Chapter 145: I Am An Evil Pen (II)

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Chapter 145: I Am An Evil Pen (II)

Shang Ke condensed himself into spirit form and drifted around the dark room, occasionally glancing at the man sleeping soundly on the bed. Suddenly, he stopped. He remembered that when he had transmigrated into a divine statue, he had once entered his believers’ dreams to teach them skills.

The evil pen might not be as powerful as a divine statue, but the power converted from baleful energy should still be enough to let him enter someone’s dream.

Shang Ke circulated the power within him. Perhaps because the pen spirit had starved for too long, or perhaps because it had never properly cultivated before, its power was like a hopelessly tangled ball of thread, snarled together without the slightest order. Shang Ke tried using a cultivation technique to sort and refine it. After circulating the energy through several complete cycles, he finally managed to straighten it out, and even that maddening sense of hunger eased considerably.

It seemed spiritual cultivation techniques worked on pen spirits as well. Unfortunately, this world contained no spiritual qi, so the only energy Shang Ke could draw upon was the baleful energy the pen spirit itself had accumulated.

The original pen spirit had lost its consciousness precisely because it lost its source of baleful energy and had no idea how to cultivate. If Shang Ke could not find a way to prolong his own existence, sooner or later he would meet the same end.

Ordinary people all carried some degree of baleful energy. No matter how little, it would normally be enough to sustain Shang Ke’s basic needs. Wen Jingrong, however, was an anomaly. Even if baleful energy appeared on him, his immense good fortune immediately neutralized it without leaving so much as a trace behind. As for the baleful energy produced by people around him, it could not even get close.

What Shang Ke needed to do was cultivate his power as quickly as possible, break free from the contract barrier, and gain the ability to absorb baleful energy from people other than Wen Jingrong.

Having made up his mind, Shang Ke circulated his power, transformed into a wisp of smoke, and entered Wen Jingrong’s dream.

With his current level of power, he could not control another person’s dreams. He could only enter as a “guest.”

Wen Jingrong had not been dreaming, so his dreamscape was nothing but shapeless chaos. Then a white figure suddenly appeared, instantly illuminating the dim world. Its toes touched down lightly, sending rings of ripples outward. Like the brush of a feather, its arrival gently “awakened” Wen Jingrong’s consciousness.

Wen Jingrong stared at the shimmering figure not far away, his legs carrying him toward “it” almost beyond his control. With every step closer, its outline became clearer. By the time he reached it, the figure had taken human form—or, more precisely, the form of a slender man with a graceful, narrow back.

Shang Ke was surprised to discover that after entering Wen Jingrong’s dream, his originally shapeless spirit form had begun transforming on its own. In only moments, he possessed the form of a human.

“Who are you?” a voice suddenly came from behind him.

Shang Ke instinctively turned around, revealing a… completely blank face.

Wen Jingrong: “…” He had turned around with some anticipation, hoping to finally glimpse the man’s face, only to discover that the other person had no facial features whatsoever. Strangely, his disappointment far outweighed his alarm.

“Who are you?” Wen Jingrong asked again. Even with that indistinct face, he still wanted to know the man’s identity.

Shang Ke desperately wanted to answer, but without a mouth there was nothing he could do. He could only stand there as a quiet, handsome—albeit faceless—man while screaming internally.

Wen Jingrong narrowed his eyes and tried to make out facial features on that blank face, but no matter how hard he looked, everything remained indistinct.

He rarely dreamed, but whenever he did, he always woke with a sense of emptiness, as though he had lost something—or was searching for something he could never find. The appearance of this man in his dream gave those drifting, unsettled feelings a sense of certainty for the first time.

Wen Jingrong could not resist reaching out, wanting to feel the man’s existence more clearly. But the instant his fingertips touched Shang Ke’s body, everything before him began to blur before plunging completely into darkness.

Wen Jingrong’s eyes snapped open, revealing only the silent room bathed in pale moonlight.

He sat up, took a cigarette from beside the bed, and placed it between his lips. His mind repeatedly returned to the white figure from his dream, his deep eyes flickering unreadably through the curling smoke.

Shang Ke lay sprawled shapelessly on the bed, completely drained. His first attempt at entering a dream had ended before he could say a single word or even show his face, and it had nearly exhausted him to death. It seemed he would have to cultivate for a while before trying again, or he really would end up killing himself through overexertion.

After that, Shang Ke stopped attempting to enter Wen Jingrong’s dreams and instead stayed quietly by his side, focusing on cultivation.

What he did not expect was for that single dream to leave Wen Jingrong with a rather interesting side effect.

Wen Jingrong went from dating women to dating men. Any man who caught his eye would receive an invitation, although nearly every prospective date was over after a single meeting. After a month, no one knew how many handsome men had been left with their romantic hopes thoroughly stirred.

Wen Jingrong was one of Planet Tahm’s famous golden aristocrats: immensely wealthy, exceptionally handsome, and extremely popular in elite circles. Although same-sex relationships were not mainstream, Wen Jingrong’s behavior undoubtedly sent a very clear signal to certain single men, setting plenty of hopeful minds into motion.

Quite a few men began actively trying to attract Wen Jingrong’s attention. When they could not arrange private meetings with him, they found ways to attend the same receptions and deliberately engineered all kinds of “coincidences” to leave a stronger impression.

Sometimes Wen Jingrong would humor them with a few words; other times, he would not spare them so much as a glance. After several such incidents, people quickly noticed that the men who attracted his attention were all roughly the same type: slender in build, with gentle, refined temperaments. Unfortunately, not one of them had managed to make it into his bed, and no one could figure out exactly what kind of male partner he was searching for.

Hanging from Wen Jingrong’s sleeve, Shang Ke could only watch helplessly as handsome men surrounded him and romantic prospects bloomed everywhere. The frustration in his heart was impossible to describe.

“President Wen, this document requires your signature.” The secretary placed a file before Wen Jingrong.

Wen Jingrong habitually removed his cufflink, transformed it into pen form, and swept it across the document—only to discover that it had not left a single mark.

Wen Jingrong frowned and examined the smartpen in his hand. Nothing appeared to be wrong with it.

Smartpens came equipped with fingerprint authentication. Other people could write with them, but only writing produced by the registered owner carried legal validity. This was precisely why the people of Planet Tahm habitually carried their own smartpens.

Wen Jingrong tried several more times, but the pen still refused to produce any writing. With no other choice, he took out a spare smartpen and signed his name.

After signing, Wen Jingrong fastened the spare pen to his sleeve as another cufflink, giving Shang Ke a new companion.

Shang Ke looked at the newcomer beside him and greeted it cheerfully, “What a coincidence. We’re both cufflink-style smartpens.”

His new companion remained aloofly silent.

Shang Ke was in a bad mood and decided that for the foreseeable future, Wen Jingrong would not be allowed to use his body.

Before the workday had even ended, Wen Jingrong left the company and drove to a private repair shop.

“Wen-Bra, long time no see.” The shop owner, a handsome man in his forties, greeted Wen Jingrong enthusiastically when he walked in.

“Don’t call me ‘Wen-Bra’!” Wen Jingrong glared at him, then removed Shang Ke and handed him over. “Take a look. Is it malfunctioning?”

The man accepted the smartpen and admired it. “Judging by the design, this style is several decades old. It’s been maintained remarkably well, and the functions are surprisingly comprehensive. Was it modified at some point?”

“Probably.” Wen Jingrong had inherited the pen from his father only five years ago and had no idea whether his father had modified it, though its functions were essentially no different from those of modern models.

The man transformed Shang Ke into pen form and wrote several lines on a sheet of paper. The writing was clear and the color perfectly even. There was nothing wrong with him whatsoever.

“Isn’t it working perfectly normally?” The man looked at Wen Jingrong in confusion.

Wen Jingrong took the pen back and tried writing himself. The paper remained completely blank.

The shop owner tried again and wrote without the slightest difficulty. Yet the moment the pen returned to Wen Jingrong’s hand, it immediately stopped working.

“Hahaha!” The shop owner burst out laughing. “Wen-Bra, looks like this pen really doesn’t like you! What the hell did you do to abuse it?”

Wen Jingrong stared gloomily at the pen in his hand, and a thin wisp of baleful energy finally emerged from him.

Shang Ke’s spirit form shot toward that wisp of baleful energy at once. His movements could not have been faster, nor his reactions sharper—yet in the end, he still lost to the purifying radiance of Wen Jingrong’s good fortune. The delicious baleful energy vanished right before his eyes.

Shang Ke collapsed onto the ground like a limp ball of cotton.

Why is it so damn hard just to get one bite of baleful energy?!

“There’s nothing wrong with your smartpen.” After a careful inspection, the shop owner delivered his professional diagnosis. “I think the problem is your character.”

Wen Jingrong put the smartpen away and left the repair shop without looking back.

That evening, after washing up, Wen Jingrong lay in bed and watched television for a while before picking up the smartpen and studying it.

This pen had been with him for years and had never malfunctioned before, so why had it suddenly stopped working? More importantly, why was he the only person who could not use it? Wen Jingrong felt inexplicably irritated, almost as though something that belonged to him had suddenly betrayed him. After turning the matter over in his mind for a long time without reaching any conclusion, he finally put the pen aside, turned off the lights, and went to sleep.

Shang Ke floated lightly onto Wen Jingrong’s body and repeatedly pulled grotesque faces at him, despite the fact that the man could not see a thing.

“Just you wait. I’m going straight into your dream to deal with you!” Shang Ke angrily shook a fist at him.

The instant he finished speaking, the man on the bed abruptly opened his eyes, his sharp gaze shooting straight toward Shang Ke’s position.

Shang Ke shot backward in fright. Fuck, you scared the hell out of me!

Wen Jingrong suspiciously scanned his surroundings.

Over here, over here! Shang Ke struck an absurdly contorted pose in midair.

Wen Jingrong only felt waves of eerie cold air passing above him. He frowned and stared for a moment, but after finding nothing unusual, he slowly closed his eyes again.

Before long, he fell asleep.

Shang Ke gathered his emotions, circulated his power, and once again entered Wen Jingrong’s dream.

Just like before, the moment he entered the dream, he acquired a human form.

Before Shang Ke could do anything, a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, and the man’s deep voice sounded beside his ear.

“Caught you.”

There should not have been any real sense of touch inside a dream, yet as Wen Jingrong pressed close, Shang Ke felt warmth spread across his back while that familiar presence enveloped him completely.

Shang Ke did not struggle. Instead, the first thing he did was touch his own face—and discovered that he actually had facial features this time!

“Tell me. Who are you?”

I’m that evil pen you carry around with you.

Naturally, Shang Ke had absolutely no intention of answering that way.

Receiving no answer, Wen Jingrong hooked an arm around Shang Ke’s waist and slowly turned him around.

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