It’s a strange invasion, is it okay for me to fight back?

Chapter 634 Give it to me

The poet recognized the face and narrowed his eyes slightly, “…Ling Feiran?”

Ling Feiran was in ghost form at this moment, with her long hair disheveled, her expression mournful, and her figure flickering like a female ghost coming to claim her life.

“You lied to me…” Ling Feiran stared at the poet with resentment in her eyes, “I trusted you so much and told you everything about Xiao Shao, but you lied to me… Do you think I’m easy to bully? You think we orphans are easy to bully and can be easily dealt with, just like everyone else, right?”

The poet smiled sarcastically. "When have I ever lied to you? Fei Ran, don't take your resentment towards the Supervision Bureau out on me. I've always been on your side. Your Xiao Shao is too lonely. You should go and keep him company. I'm doing this for your own good."

As he spoke slowly, he used the same trick again, unleashing the skill Deadly Elegy.

But the notes were silently torn apart as soon as they approached the ghost.

A barely perceptible hint of annoyance flashed in the poet's eyes. He silently stepped back, his right hand hidden behind his back, counting the remaining nails. But given her current unusual state, the nails probably wouldn't hurt her.

Ling Feiran sobbed softly, her cries echoing eerily in the dark, empty pipes.

“How could I dare to resent the Bureau of Supervision… What right do I have to resent them? You know, I was the most obedient and sensible child in the orphanage. Mother Feng always told everyone to learn from me, to be as well-behaved as me so they could get an adoption opportunity faster. But what good was it? What good was it? I tried so hard to be good to my adoptive parents, but in the end I got nothing. The more I tried to please them, the more they disliked me… Amir, I’m so tired. Only in front of Xiao Shao can I live easily, because I don’t need to please him. He’ll be so good to me. He was the most important person in my life, but he’s dead. I can’t do anything. Can you understand my pain?”

“I understand,” the poet replied sarcastically. “I understand you perfectly. It’s incredible that your heart disease has reached such a critical stage that you have escaped the influence of a fatal elegy.”

The ethereal ghost drew closer, its voice mournful: "If you understand me, could you let me kill you?"

The poet asked, "I understand you, and you want to kill me? What kind of logic is that, dear Philanthropy?"

The ghost moved closer, and the surrounding air grew cold.

“Because chatting with you is really comfortable, it makes me feel so relaxed, like having a heart-to-heart talk with an old friend… I don’t have any friends, um… no, I do have friends, but I can’t say those things to them, I can’t bring myself to say them. Why can I say them when I’m chatting with you?” Ling Feiran’s sobs subsided, and her tone became more resolute. “It must be because of your card, right? I think, if I get your card, can I always keep a happy mood and never feel pain again?”

The poet pursed his lips, feeling a cold, sticky sensation on his skin; Ling Feiran's ghost sent chills down his spine.

“My cards may not be suitable for you…” The poet retreated step by step toward the exit, staring at the woman’s face that was faintly visible, and said in a low voice, “Feiran, you are too greedy.”

Ling Feiran looked at him steadily, "It's okay, it's just you and me here, no one sees, no one knows... In everyone's eyes, I'm still a warm-hearted colleague, a diligent subordinate, a kind citizen, a friend worth making, and Feng Ma's good child..."

As the ghostly form gradually materialized, her upper body sprouted dense layers of black feathers, her lower body grew snake scales, and her long scorpion tail shimmered with iridescent light due to the abundance of venom.

The poet knew this was a prelude to her attack, so he threw a string of nails without hesitation and then turned and fled!
"Ahhhh!!!"

The nails pierced Ling Feiran's cheeks and chest, causing her to cry out in pain.

The poet is running frantically through the pipes!

Ling Feiran, haunting him, pleaded earnestly, "Amir! Give it to me! You know how much pain I'm in. No one understands my feelings better than you! Just give me the card, and I'll never have to live like this again! Amir!—"

"Madman!" A chill ran down the poet's spine, and he didn't dare stop for a moment. Unread messages flashed in the lower right corner of the virtual screen, but he had no time to pay attention to them, running desperately towards the exit!

But the speed slowed down, the limbs became weak, and breathing became difficult.

He couldn't help but suspect that he had unhealed wounds, but the female ghost was chasing him closely, so he couldn't stop to inject himself with the recovery potion and could only force himself to keep running.

"Amir, give me the cards, give them to me..."

Ling Feiran caught up with him and said sincerely, "I don't want much, I just want one card from you. Tell me, which card can soothe my soul?"

The poet's knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground, his head spinning. He realized something was wrong; he wasn't simply injured, but likely poisoned, otherwise his body wouldn't be reacting this way.

No, we have to escape.

He cannot die here, he cannot die at the hands of such a weak woman.

"Down……"

Before he could even issue the voice command to log off, a sudden, sharp pain shot through his throat! It felt like a razor blade was scraping back and forth inside his throat!

The poet couldn't believe it. With his last bit of strength, he propped himself up. Large beads of sweat streamed down his face. His body was alternating between hot and cold. He couldn't stand up!
Why is this happening? !
“The space inside the pipes is perfect for releasing viruses, so I don’t have to worry about the wind blowing them away… Influenza virus, norovirus, shingles virus, dengue fever virus… I’ve collected a lot of them during my time working at the hospital.” Ling Feiran came to his side and whispered in his ear, “But I’m not very good at using cards, and I’m always worried about accidentally hurting others. Luckily, it’s just you and me here.”

The poet's consciousness grew increasingly blurred; he desperately wanted to go to a more open place with better air circulation, but it was all too late.

He struggled to lift his finger, brought up the virtual screen, and attempted to log off.

Ling Feiran didn't know what he was going to do. She pulled out the iron nail from the wound and forcefully stabbed it into the back of the poet's hand!

Whether from excitement or fear, tears filled her eyes.

She gripped him tightly, choking back tears as she said, "Don't move, don't struggle... This is the first time I've done something like this, and I finally mustered up the courage. If I miss this opportunity, maybe... maybe I'll never dare to do it again. So please, please, don't struggle anymore..."

The poet couldn't hear what she was saying. His stomach churned, and a salty, fishy taste suddenly rushed to his throat. Vomit mixed with blood gushed from his mouth! At the same time, he lost control of his bladder, and an indescribable stench filled the tubes.

Ling Feiran stayed by his side, saying, "It'll be over soon, you won't feel any pain anymore..."

Time passed second by second, and the poet's limp body twitched intermittently before gradually becoming still.

After a while, four cards were successively extracted from his body, shimmering with silver light in the dim pipe.

　I finally finished writing this part of the story, and I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. Next, I'll write this, then that, and then this and that, and finally a grand culmination to make it the ending! Haha, I'm a genius!
　　(End of this chapter)