North of the Wild Goose Gate lies the Mountain of Weiyu.

Ji Ningzhao’s voice was not loud, yet to Chen Yiming, it struck like thunder, shattering the inexplicable pull that had enveloped him as soon as her words fell. The strange attraction vanished instantly. Chen Yiming felt as though he had abruptly awakened from a dream; staring at the pitch-black room, the dark red cloth resembling dried bloodstains, he let out a startled cry and staggered backward several steps.

Instinctively, he looked toward the door, where Ji Ningzhao stood holding a lantern. In the shadowed room, her pale face and the eyes reflecting the orange glow of the flame appeared even more eerie and mysterious.

Chen Yiming knew that those with unusual talents often kept unknown things in their homes; who could tell if this “deceased husband” was real or merely a secret he had inadvertently uncovered? Terror gripped him, a sense of doom settling over his heart.

Ji Ningzhao glanced at him once, immediately understanding his thoughts. She stepped past the bewildered Chen Yiming, placed the lamp on the altar table, and deftly straightened the red cloth.

The lamp seemed to be made of bronze, its rim adorned with patterns reminiscent of those Chen Yiming had seen on the ancestral tablet moments before. The oil burning within gave off a fresh, herbal fragrance.

Stranger still, the flame did not waver with Ji Ningzhao’s movements. Though the fire was but a small flicker, as she passed by Chen Yiming, he felt a surge of warmth that seemed almost overwhelming, washing over his entire being.

It was not merely physical heat; it felt as though his very soul was being cleansed by the candlelight, banishing the chilling gloom that had clung to him like a persistent sickness.

Regaining his composure, Chen Yiming stammered awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to— I just…”

“The restroom is next door,” Ji Ningzhao interrupted, already aware of the true reason for his inexplicable wanderings. She smiled faintly. “It’s a trivial matter, you needn’t worry.”

Once Chen Yiming hurried out and closed the door behind him, Ji Ningzhao’s gaze returned to the altar. She stared at the tablet for a long time, then pricked her finger and let a drop of her blood fall into the lamp.

The blood touched the flame, which did not extinguish but instead burst into a small blossom, deepening in color. Ji Ningzhao pressed her lips together indifferently, tending to her wound before leaving. She did not notice the brief flash of golden light beneath the red cloth as she turned away.

When she returned to the living room, Chen Yiming was already back, his posture straighter and his demeanor even more restrained, as if he were undergoing military training.

Xie Qingfa looked at him in puzzlement, unable to fathom his sudden nervousness.

Ji Ningzhao said nothing; once seated, they quickly resumed their previous discussion.

The Chen family was now convinced that the vengeful spirit of the young girl was haunting Chen Yiming, refusing to let go. Yet Ji Ningzhao was not so certain.

To be fair, Chen Yiming’s connection to the incident was shallow; he could hardly be blamed for any wrongdoing.

A newly deceased girl, no matter how much resentment she carried, would have released her grievances once the main culprit had died and, according to Xie Qingfa, suffered a terrible fate. There should be no lingering resentment.

Why, then, was Chen Yiming, who had only a tangential connection, still haunted?

These recent days of running about had given Chen’s father some basic understanding of such matters. Hearing Ji Ningzhao’s analysis, he explained, his face drawn, “We consulted the master who assisted the Kong family. He spoke with the girl’s father, who said her birth fell on a yin year, yin month, and yin day, making her especially formidable.”

Chen’s father watched Ji Ningzhao’s thoughtful expression anxiously. After so many days, this was the first glimmer of hope for resolving the matter.

“We bear no ill will toward the girl—she’s pitiful, after all.” He leaned forward earnestly. “But my son truly is innocent. If possible, we hope for a peaceful resolution for both sides.”

Ji Ningzhao gently twirled her fingertips. If Xie Qingfa looked closely, he would see a wisp of black mist entwined around them.

It was something she had just plucked from Chen Yiming’s shoulder.

Though the events surrounding Chen Yiming seemed logical and he swore he had not incurred any other misfortune, Ji Ningzhao knew from this black mist that the culprit was not the young girl.

A newly deceased ghost, even from a yin birth, could not possess such powerful resentment. This aura belonged to an old ghost, likely one who had already become a formidable specter.

“If it were truly the girl, I could pacify her. Unfortunately, you’ve likely mistaken your target.” Ji Ningzhao pinched the black mist, dispersing it. “You should return to her parents and obtain her full birth details.”

If the girl merely lingered in the mortal realm, Ji Ningzhao could personally guide her to peace with full certainty. But the spirit haunting Chen Yiming was an unknown, vengeful ghost.

The Chen family had always believed the girl’s spirit was restless, causing trouble; even Xie Qingfa had thought so.

Yet Xie Qingfa trusted Ji Ningzhao’s judgment—her confidence meant a ninety percent certainty. He immediately turned to Chen Yiming, “Are you hiding something from me?”

Faced with the suspicious eyes of Xie Qingfa and his parents, Chen Yiming felt even more wronged than Dou E, shaking his head vigorously.

Ji Ningzhao interjected, “It’s not necessarily intentional concealment.”

If one’s mind is clouded by spirits, many things slip from memory.

Xie Qingfa grasped her implication, his expression growing grave.

After all, spiritual possession is not easily accomplished without the power of a skilled ghost. The presence of such a being in Hangzhou could spell sudden chaos.

The Chen family, not versed in the mystical arts, did not realize the gravity of the situation, but trusted Ji Ningzhao and planned to promptly seek out the girl’s hometown after leaving.

Ji Ningzhao remained composed. “Tomorrow, I’ll visit the site of the first incident. Once you have her birth details, come find me.”

Entrusted with another’s troubles, Ji Ningzhao, though appearing casual, was always careful in her actions.

The scene of Kong Xi’s tragedy had been cordoned off by special authorities; the Chen family had only managed entry through connections in the capital.

Hearing Ji Ningzhao’s intention to visit the site, Chen’s father asked if she needed their assistance.

Ji Ningzhao declined. She had a good relationship with the special bureau stationed in Hangzhou—they owed her a considerable favor, so gaining access would pose no problem.

With the conversation concluded, it was time for them to leave. Xie Qingfa knew the girl’s family lived in a small town in Sichuan, a round trip would take three or four days at best, and Chen Yiming might not last that long.

Since Ji Ningzhao had decided to take charge, she would see matters through to the end. She had already prepared what was needed during her brief absence upstairs.

It was a carved glass vial, about the size of a thumb, packed with unknown grasses. Amidst the bundled green, a flame seemed to burn, yet the vial felt completely cool to the touch.

Xie Qingfa, with a keen spiritual sight, could perceive more than ordinary practitioners. As soon as Chen Yiming took the vial, the two dim soul lights on his shoulders flared brightly, confirming that the bottle contained something fiercely yang in nature.

Practitioners always held a fascination for such things. Unable to resist, Xie Qingfa asked, “Ningzhao, what’s inside this little bottle?”

Ji Ningzhao, having old ties with Xie Qingfa’s master, did not withhold the truth, but with the Chen family present, she merely said, “There’s a fire seed from north of Yanmen, the Mountain of Weiyu.”

Xie Qingfa knew Ji Ningzhao was no ordinary adept, but upon hearing this, his expression grew solemn. “So that figure has come to Hangzhou—does he have important business?”

This flame could not leave Yanmen Mountain by any means; for it to burn in this vial, the master himself must be present. Considering Ji Ningzhao’s sudden absence, Xie Qingfa even suspected the figure was upstairs now.

Ji Ningzhao shook her head, “He’s only here for personal matters.” Her tone was light, unlike Xie Qingfa’s seriousness, suggesting a private friendship between them.

Thinking of this, Xie Qingfa couldn’t help but covet the treasure, “Ningzhao, I happen to lack a perpetual lamp for my ancestor’s shrine.”

Ji Ningzhao, rarely seeing Xie Qingfa in this mood, smiled. “Bring your lamp next time you visit. I’ll grant you one.”

Xie Qingfa hadn’t expected such a windfall today. Seeing that night had fallen and the Chen family was eager to set out for Sichuan, he quickly gathered everyone and departed.