Chapter Seventy: Spiritual Contamination

Mental contamination is present in many mining areas. It rarely affects ability users, but once it does, the danger is almost fatal, with a survival rate of less than three percent.

It is considered the most terrifying and dreadful accident in the mines.

It can be understood as a disease—an infectious and bizarre mental disorder.

Its transmission medium is unknown, as is its cause, and the rate of infection varies.

Usually, it originates from a certain source of contamination and spreads within dozens of meters. Anyone within this range will experience headaches, vomiting, dizziness, and similar symptoms.

If one is unfortunate enough to be infected, retrograde amnesia, psychological changes, cluster neuralgia, hallucinations, aggressive tendencies, and delirium often follow.

Mild contamination, if cleansed in time, poses little threat. But once exposed for thirteen minutes, regardless of infection, one will irreversibly lose control.

That is to say, become a complete madman.

“Calm down, calm down,” Ji Cheng inhaled deeply, letting the air circulate fully in his lungs before releasing it.

Only now did he realize his back was soaked in cold sweat.

Since crossing over, this was the first time he encountered a situation so utterly out of control.

This invisible, intangible mental contamination could not be solved by sheer strength; it demanded rational analysis, composure in the face of crisis—

And a measure of luck.

Even though his combat power surpassed that of ordinary ability users, it was utterly useless now.

According to the “Mental Contamination Handling Protocol,” the first order of business was to confirm who had been infected.

Absolutely no one should leave their position; ideally, not even move.

If you are the infected one, what you see and hear is likely false; your body will experience sensory confusion.

You may believe you are fleeing, but in reality, you could be digging into your own heart.

“Who’s been infected—me, Zhang Jing’e who spoke, or everyone?” Ji Cheng endured the discomfort of dizziness and nausea, turning his head as subtly as possible to look at Zhang Jing’e. His vision was blurred, able only to distinguish a vaguely feminine silhouette.

The others seemed frozen in place, not daring to move. Everyone knew mental contamination had occurred; none dared take risky actions.

Typically, to determine the number of infected, one needs a reliable observer.

But now, anyone—including himself—could be contaminated. There was no way to guarantee a normal observer.

If more than three infected people speak, the spread of contamination multiplies exponentially.

When it’s unclear who is infected, each exchange among those present could deepen disaster, worsening the situation.

No more than two people could speak.

Zhang Jing’e anxiously asked,

“Who turned off the lights? Why did you turn them off?”

Ji Cheng knew clearly that, in his perception, the room's lights were still on.

Therefore, at least one of them—himself or Zhang Jing’e—was infected.

He was not one to sit and wait. Rather than leave it to others, he decided to take his fate into his own hands.

Ji Cheng, without hesitation, quickly asked,

“What happened with the lights?”

From now on, only he and Zhang Jing’e could communicate.

“I can see a little, but it’s very dark. All the lights in the room are out; I can only vaguely make out your figures.”

Her words caused everyone’s breathing to become tense and chaotic, but no one broke the silent agreement to speak.

Ji Cheng thought briefly, then continued, “Aside from that, what else can you see?”

After a moment, Zhang Jing’e’s voice came, a bit frantic:

“About nine minutes ago, someone said the seeds in the cabinet seemed off, so everyone gathered around to look, only to find a pile of crushed grains inside.”

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“Ling Fei joked about whether they’d been switched, so we picked up some fragments to examine.”

“Then we found these things were no longer grains—they had all turned into rock particles.”

At this point, she was gasping, “I’m so tired, I can hardly breathe.”

Why do I have no memory of these things? Is it her hallucination, or my memory loss?

Unfortunately, no one else could speak; otherwise, it would have been easy to judge if he himself was infected.

Ji Cheng filtered Zhang Jing’e’s words, then softly soothed, “Rest for a bit. Speaking is exhausting now. Breathe, and try not to make any sudden movements.”

He dared not provoke her emotions, fearing more terrible consequences.

Because Zhang Jing’e was very likely contaminated.

“Zhang Jing’e is mentally contaminated, everyone evacuate.” Zhou Ze’s voice sounded in the earpiece.

“Keep movements minimal, maintain distance from others.”

Everyone seemed to relax, slowly edging toward the ventilation duct. Only Zhang Ling Fei appeared unwilling, torn between leaving and staying.

The sisters’ unusual figures made them recognizable even in blurred vision.

“Evacuate,” Ji Cheng conveyed his stance to Zhang Ling Fei in the simplest manner.

Zhang Ling Fei remained unmoving.

“Even if you’re worried about your sister—”

Ji Cheng did not finish his sentence before suddenly beginning to vomit.

I’m infected, he realized immediately.

He had eaten plenty the night before, but the vomit was clear, not matching expectations.

Thus, the vomiting was his own hallucination.

“Since I’ve confirmed my contamination, according to the ‘Mental Contamination Handling Protocol,’ to cleanse it, I must investigate and determine the true situation.”

He tried to rid his mind of the dizziness and nausea, inhaling gently as he pondered.

He needed to establish a logical foundation.

When cleansing oneself of mental contamination, with no certainty about what is hallucination and what is reality, one must assume a basic premise and hold to it unwaveringly.

A castle in the air cannot stand without a foundation.

“Zhang Jing’e’s words are not my hallucination,” Ji Cheng boldly made this assumption, forcing himself to believe it.

He began to investigate step by step.

“First, the voice in the earpiece must be false.”

Whether or not the base understood what was happening here, Zhou Ze would never give such an order.

If they knew the situation, as normal observers, they could deduce from his words that he was contaminated—not just Zhang Jing’e.

If they didn’t know, they couldn’t possibly say such things.

From this, he could deduce that the evacuation was also an illusion.

“Second, the grain incident must be false.”

When the mine forms, petrification only affects inanimate objects. Plant seeds, even when crushed, can never become rock particles.

So, is the time real? Or is his memory missing?

Zhang Jing’e claimed nine minutes had passed.

“Is it that I have lost a segment of memory, and nine minutes have passed since mental contamination began?”

Ji Cheng stared with unfocused eyes, trying to find clues for analysis.

Unfortunately, his vision was too blurred to discern anything.

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What should he do?

Time was slipping away.

From Zhang Jing’e’s speech to now, nearly four minutes had passed.

If nine minutes had already elapsed then, it would now be thirteen minutes.

If he failed to discover the truth, he might become a complete madman.

“There’s no way—I can’t figure out how to judge.”

Ji Cheng felt dispirited. Without any new information, it was impossible to determine whether Zhang Jing’e’s timing was genuine.

Moreover, he could not continue hypothesizing further. With one basic assumption, there was at least a fifty percent chance of success; more assumptions would reduce the probability too much.

As for calling on An Chan and Shana, that was even less reliable. To use their deduction abilities, he would have to make further assumptions.

Assume everything they said was not his hallucination.

Ji Cheng hesitated, then carefully spoke: “Jing’e, can you tell me what else happened during these nine minutes?”

He waited, but there was no response.

He didn’t know if she had fallen completely into hallucination or was too overwhelmed by the severe discomfort to speak.

Only one path remained.

Ji Cheng steeled himself—wait.

The simplest approach.

Practice reveals truth.

He began counting silently, tense to the point of feeling his throat constrict.

Twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six...

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen...

Ji Cheng closed his eyes, trembling slightly, counting down the final seconds.

Nine, eight, seven...

...Three, two, one.

I’m not mad.

Time was false; that statement was Zhang Jing’e’s hallucination, and his memory was not missing.

Ji Cheng breathed a long sigh of relief, making one final judgment.

The lights were indeed out.

Firstly, blurred vision is rarely a symptom of contamination.

At the moment his vision became hazy, Zhang Jing’e said the lights were off.

If it wasn’t coincidence, then one explanation was highly probable.

That the light he saw was a hallucination; in reality, the room was dark, which made his vision so blurred.

That must be it.

Ji Cheng closed his eyes, then opened them.

“What’s happening? Why am I still not free from mental contamination?”

At least, everything before him remained bright—clearly, he was still in the midst of hallucination.

Where did the analysis go wrong?

Or had he chosen the wrong basic premise from the start?

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