Cthulhu America, I can see the kill line.

Snowflakes fell gently at the church entrance.

Abel casually tossed the cigarette butt away, and the remaining cigarette butt, not yet completely extinguished, transformed into specks of spiritual energy and dissipated.

"Dude, you've calmed down enough."

As he spoke, he helped Mrs. Winchester, whose cheeks were red and swollen from being slapped, to her feet, while giving Conquist a knowing look.

Kong Jiu's gaze was cold and stern. He glanced at him up and down a few times, then turned and walked towards the corner of the wall.

Mina was slumped in the snowdrift, her mind hazy.

"Looks like we can have a chat?"

The two men, each supporting a woman who was unconscious, looked at each other for a moment. A hint of relief flashed across Abel's face, and he smiled gently.

"Let the children find a place to rest first."

Kong Jiu spoke in a calm tone, then picked up Mina and walked straight into the church.

Before entering, he lightly kicked the unconscious Farah on the ground with his toe, his brow furrowing slightly to confirm that the other was truly unconscious and not faking death.

Inside the church, thirteen survivors huddled together for warmth, all looking toward Kong Jiu as he entered.

"It's alright, everyone. By the way, does anyone have a cell phone? It would be best to let your family know you're safe... I'll find a place for everyone to rest for the night."

As he spoke, he subconsciously reached for his phone, only to find it was already out of power and shut down.

"Strange, the plane was clearly fully charged..."

Kong Jiu muttered something under his breath, borrowed a phone from a survivor, and dialed a number.

One hour later, at Carnation Apartments.

There were still four or five hours until dawn, but that didn't stop those who had just escaped from the air from lying in makeshift tents, breathing evenly and steadily.

A black luxury sedan, its engine humming softly, quietly pulled up at the entrance of the community.

The driver hurriedly got out of the car, opened his umbrella, and opened the passenger door. A middle-aged man with thinning blond hair slowly stepped out.

In the wind and snow, Kong Jiu, wearing a hood, stood quietly outside the security booth.

He didn't know much about cars, but the sleek curves of the body, the ambient lighting that scattered like stardust when the door opened, and the almost silent approach all convinced him that this car was something he could never afford in his lifetime.

The blond middle-aged man looked up at Kong Jiu, a barely perceptible hint of panic cracking across his usually cold and stern face. Ignoring the driver holding the umbrella, he hurried over, braving the wind and snow.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kong Jiu."

As soon as he got close, he grasped Kong Jiu's hand tightly.

Faced with this sudden show of kindness, Kong Jiu frowned: "Have we met before?"

The man quickly shook his head: "Mr. Landau has already checked all your ticket purchase information. Even if I'm not very bright, I can recognize you..."

Seeing Kong Jiu's expression turn cold, the blond man realized he had said too much and immediately shut his mouth.

"His son is sleeping inside. You can pick him up now or tomorrow morning, it's up to you."

Kong Jiu gestured with his chin toward the temporary rest area, gave the other person a cold glance, and turned to walk back to the security booth.

The blond man blinked blankly, looked at the equally bewildered driver beside him, and then looked at Kong Jiu.

"Well... then I won't bother you any longer. But if you don't mind, Mr. Landau would like to start a club to gather all those who have received your kindness..."

"I said, it's up to you."

Without turning his head, Kong Jiu opened the door of the guard booth, shutting out the wind and snow.

"Saving people is such a hassle."

He closed the door and muttered to himself, meeting the gazes of three pairs of eyes inside the room.

Inside the small guard booth sat old Richard, looking bewildered; Mrs. Winchester, her cheeks swollen and red; and Abel, with his thick beard.

Mina, wrapped in a blanket, remained asleep on the only recliner where she could lie down.

"That man looks a bit like the person in charge of our area."

Old Chad peered through the window at the blond man who sheepishly climbed back into the car, his gaze complex: "He seems to be the head of Midtown? Is it appropriate to just send him away like this?"

"What does this have to do with me?" Kong Jiu sat down wearily. "Maybe some young master inside has a good father who sent this blond guy to clean up the mess."

"Not bad attitude, young man." The bearded Abel took the whiskey from old Chad and said in a teasing tone.

Kong Jiu sighed, too lazy to reply, pulled up a chair and sat down, taking the cup that old Chad handed him.

The radio next to me crackled, broadcasting a report:

"The B747 passenger plane that took off from Xinxiang Airport has been missing for seven hours. Experts say its fuel reserves will last for about two more hours. We hope ground control can restore contact as soon as possible..."

"You've never said you're a psionicist, Juggler."

Old Chad looked at Kong Jiu through the rising steam from his hot drink, his gaze probing: "Transferring over three hundred people from ten thousand meters in the air... that would require at least a B-level psychic, wouldn't it?"

Although Hoffman Chad was a mortal veteran, he knew all too well how terrifying the strange spatial teleportation abilities of psionicists could be.

A B-level psychic willing to participate in a war between mortals is as strategically valuable as one or two brigades of troops.

"Not all B-level psychics can teleport so many people out of thin air," Mrs. Winchester retorted, covering her face. "It also depends on their path of cultivation."

"What is the Way?" Kong Jiu suddenly asked.

Mrs. Winchester glanced at him sideways, her eyes filled with resentment:

"I'm afraid I'll really become a laughing stock among American psionicists if I get slapped red in the face by a greenhorn who doesn't even know the way of the Dao."

Despite her complaints, she still raised her hand, her fingertips swirling with spiritual energy as she sketched several symbols.

"Alchemy, Celestial Bodies, Spirit Summoning, Magic Control, Human Body, Modernity, Subspace, and the Supreme—the Eight Great Paths, haven't you heard of them?"

As she drew the symbols, she observed Kong Jiu's reaction, only to see a clear, bewildered look in his eyes, as if asking, "What is this?"

"Damn it... I have a feeling this mud-covered kid might be part of the Supreme faction..."

Winchester rubbed his temples, feeling a deep sense of powerlessness.

"Muddy brat, are you talking about me?" Kong Jiu pointed to himself.

"Of course it's you, you mortal, mud-blooded being..."

Winchester lowered his head, his voice weary. "You're obviously a self-taught magician with illogical moves and an overflowing sense of compassion... The only difference between you and those freaks on the Supreme side who're always dreaming of sainthood is that you're holding a crucifix!"

Abel, standing behind her, gave her a look that said, "That's just how this woman is," with a hint of helplessness.

"Those charlatans on the High Side, all they do all day is mutter 'Oh! All my actions are the will of God!', doing inexplicable things, and then shouting 'My Lord!' 'My Father!' 'My God!'—"

Winchester, in a high-pitched voice, vividly imitated the psionic charlatan in her mind, making everyone present smile.

Before we knew it, the atmosphere in the room had relaxed a little and was no longer so tense.

Kong Jiu smiled faintly and asked, "So, Amerigo's psychic powers are actually quite common, even having a system, but the Federation doesn't recognize them?"

Winchester snapped his fingers and nodded, and even old Chad nodded slightly.

Kong Jiu nodded thoughtfully, and then said something quite astonishing in a calm tone:

"Then why did Amerigo deny psychic powers, and instead encourage psychics to use this extraordinary power to help others and strive to make Amerigo a better place?"

Upon hearing this, the security room fell silent.

The other three exchanged glances, each seeing the same affirmation in the other's eyes.

Abel spoke earnestly and slowly, “Typical words from the Most High Saint.”

"No wonder he can use intangible abilities and attribute transfers so many strange tricks. He really is a Supreme Side Psionicist."

Winchester covered his face, looking as if he had just realized something. "How about I contact the Burning Emperor for you and get you a holy title?"

"Jiujiu, psionic power is a weapon, not kindness. But if used incorrectly, it's more terrifying than excessive kindness," Old Chad said earnestly.

Kong Jiu was bewildered by the three people's successive rebuttals and asked in confusion, "Did I say something wrong? Can spirits be used to help others?"

The three of them shook their heads in unison, saying in unison:

"Absolutely not."