216-220

Chapter 216: The Ticket to the Spirit Realm

"…I once discussed the concept of time in the Spirit Realm with Hemingway. He explained that humans perceive everything through the lens of time, while spirits can only conceive changes in states. Spirits lack a sense of time, not just because their existence is eternal, but for other reasons too. One is that the sun in the Spirit Realm never moves—it remains fixed in one corner of the sky. Another is that spirits can move instantly from one place to another with sheer willpower. Without spatial awareness, the concept of time naturally doesn’t exist either..."

"Hemingway also shared a fascinating example about spirits’ perception of time: Imagine two spirits—one looks like an old man, and the other appears as a young man. Which one do you think is younger? Which one is older?"

"From a human perspective, you'd undoubtedly assume the young man is younger, and the old man is older. But in truth, the young man may have died and entered the Spirit Realm thousands of years before the old man. However, it would be equally incorrect to assume the young man looks older as a result."

"…Because in the Spirit Realm, there is no time—and therefore no age."

"My conversations with Hemingway deepened my fascination with the Spirit Realm. With the help of Eileen and Hemingway, I gained some renown as a medium. However, most of my energy was devoted to exploring the Spirit Realm. Through repeated ventures, I uncovered secrets about the realm and began to question: If spirits represent the essence of humanity, why do most people remain oblivious to this realm, which is so closely tied to reality?"

"To seek answers, I decided to embark on a new expedition into the Spirit Realm. This time, I chose an uncharted area—the Fierce Spirit Realm, which Hemingway had described. In the physical world, many equate this realm with Hell or the Underworld..."

The content of the Spirit Journal ends abruptly as Marilyn Raphael plans her journey to the Fierce Spirit Realm.

Whether she actually entered the Fierce Spirit Realm and what she encountered there remains a mystery, much like the cliffhanger ending of her story.

However, as Allen held the Spirit Journal, a theory began to form in his mind. Perhaps the absence of a description of the Fierce Spirit Realm wasn’t because Marilyn hadn’t entered it, but because the realm itself wasn’t part of the script’s original design.

Just like in movies or novels, creators might use subtle details to plant seeds for a larger world. But a world not described at all—be it for audiences, readers, or the creators themselves—remains unknown.

In other words, while the system had expanded Marilyn’s backstory with the Spirit Realm based on Allen’s script, it could only enhance what already existed. It couldn’t invent something entirely new without his input.

Simply put, if Allen wanted to see the Fierce Spirit Realm described in Marilyn’s Spirit Journal, he’d need to flesh out the framework himself. At the very least, he had to draft a rough outline for the system to build upon.

"So even the Spirit Journal is nudging me to write more scripts?"

Realizing this, Allen couldn’t help but feel a bit exasperated.

In reality, Universal was pressuring him to produce a new script. Now even system-generated items demanded that he finish world-building.

Shaking his head to suppress the odd sense of dissonance, Allen refocused. Although the incomplete content of the Spirit Journal was somewhat dissatisfying, its descriptions of the Spirit Realm had sparked his curiosity. Even as the script's creator, the thought of exploring the Spirit Realm in person was enticing.

Moreover, Allen happened to have an item in hand that would allow him to enter the Spirit Realm with ease.

The Spirit Realm Ticket.

His eyes landed on the item in the system's inventory. Reading the description, Allen couldn’t help but compare it to the Traveling Circus Ticket he had used before. Both seemed to be similar in function—tools to access specific, mysterious locations. The difference lay in scope: the circus ticket was confined to the circus, while the Spirit Realm Ticket granted access to the vast and enigmatic Spirit Realm.

Thinking back to the journal’s vivid descriptions of the Spirit Realm, Allen, even as its supposed architect, couldn’t help but feel a sense of yearning.

Taking a deep breath, he redeemed the Spirit Realm Ticket from the system’s inventory.

Despite its name, the item that materialized in Allen’s hand was not a paper ticket. Instead, it was a flickering point of bluish light, glowing faintly and orbiting his body.

At the dining table, a small commotion caught his attention. The Voodoo Doll, which had been enthusiastically attacking a tissue box moments earlier, was now captivated by the glowing light. With a hop and a skip, the doll approached Allen, tilting its yarn head upward. Its button eyes gleamed with curiosity.

As the glowing light passed in front of it, the Voodoo Doll raised its tiny trident and poked at the light. But it quickly withdrew its weapon and hid it behind its back, striking an “I didn’t do anything” pose.

Watching the doll’s antics, Allen couldn’t suppress a faint smile.

But he quickly turned his attention back to the floating light. Stretching out his hand experimentally, he watched as the light circled around before slowly settling into his palm.

"So this is the Spirit Realm Ticket?"

Gazing at the flickering blue orb in his hand, Allen felt a twinge of doubt. Even though he knew the item came from the system, it looked nothing like a ticket.

Scrutinizing the light closely, Allen hesitated for a moment before gently closing his fingers around it.

In the next instant, an intense burst of blue light erupted from the orb, rapidly enveloping his entire arm in a visible glow.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 217: Transformation into a Spirit

"I understand now!"

Releasing his clasped hands, the bluish glow that enveloped his arms gradually faded.

Allen looked down at the faintly glowing orb in his hand, a newfound clarity dawning in his mind.

Through his earlier attempts, he had come to a basic understanding of the orb's function.

As described by the system, this unassuming glowing orb was indeed a "Spirit Realm Admission Ticket", and its purpose was to transform the user, granting them entry into the Spirit Realm.

According to the Spirit Notebook, spirits are drawn to the Spirit Realm by an inexplicable attraction.

Marilyn Raphael, for instance, used her "death state" to leave her physical body and transform into a spirit to explore the Spirit Realm. The Spirit Realm Admission Ticket, however, simplifies the process—it directly transforms the user into a spirit, bypassing the need to enter the "death state."

Additionally, since the transformation into a spirit is immediate, there is no longer a concern that one’s body will be possessed by other spirits in the physical world.

For now, though, spirits only seemed to exist within Allen’s script.

"Take care of the place."

Having grasped this concept, Allen didn’t hesitate further.

Turning to the Voodoo Doll on the dining table, he gave a brief instruction before firmly gripping the glowing orb in his hand.

In the next instant, an even brighter bluish glow enveloped him. Under the button-eyed gaze of the Voodoo Doll, Allen's body began to turn transparent. All the sensations of physical reality—temperature, time, even the concept of space—started to blur.

Looking down at his arm, Allen noticed that his gaze could easily pass through his arm and body, revealing the ground behind him.

"So, this is the world as seen by spirits?"

Freed from the constraints of his physical body, Allen’s thoughts became exceptionally sharp and quick.

With just a single thought, his body floated mid-air. Waving his arms in a swimming motion, he circled around effortlessly.

Looking down, Allen noticed the Voodoo Doll on the dining table.

The doll seemed to have lost sight of him. It scurried around the room, searching for his presence.

Through his spiritual vision, however, Allen could see a faint, pulsating crimson glow hidden within the doll’s yarn-stitched body.

"The Voodoo Doll’s body consists of a large amount of yarn and a single strand of demon hair."

This description from the system flashed through Allen’s mind as he observed the scene.

Evidently, the faint crimson glow was that single strand of demon hair.

One Voodoo Doll requires pulling out a strand of hair from a demon… Could it be…

His mind filled with chaotic thoughts, Allen realized that as a spirit, his thoughts had become unusually scattered.

Regaining control over his chaotic mind, he glanced at the Voodoo Doll, which was now strutting confidently around the room after confirming his departure. Shaking his head, Allen turned and drifted toward the door.

As a spirit, he felt an inexplicable pull, much like what was described in the Spirit Notebook, urging him to a particular location.

…

As a spirit, doors were no longer an obstacle.

Phasing through the walls of the house, Allen emerged into the San Marino neighborhood.

Now transformed, he immediately noticed his movement speed had increased significantly. Instead of taking winding paths, he passed straight through houses, walls, trees, and even the ground.

Sometimes he glided through walls, and other times, he soared into the sky.

The sensation was intoxicating.

No wonder Marilyn Raphael had been so enamored with exploring the Spirit Realm.

Of course, along the way, Allen also discovered that being a spirit wasn’t entirely advantageous.

For one, he realized during his brief transformation that in this state, he had no interaction with the physical world.

This limitation was, in fact, part of Allen’s own script.

Without a vessel, spirits have virtually no influence on the physical world.

He phased through the bodies of conversing pedestrians without them noticing. Entering a restaurant, he found that he couldn’t smell the food.

"Spirits lack sensory perception. To them, everything is void—no joy, no pain, no sensation."

This was Allen’s script-based characterization of spirits.

He had never imagined he would one day experience it firsthand.

Thus, weaving through New York’s bustling cityscape, Allen finally arrived at a remote clearing.

"I should’ve realized sooner. Where else would a gateway to the Spirit Realm exist in the real world?"

Surveying the patrolling guards and the nearby BSI tents and makeshift labs, a knowing expression appeared on Allen’s face.

The source of the mysterious pull he felt was none other than the pool within the tunnel.

Indeed, in the real world, the pool—created through his script—was the only conceivable entrance to the Spirit Realm.

Having reached this conclusion, Allen wasted no time.

Around the clearing, numerous BSI agents patrolled diligently. Following Steve’s recent attack, the security around the clearing and tunnel entrance had tightened significantly, with even the tunnel itself now sealed behind a massive metal gate.

Under normal circumstances, bypassing the patrol teams and opening the gate without drawing attention would’ve been nearly impossible.

But Allen was no longer in a normal state.

As a spirit, even if he stood right in front of the patrol agents, they wouldn’t see him.

Effortlessly phasing through the tightly guarded perimeter, Allen calmly passed through the metal gate and entered the tunnel.

Though he had seen the tunnel’s environment countless times through the system’s display, being there in person was entirely different.

Inside the tunnel, Allen noticed several monitoring and warning devices installed by BSI, clearly intended to detect intruders. Even if one bypassed the initial obstacles, more awaited.

Unfortunately for them, these high-tech defenses were powerless against a spirit like Allen.

Ignoring the sophisticated equipment, Allen didn’t bother traversing the winding tunnels. Utilizing his ability to phase through walls, he quickly descended to the pool’s location.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 218: The Spirit Realm Guide

Although Allen, as the creator of the script, knew everything about the pond's abilities, seeing it in person was far more breathtaking than observing it through the system interface.

Perhaps due to his current transformation into a spirit, Allen felt an inexplicable pull emanating from the pond, as if a faint force was constantly drawing him toward its center.

Behind the pond lay the destination of Allen’s journey—the Spirit Realm.

For spirits who had escaped the pond, returning to the Spirit Realm would naturally be the last thing they desired.

However, Allen was different. Standing at the edge of the pond, he not only did not resist the pull but instead allowed the force to guide him gracefully to the center of the water.

As he approached, the pond's ghostly blue glow grew brighter, and the pulling force intensified.

Under the ethereal light, Allen extended his hand to touch the water's surface. Immediately, a peculiar sensation of envelopment arose at his fingertips.

In his current spirit form, tactile sensations should not exist, yet his submerged fingers distinctly felt as though they were encased by some unseen substance.

“It seems the world connected to the other side of this pond is indeed the Spirit Realm,” Allen murmured.

With a knowing expression, he glanced back at the tunnel behind him. Without hesitation, he turned and let the force within the pond pull him into its depths.

“Phew...”

Though breathing was unnecessary in his spirit form, Allen instinctively held his breath as he submerged in the pond.

In the instant his body should have descended, it felt as though a gust of wind lifted him into the air. The sensation shifted in the next second, and he plummeted downward as if falling into an abyss.

The alternating rise and fall were both violent and surreal, creating a disorienting experience that felt both rapid and agonizingly slow.

Amid this strange sensation, Allen opened his eyes wide. Observing his surroundings, he realized he was moving along what appeared to be a winding river.

But soon, he dismissed that thought.

If this were a river, it would be far too vast.

Where did it lead? To the ocean—or perhaps the Spirit Realm?

Carrying these doubts, Allen carefully observed his surroundings. Within the flowing "river," countless ghostly blue lights drifted. As he approached one, an inexplicable memory surged into his mind.

“...Damn it, why am I so unlucky... It wasn’t even my fault... If I had realized sooner... that money would’ve been mine…”

The memory was chaotic and distorted. Amid the fragmented images, Allen saw scenes of betrayal and bloodshed among a group arguing over stolen loot. The memory concluded in a blur of crimson.

These glowing lights in the "river," it seemed, were the spirits of the dead.

Shaking his head to dispel the jumbled memories, Allen focused on the glowing lights around him, a realization forming in his mind.

“Wait.”

His expression suddenly shifted.

“If each of these glowing lights represents the spirits of the deceased from the real world, then doesn’t that mean…”

His gaze fell on the system’s 2.6% World Evolution Rate.

Previously puzzled by the sudden increase in the evolution rate, Allen now understood.

The key likely lay in the Spirit Realm he now occupied.

The profound impact of the Spirit Realm as a piece of the puzzle seemed to ripple into the real world, causing the system’s evolution rate to spike.

While Allen was piecing this together, the "river" ahead came to an end.

In the distance, a bright light drew closer, enveloping everything in its radiance. For a brief moment, Allen lost all sensation, his thoughts going blank.

Seconds, minutes—Allen could not tell how much time had passed.

When he regained his senses, the "river" had vanished, replaced by an expanse of reddish-brown desert.

“This is the Spirit Realm?”

Looking around at the seemingly endless red-brown expanse, Allen initially thought he was in a desert. But he soon realized that the ground wasn’t made of grains of sand—it was an illusion, as if formed from reflections on water.

Suppressing the strange unease rising within him, Allen observed his surroundings. Aside from the vast emptiness, the only notable feature was the sun hanging motionless in the sky.

Gazing at the unmoving, heatless sun, Allen felt an odd sense of incongruity.

In such an eerie and unfamiliar world, most people would have been overcome with panic. After all, the Spirit Realm bore no resemblance to the real world.

Fortunately, Allen had come prepared. Shifting his gaze from the sun, he opened the system interface and found an item in the exchange menu.

With a flicker of the system’s Plot Points, a fragment of a glowing blue bone appeared in his hand.

Crushing the bone fragment, a blinding blue light flashed, and a hazy spirit materialized before him.

“Marilyn Raphael’s Bone Fragment

Description: A fragment of bone left behind by Marilyn Raphael. It can summon a spirit to serve you.”

Knowing he was entering the Spirit Realm, Allen had naturally prepared a guide familiar with the terrain.

And what guide could be more suitable than the spirit of Marilyn Raphael?

As Allen watched expectantly, the hazy spirit gradually took shape.

A figure with a bushy white beard and glasses emerged.

“Hemingway?”

Seeing the spirit’s appearance, Allen raised an eyebrow.

According to the records, Marilyn Raphael had been possessed by four spirits: Joshua’s brother, James (who had reincarnated at least sixteen times), 20th-century Western medium Irene, a Chinese herbalist from the Ming Dynasty named Jun’er, and the world-renowned author of The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway.

To be honest, Hemingway wasn’t his first choice among the four.

(To be continued...)

Chapter 219: The Surface World

Faced with a four-way choice, Allen had originally hoped to encounter a spiritual entity like Irene or Jun'er—women with unique charms.

At worst, he thought he might randomly meet someone like James, whose backstory seemed intriguing just from a glance.

Instead, fate gave him Hemingway, a figure from the Spirit Notebook.

"You seem... a little disappointed?"

"It looks like I’m not the one you were expecting..."

Noticing Allen's disheartened expression, the spirit before him furrowed his brow. Turning to glance at the world around them and then up at the sun overhead, Hemingway spoke in a raspy, gravelly voice:

"Disappointed or not, our priority is to leave this place. After all, in a world as void as this, collapse could come at any moment."

"Collapse?"

Hearing Hemingway’s warning, Allen quickly set aside his disappointment and asked, "What do you mean?"

"The spiritual realm is a surface world. Everything here is constructed from the fragmented memories of countless spirits. This world we're in now is a memory realm belonging to an unknown spirit..." Hemingway explained in a low voice, his gaze resting on Allen's puzzled face.

Normally, Hemingway wasn’t the type to explain things. However, Allen's identity compelled him to offer a clearer picture.

"Worlds like these are inherently unstable because you can never predict when the spirit who constructed it might think of something else. That would cause the memory world to collapse and vanish. If we can’t find an exit before it does, we’ll be obliterated along with it, disappearing into the spiritual realm."

As he spoke, Hemingway scanned the reddish-brown world, his eyes eventually landing on a black dot in the distance. A faint smirk appeared beneath his thick beard.

"I think I’ve found the exit to this world."

"Can I ask... what’s the first sign of a collapsing memory world?" Allen suddenly interjected just as Hemingway finished.

"The first sign?" Hemingway frowned instinctively but still responded, "There are many ways a memory world might collapse. However, the most common anomaly starts with the sun. In the spiritual realm, everything you see is a surface illusion. Only the sun is constant. If the sun flickers or disappears, it means the surface world is nearing its end."

"Like this?" Allen pointed to the empty sky above them.

"Exactly like..." Hemingway followed his gaze but abruptly froze.

The expression on his rugged face changed in an instant. Where the sun once hung, there was now only a void. Hemingway knew what this meant; he had just explained it moments ago.

"Damn it!"

With the sun gone, the previously stable reddish-brown world began to tremble. Hemingway could see fissures spreading rapidly across the sky from the horizon. The world was breaking apart, and once those cracks covered everything, the entire memory realm—and everyone within it—would vanish into the spiritual realm’s void.

This included both Allen and Hemingway himself.

Sensing the urgency, Hemingway wasted no time.

He turned toward the black dot in the distance. In this situation, there was no time for hesitation.

"Follow me!"

With a low shout, Hemingway summoned an old fishing boat beneath them. Grabbing Allen, he hoisted him aboard. Fixing his eyes on the black dot, he adjusted the sail, and the small boat began surging forward as if propelled by an invisible storm.

Behind them, the fissures expanded at an alarming speed, reaching the spot they had just left within moments.

"The cracks are catching up to us!" Allen called out, glancing back at the relentless fractures closing in on them.

"I know!"

Hemingway gritted his teeth, determination etched across his bearded face. Tightening the sail, he urged the boat forward faster. Though they were traversing a reddish-brown desert rather than an ocean, the boat glided as if it were in its natural element, inching closer to the black dot ahead.

Allen turned to look at Hemingway, steadfast at the helm, and then back at the approaching cracks. The world behind them was disintegrating, chunks peeling away to reveal a void of endless blackness.

Despite the life-or-death urgency of the situation, Allen remained remarkably calm—even offering Hemingway advice.

His composure wasn’t due to fearlessness but to the presence of the Spiritual Realm Admission Ticket. This item not only allowed him to enter the spiritual realm but also provided a guaranteed method of escape.

Because of this safety net, Allen dared to explore the spiritual realm. Still, he didn’t want his rare adventure to end in failure.

As the cracks loomed closer, Allen could only hope Hemingway could rise to the occasion and ensure this journey didn’t end in disappointment.

"Hold tight to the boat!" Hemingway’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Whether it was in response to Allen’s silent prayers or the palpable danger, Hemingway shouted his warning just as the boat surged forward.

The small vessel, which had been gliding across the desert, suddenly launched into the air as though swept by a massive wave. It arced gracefully, heading straight toward the black dot, which revealed itself as the dried corpse of a camel.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 220: The Middle World

Crash!

As the fishing boat collided with the dried corpse of a camel, Allen faintly heard the surging sound of waves in his ears.

In the next instant, the reddish-brown world before him was replaced by an expanse of blue ocean. The fishing boat rested quietly on the calm sea, with the sun hanging motionless in the sky above.

“Where is this place?”

Looking around at the serene sea, Allen’s face revealed a trace of confusion.

“This is the manifested world of my memories.”

Bang!

Hemingway pulled the ropes tight, securing the billowing sail. Turning, he retrieved a bottle of rum from the boat's storage compartment and took a swig. Although he had lost all physical sensations, including taste, after becoming a spirit, the act of drinking still gave him a fleeting sense of exhilaration, especially after narrowly escaping death.

Finishing the rum, he tossed the empty bottle into the sea behind him.

Hemingway sat down heavily, causing the boat to sway slightly. Looking at Allen, he raised an eyebrow, forming a pronounced crease on his forehead. He said, “I told you, the spirit world is a world of manifestations. Everything here is constructed from the remnants of countless spirits’ memories, including my own memory world.”

“A memory world is the most important thing to spirits in the [Spirit World]. It represents their very essence. Spirits have no senses; for them, everything is void—no joy, no pain, no awareness. Only memory allows us to know who we are.”

Facing Allen, Hemingway solemnly explained the significance of memory to spirits.

Then, shifting the conversation back to the present [Spirit World], he continued:

“Of course, beyond individual memory worlds, the entire [Spirit World] is also built from an amalgamation of various memories. However, just as kind people’s memories tend to be beautiful, and the wicked are often filled with malice, the quality of memories varies. This variance creates different worlds. Vast amounts of beautiful memories form the Upper World of the [Spirit World], a place where all the goodness of spirits is gathered. The chaotic and neutral memories make up the Middle World, which closely resembles the real world. Lastly, the malicious, chaotic, and resentful memories coalesce into the Lower World of the [Spirit World].”

“The Lower World?”

Hearing Hemingway’s description of the [Spirit World], Allen instinctively associated it with the “Spirit Netherworld” or “Hell” described in Marilyn Raphael’s Spirit Notes.

Curiosity about the Lower World began to stir in Allen’s heart.

However, considering the dangers they had already faced, it was clear that the [Spirit World] was far more perilous than he had anticipated.

Thus, Allen decided to postpone any plans to explore the Lower World. At the very least, he would wait until he was strong enough to protect himself and had a more complete understanding of the [Spirit World].

“The Lower World is an extremely dangerous place. Even I wouldn’t dare to venture there lightly,” Hemingway said, noticing Allen muttering to himself. A hint of apprehension flickered across his face.

“But if I’m not mistaken, Marilyn Raphael once entered the Lower Spirit World herself, didn’t she?”

“Marilyn.”

Hearing the familiar name, Hemingway’s expression faltered for a moment.

“Marilyn was unique. I’ve never met anyone as bold or extraordinary as her…”

Staring at the calm sea, Hemingway seemed lost in thought.

After a long silence, he snapped out of his reverie, suppressing his emotions and addressing Allen.

“Although I can’t take you to the Lower World, I do know an entrance to the Middle World. There, you might experience the wonders—or horrors—of the [Spirit World] and satisfy your curiosity.”

As Hemingway’s voice fell, he tugged at the ropes, and the previously stowed sails unfurled again. The once-calm sea suddenly turned turbulent.

Waves crashed against the small fishing boat as sharks circled its sides. Hemingway raised his arm, and in the next moment, an old, weathered fishing rod appeared in his hand. With a flick of the rod, the hook, guided by an invisible force, latched onto something unseen.

“Hold on to the boat!”

Hemingway’s raspy voice warned Allen as he pulled on the fishing rod with all his strength. The fishing line went taut, and the fishing boat, as if pulled by an unseen force, surged forward, breaking through an invisible barrier.

“All right, we’re here.”

With the crisp sound of something shattering in his ears, Allen lifted his head once more.

The turbulent ocean was gone, replaced by a bustling city street.

Countless figures—or spirits—moved through the streets. On the road, Allen saw modern cars speeding by, alongside horse-drawn carriages and even peculiar steam-powered vehicles. From afar, on a towering overpass, a steam locomotive chugging with billowing smoke raced parallel to a modern train. At the station, spirits of all kinds disembarked from the trains.

Standing on a street corner, Allen took in the passing vehicles. He quickly noticed something even stranger: the cityscape itself. Modern skyscrapers coexisted with ancient castles, and in the distant haze, faintly visible traditional Chinese buildings added to the mix.

Within these eclectic structures moved spirits of diverse appearances. Some wore casual modern clothing, others dressed in old-fashioned attire, and from time to time, knights in armor strode out of the castles.

This chaotic blend of architectural styles and eras struck Allen as profoundly disordered.

“Feeling confused?”

Standing nearby, Hemingway noticed Allen’s bewildered expression. A slight smirk curled beneath his thick beard as he lit a cigar and said:

“Chaos is the essence of the Middle World.”

“This place is constructed from the disjointed memories of countless spirits. These memories aren’t bright enough to form the Upper World, nor are they dark enough to sink into the Lower World. They linger in between, forming the Middle World you see before you.”

(End of Chapter)