Only I Cultivate
Chapter 35: Bloody Mary

Chapter 35: Bloody Mary

After an exhausting day of training, Feng Fan collapsed onto the ground, too drained to even sit. He entered his inner palace and forced Ma Chen to draw energy from the other side without changing his current position.

Lying there in the training center, he cultivated in silence for the next hour. Then, his eyes snapped open. With a single motion, he sprang to his feet, feeling completely refreshed.

"Incredible. I can recover from such intense training in such a short time just by cultivating."

Not only had his stamina returned, but even the bruises on his body had completely vanished. He clenched his fist, feeling stronger than ever.

"Alright, time to head home. I still have a month to push myself even further."

With Luo Li and Wu Yunru using the team’s car for their missions, Feng Fan wouldn’t have access to it for the next month. But that wasn’t a problem—now that he had money to spare, he decided to buy himself a phone and a motorcycle before heading home.

Did Feng Fan have a driver’s license? Absolutely not.

But as a government agent protecting the people from deadly supernatural threats, he figured he could always flash his SIF badge if the police stopped him.

He had no shame in abusing his position for convenience!

With fifty thousand dollars in his bank account, he effortlessly purchased a high-end phone and a good motorcycle, still leaving him with plenty to spare. Feeling indulgent, he decided to fill his refrigerator to the brim for once.

After dropping off his motorcycle at home, he made his way to the nearest supermarket and went on a shopping spree, buying whatever he wanted without a second thought. But just as he finished loading up his cart, a peculiar idea struck him.

’So far, the ghosts I’ve encountered share striking similarities with serial killers or urban legends from my home planet... Does that mean all of them do?’

One particular legend surfaced in his mind—Bloody Mary.

’Can I summon her here?’

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Straw Hat hummed ominously on his head, warning him against it.

But who was Feng Fan? A man who did as he pleased. If he wanted to summon Bloody Mary, then he would summon Bloody Mary.

Ignoring the warning, he grabbed a pair of candles and a matchbox before heading home.

Once he arrived, he quickly organized the groceries, smiling as he shut his now-packed refrigerator. Then, before diving into another cultivation session, he set an alarm on his brand-new phone.

2:50 a.m.

At precisely 3 a.m., when ghosts were at their strongest, he would summon Bloody Mary.

👻👻👻👻👻

Feng Fan sat cross-legged on his bed when his alarm rang, marking the arrival of the moment he had been waiting for. He picked up his phone, silenced the alarm, and placed it back on top of the old wooden drawer beside his bed.

He grabbed a matchbox, a knife, and a candle before making his way to the bathroom.

The light buzzed softly overhead as he carefully divided the candle into four smaller pieces with the knife. He set them in a square formation on the bathroom sink and lit each one, their flickering flames casting elongated shadows against the pale tiles.

Time crept forward, second by second. The moment the clock struck 3 a.m., Feng Fan switched off the bathroom light, plunging the room into a dim, flickering gloom.

Not even the moonlight dared to shine into his bathroom tonight. The only illumination came from the weak flames of the burning candles

He stepped closer to the mirror, its surface faintly reflecting the small flames.

"Bloody Mary," he intoned, his voice steady.

The air shifted immediately. The temperature in the bathroom plummeted, dropping by at least five degrees. A chill crawled up his spine.

Straw Hat vibrated slightly on his head, another warning.

Feng Fan felt it, the unspoken plea: stop before it’s too late.

But he ignored it.

"Bloody Mary."

This time, the shift was deeper, more unnatural. The air turned dense, it pressed against him like a living being. A thick, rancid stench seeped into the room—something putrid, like rotting flesh mixed with damp earth. The candles flickered violently, their flames struggling as if gasping for air.

A wave of spiritual energy surged into the bathroom, crawling over Feng Fan’s skin like a swarm of insects.

Yet, he did not waver.

"Bloody Mary," he uttered one last time.

The spell was complete.

The air in the bathroom coiled, twisting into something unnatural. The oppressive energy concentrated behind him, thickening like coagulated blood. The foul odor engulfed him, seeping into his clothes, clinging to his very being.

Feng Fan’s pupils shrank.

Behind him, the shadows twisted, forming into something wretched.

Straw Hat trembled on his head, its final warning screaming into his mind—don’t let her know you can see her.

DON’T LET HER KNOW!

Then, silence.

And in that silence, she emerged.

A grotesque figure stood behind him, its reflection barely visible in the mirror’s dim glow.

The old crone was hunched, her brittle bones creaking as she loomed closer. Wisps of filthy, matted hair clung to her gaunt face, streaked with something dark and congealed. Her skin was wrinkled and sagging, marred with warts that oozed a foul-smelling pus. Yellowed, cracked nails extended from her gnarled fingers, grime and dried blood caked beneath them.

Her lips parted, revealing jagged, rotting teeth, with bits of flesh stuck between them. The smell of decay rolled from her mouth, making the air almost unbreathable.

And worst of all—her hollow, sunken eyes glowed faintly with a sickly red light, locked onto Feng Fan’s back.

She was waiting. Watching.

"You called me?" a hoarse voice rasped behind Feng Fan.

From the mirror, he saw her—a grotesque old witch. She was smiling. Delighting in his presence and fear.

Feng Fan didn’t dare to look at her for long, not even through the mirror. The moment she appeared, he instantly sensed the vast difference between their cultivation.

The air around her was suffocating, thick with spiritual energy so dense it made his skin crawl. Her mere presence felt like a weight pressing down on his chest.