Chapter 12

No matter how many variations you introduced to this kind of soul-summoning method, it could only be performed at the location where the soul was lost. If the soul had wandered far away, the method became useless.

Evidently, despite the exceptionally dense Yin Energy here, there was no soul belonging to Lu Sansheng.

Cuihui Eight Treasures Pavilion happened to be situated right in a wind tunnel. A sudden gust swept through, instantly scattering the still-burning gold spirit ingots across the ground.

Wu Yinyu was utterly baffled. Since Lu Sansheng wasn’t dead yet, where on earth was his soul? Could it also have been devoured by that Ink Qi?

“Looks like we can only wait for news from Elder Lu’s side,” Yu Zezhi said, carrying the bag containing Lu Sansheng’s clothes.

Wu Yinyu didn’t answer. She pushed tentatively at the main doors of Cuihui Eight Treasures Pavilion.

They didn’t budge. The doors were locked.

This place housed countless treasures; naturally, its doors wouldn’t be left wide open at night. Security guards patrolled the interior 24/7, wary of anything being stolen.

“You want to go inside?” Yu Zezhi asked, surprised.

Wu Yinyu had the persistent feeling that something above the door lintel was beckoning her to look up. She actually raised her head and glanced upward. “Can’t get in, and we don’t necessarily need to. Wait a moment, Boss Yu, don’t be impatient,” she answered.

“I’m not impatient. It’s you—what crooked path are you thinking of taking now?” Yu Zezhi’s tone was flat, yet strangely familiar, as if between old acquaintances rather than people newly met and not yet close.

Wu Yinyu turned her head, the pendants on her hairpin swaying gently. She raised a hand before her lips in a gesture of deliberate mystery. “What crooked path? If a path can be walked, then it’s not crooked.”

After saying this, she lifted the hem of her Qipao, crouched down, and slipped the one remaining unburned sheet of yellow paper through the gap under the door.

Yu Zezhi just stood at a distance, watching, neither offering help nor asking questions.

Wu Yinyu pressed a single finger down on the yellow paper and turned her head. “Light an incense stick for me.”

Yu Zezhi didn’t move. She simply stood there, aloof and remote. The voluminous long shirt gave her an air of casual ease, yet she stood with her back straight and posture upright—a stark contrast to Wu Yinyu’s lazy, slouching demeanor.

Looking through the silhouette of the other woman, clad in that long shirt and horse-face skirt, Wu Yinyu seemed to catch a glimpse of another person.

That person trod barefoot upon Karmic Fire. Her date-red robes buoyed by the wind, billowing lightly, she looked at first glance utterly unrestrained and free. Yet her bearing was dignified, the words she spoke archaic and stern—as if two extremes existed within her.

She had seen this person in her dreams. It was the one who questioned her repeatedly in those nightmares.

Wu Yinyu’s mind went blank for a moment. The finger pressing the yellow paper began to tingle. It was a long while before she blinked and forced a smile. “Might I trouble Boss Yu to light an incense stick for me?”

Only then did Yu Zezhi move, taking out an incense stick from the other paper bag.

But the matches were all gone. Wu Yinyu had no way to light the incense. She glanced around and joked, “Shall we try rubbing sticks together to make fire?”

Unexpectedly, Yu Zezhi produced a lighter from her bag. With a roll of the flint, a flame shot up with a sharp click.

“Boss Yu smokes?” Wu Yinyu was taken aback. Looking at the other woman’s demeanor, she didn’t seem like someone who touched cigarettes.

“I don’t,” Yu Zezhi said. She lit the incense and extended it forward.

“Then why carry a lighter? Could it be… for your partner’s use?” Wu Yinyu’s words hinted at a deeper meaning.

Yu Zezhi clarified in an even tone, “Partner? No. This is for burning Paper Puppets.”

Wu Yinyu uttered an “Oh~” that stretched out with a hundred twists and turns, her voice soft and drawling, perfectly matching her indolent style. She lowered the incense stick and gently exhaled, blowing the curling smoke toward the gap under the door.

This was an excellent method for drawing ghosts. Like during sacrificial rites, if the one offering incense doesn’t call out the names of the ancestors being venerated, other lost wandering ghosts might come to steal the offerings.

Wu Yinyu blew softly on the incense while murmuring, “Come and eat. Eat your fill so you can cross the river.”

The “river” naturally meant the river of the Underworld.

Yu Zezhi lowered her eyes and saw the index finger Wu Yinyu had pressed on the yellow paper twitch. Something inside the door seemed to be dragging the paper inward.

Wu Yinyu appeared to be exerting no force, but in reality, she was pressing down firmly. Still, she unhurriedly continued blowing on the incense while pulling the yellow paper back.

Despite being just a thin sheet, the paper was surprisingly durable, being stretched so taut the creases were smoothed out, yet not tearing.

The gap beneath Cuihui Eight Treasures Pavilion’s door was barely half a centimeter wide, yet a grayish-white finger forcibly squeezed out from within, flattening grotesquely, flesh and bone a mangled mess, but with no blood in sight.

This clearly wasn’t the finger of a living person. What could be drawn out by this fragrance and yellow paper was none other than Ghostly Evil.

Wu Yinyu was still applying force, slowly dragging the yellow paper back. Her legs shifted with the motion, inching backward at an extremely sluggish pace.

Her ankle, supporting her weight, ached fiercely, and her wrist throbbed with pain too, to the point where she could barely hold the yellow paper down.

That finger, riddled with livor mortis, was still wrestling against her. Unable to stay propped up, her knees buckled and slammed hard against the ground.

The joint pain ailment that plagued most members of the Five Gates had flared up in her again.

She had a full eight spots on her body prone to this pain: both ankles, both knees, elbows, wrists, and both shoulders. When it struck, it felt like being a marionette held fast by its controlling strings.

A hand reached out from beside Wu Yinyu’s face, Buddhist prayer beads clinking on its wrist.

Yu Zezhi bent down, pressed the yellow paper, seized a corner tightly, and abruptly yanked it backward.

A ghastly white ghost surged straight through the door. Its pitch-black, hollow eyes held no light. Sniffing the incense, it turned its head woodenly, then suddenly gaped its mouth, lined with sparse, decaying teeth, and bit toward the incense stick Wu Yinyu was holding.

Wu Yinyu didn’t retreat; she even pushed the incense forward. At the same time, her other hand reached to her side, pulled a copper coin from the brocade pouch, and slammed it fiercely against the ghost’s forehead.

The ghost, in the midst of eating the incense, couldn’t help but let go. The incense stick dropped to the ground. The burning tip stabbed into the ground and nearly went out.

Wu Yinyu seized the ghost by the back of its head, pressing the copper coin in tighter as she leaned close. She turned her head to express her thanks: “Many thanks to Boss Yu for lending a hand.”

“A mere trifle,” Yu Zezhi said. She had already withdrawn her hand and was standing upright behind Wu Yinyu. This silent, downcast-gaze pose was quite intimidating.

The entity that had come through the door was no Fierce Ghost; a copper coin was enough to suppress it. White smoke rose from its forehead, as if seared by the coin.

It stretched its mouth wide open as if wailing heart-wrenchingly, yet not a single sound came out.

Wu Yinyu applied a little more force, embedding the copper coin deeply into the ghost’s forehead before finally letting go.

Seeing slash marks on the ghost’s wrists, she pulled a length of red-dyed cotton thread from her brocade pouch and looped it around the ghost’s face.

The red thread fell exactly across the ghost’s lips, the pressure causing the decaying cheeks to slightly cave in.

Those who die by suicide cannot speak after becoming ghosts, yet there were ways to make such an entity voice sounds again.

Wu Yinyu hooked the cotton thread between the ghost’s lips and flicked it. A stream of energy popped out from the thread and burrowed into the ghost’s ulcerated, rotten throat.

Instantly, a howling ghostly wail erupted from the ghost’s mouth. However, being still suppressed by the copper coin, its cries were useless no matter how it shrieked; it could only cower low.

Yu Zezhi roughly guessed Wu Yinyu’s intention. On her own initiative, she fished out the neatly folded shirt from the bag and shook it open before the ghost’s face.

Wu Yinyu teased, “Boss Yu is cooperating far too readily.”

“If I didn’t, you’d still have to ask and trouble me,” Yu Zezhi said with serene composure.

Wu Yinyu laughed. “I thought Boss Yu liked hearing me ask. After all, when I signaled you with my eyes, you ignored it. Or were my facial expressions just not obvious enough?”

Yu Zezhi knew this was just how the other woman talked, so she offered no rebuttal.

The ghost suppressed by the copper coin wept piteously. But with the “Benevolent Grip” imbued in the red thread largely depleted, its voice grew softer and softer. Soon, it likely wouldn’t be able to utter even a single syllable.

Those who seek their own end carry unsettled old karma and have added new karma on top of it. That was precisely why Wu Yinyu had chosen this unorthodox, crooked method—to grant the ghost a moment’s relief, enough to enable it to speak.

Wu Yinyu bent her index finger and flicked the copper coin on the ghost’s forehead. Then she grabbed the shirt Yu Zezhi had handed over and asked, “Have you seen the owner of this item?”

The ghost still cowered low, but its nostrils flared twice. Its grayish-white hand lifted, pointing in a direction behind it. Weeping, it cried, “His soul has left its shell. There’s still lingering life force on it. Many dead things want to devour him. He was frightened and fled toward the north.”

Wu Yinyu nodded and was about to remove the copper coin from its forehead when Yu Zezhi’s voice rang out from behind.

“You’re a Vengeful Spirit attached to a guqin?” Yu Zezhi asked. “Do you wish for release?”

The more ancient the artifact, the easier it was for Ghosts and Monsters to attach to it. The specter before her was male, yet his hair reached his waist. Observing his attire, it wasn’t hard to tell that his “history” must be as long as the antiques within Cuihui Eight Treasures Pavilion.

But ghosts like this were extremely difficult to expel. Having endured so many years, they inevitably possessed some degree of cultivated power. Moreover, as time passed, his resentment and hatred had only deepened. Across changing eras, the knot in his heart had become nearly impossible to untie.

Wu Yinyu was quite surprised; Yu Zezhi didn’t seem like the charitable, compassionate type. She turned aside, reassessing this new master of the Yu family with keen interest, and said, “Boss Yu is so kind-hearted and benevolent. I honestly didn’t see that coming.”