment capable of automatically absorbing spiritual energy.

He Shunhua rose. “This Lunar Radiance Wristguard is yours to borrow for now. Once your tournament journey ends, return it to me. Remember, don’t let it be damaged—it’s priceless to us Mind Masters.”

Indeed, after wearing it, his recovery speed soared; in twenty seconds, his sea of consciousness was full again. It was miraculous.

“Thank you, President. I will return it intact after the tournament.” Xia Zhen promised earnestly. He Shunhua departed, asking no further questions.

It was morning now, nearly five hours from the start of the qualifiers. Xia Zhen washed hurriedly, then received calls from Nalan Sheng and Dream Fox. The Foundation’s business car arrived to pick him up.

Seeing Xia Zhen looking much more haggard after days of absence, Nalan Sheng was instantly concerned. “Brother, don’t push yourself too hard. I believe in your strength.”

“I believe in myself too. I’m so tired—I’ll sleep in the car. Wake me when we reach the venue.” Xia Zhen took the rear seat, which could be laid flat like a bed.

Dream Fox thoughtfully brought a blanket, making the seat soft and comfortable. Xia Zhen fell asleep almost as soon as he lay down.

Nalan Sheng tended to Xia Zhen’s hair, murmuring, “If not for the Hoffmann family’s relentless aggression, Brother wouldn’t need to push himself like this. I won’t let them get away with it.”

“Yes, they kidnapped me, Claire, and Ziqi, then turned around and accused us. Truly despicable,” Dream Fox said, massaging Xia Zhen’s feet. Nalan Sheng worked on his head, instructing the driver to go slow and steady.

Because the Hoffmann family had invoked the Merit Order, they refrained from any private vendetta afterward—otherwise, it would violate federal law.

After four hours, the car arrived at one of the venues for the psychic tournament, a middle school gymnasium fortified with anti-magic stone defenses. This time, all barriers were fourth-grade; the main event would see fifth-grade barriers. The Professional Alliance had invested heavily, but thanks to support from many businesses, the event received ample funding. The feud between Xia Zhen and the Hoffmann family made this inaugural tournament a sensation, drawing many otherwise uninterested spectators.

All registered psychics were below S-rank; the military forbade S-rank participants, since any accident would be a major loss to the Federation.

When Nalan Sheng woke Xia Zhen and he stepped out, he realized today’s venue was his alma mater—no wonder it felt so familiar.

Sure enough, Xia Zhen saw many teachers and students gathered, holding banners at the entrance: “Welcome back, Xia Zhen, our distinguished alumnus!”

The school had even created a Wall of Honor for him. Some accolades he doubted he had ever received, making him slightly embarrassed.

“Wow, Brother, you’re really popular here with the faculty and students!” Nalan Sheng was caught off guard, while Dream Fox excitedly looked around. As an internet celebrity herself now, she was quickly mobbed by students, turning the welcome for Xia Zhen into a celebration for Dream Fox.

Nalan Sheng complained, “Brother, she really is a vixen.”

Xia Zhen felt relieved. Truth be told, he still hadn’t fully accepted his newfound fame. If he had to give a speech in front of former classmates and teachers, he would be mortified.

Thanks to Dream Fox’s intervention, Xia Zhen entered the venue quietly, attracting little attention—only a handful noticed, their reactions lost among the crowd.

Inside, Xia Zhen went to the Professional Alliance’s registration desk. There, he saw the other contestants for the third round—sixteen in all, meaning eight matches today, with only eight advancing.

“Xia Zhen, your match is scheduled last. Is that alright?” The speaker was a poised man, appearing in his thirties, dressed in the Alliance’s white uniform, flanked by a young man and woman, both in their early twenties—only a few years older than Xia Zhen.

“No problem,” Xia Zhen replied. The Alliance clearly wanted his match as the finale for ratings.

Nalan Sheng and Dream Fox were led by Foundation staff to the front row, securing prime viewing spots. Behind them was Xia Zhen’s support group, seemingly composed of students led by his former homeroom teacher—after all, Xia Zhen was their senior.