Chapter 48: Title

"Captain Zhang sent me to fetch you. Just call me Yangzi." The young man holding the Qiao Feiyu sign spoke as Yang Xingyu’s group approached him outside the airport terminal.

The three individuals entered the vehicle.

"Wasn’t Captain Zhang supposed to come personally?" Yang Xingyu inquired from the front passenger seat, curiosity lacing his voice. They’d coordinated their arrival in advance with Captain Zhang Wutong himself.

The Hanzhou City branch of the Special Bureau held particular significance – it served as the hometown for both Bai Ye and the red-clad senior.

"Emergency homicide case," Yangzi explained, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Boss got summoned last minute."

"What occurred?" Li Canghai leaned forward.

"Who else? That curse master’s handiwork again." Yangzi’s face twisted in disgust.

"Alarmingly swift." Qiao Feiyu’s brow furrowed. They’d rushed here immediately after receiving intel, yet the dark practitioner still outpaced them.

"You’re aware of this?" Yangzi’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror. He’d been told simply to collect visitors, not investigators.

"We’ve our channels within the Bureau." Yang Xingyu’s grin widened strategically, careful to obscure their true mission regarding the curse master.

Special Bureau investigations revealed the perpetrator likely originated from Siam, entering Zhongxia through illicit means. With scant physical evidence, authorities focused on tracing the curse master’s associates.

Though legend connected curse magic to Maoshan’s way of the arts, this particular dark magic required only personal effects – locks of hair, blood samples, or garments – to unleash its malice. Prevalent in Southeast Asian regions, such practices remained foreign to Zhongxia’s native occult traditions.

The uninitiated stood helpless against such sorcery. Breaking curses required either enlightened Taoist Priests or specialized curse magic practitioners – a dire truth most victims realized too late, when the hex’s symptoms manifested beyond reversal.

Yang Xingyu absorbed these details through Qiao Feiyu’s account. The politician uncle’s abrupt demise at a state banquet – collapsing mid-speech, dead within five minutes – bore all hallmarks of sudden cardiac failure. Yet the fortuitous presence of a former Maoshan Taoist unveiled the supernatural truth behind the seemingly natural death.

Though suppressed publicly, the implications shook the establishment. Targeting high-ranking officials constituted brazen defiance; failure to apprehend the perpetrator risked further tragedies.

State investigators soon uncovered multiple similar deaths. When the governmental apparatus mobilized, its efficiency proved terrifying – potential victims identified within hours, a reclusive Maoshan Taoist Priest summoned within days. Their grim conclusion: curse magic at work.

Abandoning their original plan to visit the Bureau office, the trio directed Yangzi toward the crime scene.

"I thought this was a murder case?" Yang Xingyu blinked at the bustling medical team.

"Victim still showed faint vital signs upon rescue," Captain Zhang Wutong clarified, stepping past Yangzi with outstretched hand. "Zhang Wutong. We’ve spoken."

"Yang Xingyu." The young man shook the proffered hand with theatrical flourish. "My companions – Taoist Priest Li Canghai and our resident martial arts fanatic Qiao Feiyu."

"Cease the unsolicited titles." Qiao Feiyu’s warning glance held no real heat.

"The entire Bureau uses that designation," Yang Xingyu countered with an airy shrug, his attention shifting to the ivy-clad villa beyond the police tape. A soft whistle escaped his lips.

"Those wicked rich people are truly despicable."

Li Canghai inquired, "Have you completed the inspection?"

Zhang Wutong responded, "I instructed them not to disturb the furnishings—only to remove the individual from the living room initially."

Yang Xingyu tilted his head. "What’s the matter, Daoist Priest Li? Have you discovered something?"

Li Canghai shook his head, turning to Zhang Wutong. "Not yet. I wish to examine the interior—if it’s permissible."

"Proceed," Zhang Wutong conceded after brief hesitation, dipping his chin in reluctant approval.

"My gratitude. I shall preserve the scene meticulously." The Daoist priest strode past them into the residence.

Yang Xingyu scratched his jaw, watching Li Canghai’s retreating figure. "He just enters like that? What about us?" His gaze shifted to Qiao Feiyu’s impassive demeanor, surprised by the man’s composure.

"My presence would contribute little to such matters."

"Fair enough. I’ll wait here too." Yang Xingyu shrugged, aware of his own clumsiness. Trampling potential clues would only invite calamity.

Within the villa’s opulent halls:

"You must be… Daoist Priest Li?"

A gloved figure knelt by the marble floor, tweezers poised over a minuscule object. The man glanced up as Li Canghai approached.

"Li Canghai, at your service."

"Sent by Captain Zhang?" The investigator rose, offering a professional smile. "Han Jing. Former forensic specialist, currently assisting with inspection and evidence collection."

"Does the Daoist require assistance?"

"Your courtesy is noted, but I shall survey independently." Li Canghai’s piercing gaze swept across the lavish furnishings, spiritual senses extending through gilt-edged corridors.

The Daoist ascended curved staircases without touching banisters. Bedchamber doors swung open at his spiritual energy’s command, revealing undisturbed quarters. Three stories unfolded in decadent splendor—the reception hall’s crystal chandeliers, the aerial garden’s hanging orchids, private suites draped in brocade, culminating in a rooftop terrace smelling faintly of charcoal and spices.

From the rooftop’s edge, Li Canghai observed ant-like figures below: Yang Xingyu’s animated gestures beside Zhang Wutong’s stoic form, Qiao Feiyu’s solitary silhouette. His eyes narrowed at a crimson blaze of peonies in the courtyard—a discordant shadow pulsed beneath their roots. Spiritual energy flooded his vision, peeling back layers of reality to reveal the seething darkness coiled beneath floral splendor.

Without warning, he stepped into open air. The courtyard’s onlookers gasped as his black robes billowed like raven wings during the twelve-meter descent. Blades of grass barely bent beneath his landing.

Yang Xingyu lunged forward, face pale. "Daoist Priest! Have you lost your mind?!"

"Efficiency over decorum," Li Canghai replied, youthful smirk flashing beneath his solemn demeanor. He gestured with sheathed sword toward the peonies. "There lies something festering with resentment."

"Peonies? They look flawless." Yang Xingyu reached toward the blossoms, undeterred.

The Daoist’s blade snapped up, barring his path. "Appearances deceive. What festers beneath demands caution."

"It’s November, and peony flowers bloom between May and June. This anomaly alone speaks volumes," Qiao Feiyu remarked, stepping forward to slap away Yang Xingyu’s meddling hand.

"What does the Taoist Priest suggest?" Zhang Wutong inquired with hesitation.

"Excavate," Li Canghai uttered tersely.

"Digging it up might reveal answers. Shall we proceed?" Yang Xingyu rolled up his sleeves, appearing all too ready to take matters into his own hands.

Zhang Wutong studied the unnervingly vibrant peonies flourishing in late autumn before ordering his subordinates, "Fetch shovels. We’re digging here."

The tools arrived swiftly.

"Stay back—all of you." Li Canghai blocked the approaching ordinary people. Malevolent energy seethed beneath the blossoms; mere contact could bring fatal misfortune or lingering illness to the unprepared.

"Xingyu, handle this."

"On it!" Yang Xingyu snatched a shovel and challenged Qiao Feiyu with a grin, "Old Qiao, race you to the roots!"

His shovel pierced the earth first.

A spectral wail clawed at everyone’s senses, leaving the group disoriented long after the sound faded.

"What foulness…" Yang Xingyu recoiled from his digging spot, masking unease with sarcasm. "Burying curses now, are we?"

Undeterred, Qiao Feiyu struck the roots. The ensuing shriek amplified tenfold, throbbing through skulls like poisoned needles.

"Retreat beyond the garden," Li Canghai commanded the Special Bureau staff. Though government agents, their lack of cultivation made them vulnerable.

Zhang Wutong dismissed the crowd but remained with Han Jing.

"Not joining the exodus?" Yang Xingyu quipped.

"I’ll see this through," Zhang Wutong stated firmly.

"Ghostly affairs intrigue me," Han Jing added, eyes gleaming as he observed the peonies. Only now did they notice the flowers’ unnatural radiance.

"These screams corrode the soul." Li Canghai approached the pair. "I’ll seal your hearing with spiritual energy until we finish."

"Appreciated, Taoist Priest."

A swift gesture silenced their auditory senses. Mimicking the technique, Yang Xingyu and Qiao Feiyu resumed digging until the entire peony cluster lay uprooted.

Beneath the blooms writhed a nest of root-bound faces—petrified visages contorted in eternal screams.

"By the nine hells…" Yang Xingyu staggered back, shielding his eyes. "What abominations!"

Li Canghai unsealed the men’s hearing just as ethereal howls crescendoed. With an icy wave of spiritual energy, he flash-froze the shrieking faces.

"Soul-forged horrors," the Taoist Priest murmured, studying the excavation. "Deeper. There’s more."

"More?!" Yang Xingyu groaned at his misfortune but dug onward.

Their shovels soon disinterred a putrid mass of decay—a dozen animal carcasses stacked like macabre bricks.

"Feline remains, perhaps," Han Jing observed calmly, crouching to inspect the rotting heap without flinching.

"Are they all cats?"

"Mostly, yes."

"What about those ghostly faces…" Yang Xingyu glanced at the spectral visages frozen by spiritual energy, brow furrowed. "How are they connected to these cats?"

"Don’t you notice the resemblance, Xingyu? Those faces bear a feline shape." Li Canghai’s tone deepened gravely.

"Daoist Priest, spare me the chills—you know I spook easily."

"Priest Li speaks truth." Han Jing removed his examination gloves, gesturing at the feline corpses. "These cats recently gave birth. Their abdominal incisions are clearly man-made."

As the forensic specialist Zhang Wutong had introduced earlier, Han Jing’s assessment carried weight.

Yang Xingyu blinked in awe. "Forensic Han, you’ve got nerves of steel! Just dove into inspecting corpses despite Priest Li’s warnings?"

"The corruption within you is minor." Li Canghai produced a talisman from his sleeve, deftly folding the paper into a triangular charm before pressing it into Han Jing’s palm. "Crafted by Daoist Priest Chen Qingfeng himself. Carry this—it’ll purge lingering resentments within days."

"—!!! Wait, I recognize this!" Yang Xingyu surged forward, eyes wide as saucers. "Since when does Priest Chen make talismans?!"

"His attempts rarely succeed. This was my only specimen." Li Canghai studied the writhing faces, their contorted features still echoing kittenish contours. "If Young Monk Huixin were present, he might’ve guided these trapped souls onward."

The daoist extended his hand, eyes shut as he sought traces of the dark practitioner. No wielder of forbidden arts could erase all traces of their presence.

"Should I video-call the monk? Get him to chant the great sorrow mantra remotely?" Yang Xingyu proposed, uneasy gaze shifting between the mutilated cats and their tormented spirit counterparts.

The group collectively stifled grimaces at this techno-spiritual improvisation.

Li Canghai exhaled sharply. His blade could shatter spirits, but soul-guidance required patience he hadn’t cultivated. "Located." Spiritual luminescence coalesced above his upturned palm.

"That’s Young Master Leng’s source-tracing technique? Must you master everything instantly?" Yang Xingyu groaned, torn between admiration and exasperation. "I’ve failed fifty attempts!"

"To the curse master’s lair. Now." Qiao Feiyu commandeered a nearby vehicle, nodding at Zhang Wutong. "Temporary requisition."

"We’ll debrief upon return, Team Leader Zhang." Yang Xingyu slid into the backseat as Li Canghai assumed navigation duty, the glowing sigil in his hand rotating like a mystic compass.

Twenty minutes later, tires crunched gravel at an abandoned construction site. The guiding light illuminated only aftermath—overturned braziers, scattered ritual implements.

"Revolting." Yang Xingyu toed a ceramic jar, recoiling as viscous yellow fluid oozed forth. The stench of rotting marrow permeated the air.

With a snap of his fingers, the forensic specialist ignited the spill. Flames roared skyward as Li Canghai’s blade sang from its scabbard—a silver arc embedding the long sword deep within a concrete pillar.

"Show yourself!" The daoist’s command echoed across the rubble.

Yang Xingyu gaped at the quivering steel impaling reinforced concrete. "Priest Li… perhaps ease into confrontations?"

At that moment, he clearly saw that almost no physical strength had been exerted, nor had any spiritual energy been channeled.

Had Daoist Priest Li truly infused spiritual energy into his blade, that indistinct figure currently pinned by the long sword would have been utterly incapable of standing before them now.

Did they truly believe that the seemingly amiable Daoist Priest Li’s Tier One status was a mere facade?

"That thing resembles some sort of ghost," Yang Xingyu observed, narrowing his eyes.

"A ghost indeed, though unmistakably under external control," Li Canghai remarked, his attention fixed on the crimson cord encircling the shadow’s neck – a thread that trailed backward before dissolving into the empty air.

Zhongxia had remained free of spectral disturbances for years, thanks to the unwavering diligence of the underworld’s Yin Chai. Countless souls received final audiences with their loved ones on the seventh day, hearing those precious last words left unspoken in life.

Never had there been recorded instances of souls being snatched from the ghost messengers’ custody.

As the shadow’s form grew more defined, its deathly pale features revealed a visage seemingly younger than even Hu Mei’s. The spectral figure appeared no older than fifteen, clad in nothing but an ill-fitting crimson garment and that ominous neckbound cord.

Yang Xingyu suppressed a shudder, uncharacteristically refraining from mocking the male ghost’s feminine attire.

"Name your master." Qiao Feiyu’s voice cut through the tension like winter frost as he advanced.

The discovery of this fragile clue had eroded Qiao Feiyu’s composure. His fist smashed against the concrete wall, sending a shower of grit and debris cascading downward.

The boy ghost responded with a guttural laugh, mouth gaping to reveal a severed tongue stump.

Qiao Feiyu’s eyes blazed with fury as he seized the crimson cord. "If words fail you, perhaps this thread will lead us to answers."

"Restrain yourself."

Li Canghai’s hand closed around Qiao Feiyu’s wrist like an iron manacle, arresting the impulsive motion. "Alternative methods remain available to us."

"The Daoist Priest speaks wisdom," Yang Xingyu interjected hastily. "Destroy our sole lead through recklessness, and we’ll be left grasping at shadows."

Qiao Feiyu exhaled sharply, relinquishing his grip with visible reluctance.

As Li Canghai released his hold, he gestured for Yang Xingyu to lead the seething man away from temptation. The long sword piercing the boy ghost’s form – perpetually bathed in Spiritual Energy – ensured no escape for their captive.

Regarding the curse master’s capabilities, the Special Bureau’s estimations suggested Innate Realm prowess at best. The grim alternative mirrored Li Canghai’s own Tier One standing.

This marked Li Canghai’s inaugural interrogation, particularly disquieting given their subject’s childlike appearance. Massaging his temples, the Daoist Priest silently willed cooperation from the mute specter.

Should persuasion fail, Yang Xingyu’s scorching flames stood ready as persuasive tools – a regrettable necessity given the ghost’s skillful concealment prior to the fire-induced misstep.

"Can you communicate through writing?"

The boy ghost maintained his hollow stare, offering neither blink nor response.

"Comprehension remains intact, does it not?" Li Canghai pressed. "Indicate affirmation with a nod."

From a cautious distance, Yang Xingyu observed the tranquil interrogation juxtaposed against Qiao Feiyu’s stormy countenance.

"The Priest’s forbearance knows bounds," he murmured contemplatively. "Were it mine to question a mute ghost through nods, patience would fray faster than old rope."

Qiao Feiyu’s stony silence drew no offense – Yang Xingyu understood the tempest brewing beneath his companion’s stolid exterior. His own quips served merely to dissipate the suffocating tension.

Before long, Li Canghai stood at a distance and beckoned them over.

"The curse master escaped," Li Canghai announced.

Yang Xingyu furrowed his brows, glancing at Qiao Feiyu. "Now what?"

"Can’t this one lead us to the curse master?" Qiao Feiyu fixed his murderous gaze on the boy ghost pinned to the wall, his stance suggesting he might pulverize the spirit if given half a reason.

"He can depart alone, but we cannot pursue," Li Canghai explained.

"So the trail’s gone cold." Yang Xingyu’s eye twitched, already shifting to intercept Qiao Feiyu’s impulsive movements.

"Return to base. Check Captain Zhang’s findings. The hospital witness survived, didn’t he?" Li Canghai stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Steady, Old Qiao. We’ll dig that wretched tortoise out eventually." Yang Xingyu gave Qiao Feiyu’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Bring the boy," Li Canghai gestured to the spectral youth. "That crimson garb and neck cord reek of forced dark magic rituals. No willing participant wears such bindings."

"Transporting methods?" Yang Xingyu shrugged, unsurprised at adopting another spectral case file.

"Drawing my blade might trigger recall." Li Canghai observed the ghost’s terrified expression before addressing Qiao Feiyu. "Grip the thread. Only your cultivation can counter the master’s pull."

"Sever the cord after I secure it. Can you anchor him?" Li Canghai’s hand hovered over his sword hilt.

"Let me try if Old Qiao hesitates," Yang Xingyu interjected, reaching forward. "My cultivation’s weaker but—"

"Move." Qiao Feiyu batted the hand aside. "Your mediocrity would snap like twigs."

"Softhearted act doesn’t suit you," Yang Xingyu snorted, retreating with raised palms.

Steel flashed as Li Canghai’s blade severed the crimson strand. Qiao Feiyu clutched the loose end while the ghostly boy rubbed his freed neck.

"Precision strike!" Yang Xingyu applauded.

"Feiyu’s grip forced backlash through the connection," Li Canghai remarked, sheathing his sword. "The master’ll—"

The severed thread suddenly lashed like a viper, coiling around Qiao Feiyu’s wrist in glowing knots.

"…Hallucinating?" Yang Xingyu gaped.

Qiao Feiyu yanked at the luminous bonds. "Explain this!"

"Uncharted phenomenon," Li Canghai admitted, uncharacteristically flustered. "Shall I attempt another cut?"

"His doing?" Qiao Feiyu glared at the cowering ghost now clinging to Li Canghai’s robes.

"Hardly," Yang Xingyu scoffed. "Look how he quakes! Had he choice, he’d haunt Daoist Priest Li’s shadow before touching your sleeve." The ghost nodded frantically.

"Again." Qiao Feiyu extended his bound arm.

Li Canghai crouched eye-level with the spectral youth. "Your essence wanes. Can you endure another severing?"

The boy ghost peeked at Qiao Feiyu’s stormy expression and bobbed his head in desperate agreement.

“Tie it to me then; I’ll be fine.” Yang Xingyu reached for the red thread, only to clutch at empty air as his hand passed straight through the intangible cord.

“?? This damned thread discriminates against people?”

With no alternative, Qiao Feiyu temporarily became the boy ghost’s guardian. The group embarked for the hospital, Yang Xingyu maneuvering the vehicle through traffic.

Through the rearview mirror, Yang Xingyu watched the spectral youth huddled in the corner, desperately maintaining distance from Qiao Feiyu. His gaze shifted to Li Canghai texting Taoist Priest Chen Qingfeng beside him, seeking answers.

Abruptly fixing his gaze ahead, Yang Xingyu channeled his decades of driving experience into meticulous focus.

He twisted the radio knob, desperate to shatter the oppressive silence before it drove him mad.

“Greetings listeners. Welcome to Spiritual Network Radio. I’m Zhou Yi, your host for this evening.”

“Spiritual Network Radio? Since when did this exist?” Yang Xingyu boosted the volume, intrigued by this previously unknown station.

“…broadcasting critical updates regarding the Awakening of Spiritual Energy era, focusing on Zhongxia’s developments and global phenomena…”

“…the Vatican City’s Pope announced last week that the Son shall manifest…”

Tires screeched in the hospital parking lot thirty minutes later.

Li Canghai answered his vibrating phone while exiting the car. “Taoist Priest Chen? Any progress?”

“Maoshan colleagues promise swift responses. How fares Qiao Feiyu?”

“Stable for now.” Li Canghai swallowed self-reproach for his earlier impulsiveness.

Yang Xingyu killed the engine. “Taoist Priest Li. We’re ready.”

Qiao Feiyu stood apart, the boy ghost clinging fearfully to the swordsman who’d impaled him over approaching its suppressor.

“Proceed.” Li Canghai compartmentalized his guilt – locating the curse master took precedence.

Inpatient Ward

“Captain Zhang.” Li Canghai nodded at the waiting officer.

“Daoist Priest Li.” Zhang Wutong guided them toward elevators. “The patient remains comatose post-resuscitation. Physicians warn of permanent vegetative state if consciousness doesn’t return.”

Seventh floor lights illuminated their exit.

“Shen Yuan, Shen Group’s 28-year-old general manager.” Zhang Wutong recited while marching down the corridor. “No lethal motives found among business rivals – only standard corporate feuds.”

Guards parted before the VIP suite. The four individuals entered.

The respirator-masked figure appeared peacefully asleep, the machinery’s rhythm belying his critical condition.

“Missing one ethereal soul and two earthly spirits.” Li Canghai’s trained eyes saw beyond flesh. “That deficiency traps him in limbo.”

He settled beside the bed, fingers pressing Shen Yuan’s wrist. Decades of Daoist training and Tier One meridial perception merged with Maoshan-acquired medical wisdom in his diagnosis.

Spiritual energy gently probed Shen Yuan’s soul, exposing numerous lacerations as though his spirit had been violently torn.

"He doesn’t bear the countenance of a villain. What wretched fortune to meet such fate," Yang Xingyu remarked with pity.

"To revive him, we must retrieve the lost fragments of his soul. Otherwise, his elder brother will remain bedridden indefinitely," Li Canghai rose, massaging his temples.

"This damage exceeds my capabilities."

"Are we truly powerless then?" Zhang Wutong inquired after weighted silence.

Li Canghai’s eyes sharpened. "Not entirely. We’ll summon an expert."

"She surpasses our understanding of spiritual maladies."

The unspoken name hung in the air: Ghost in Red.

"Requesting red-clad senior’s aid? Brilliant! But who dares contact her? Our… history isn’t exactly cordial," Yang Xingyu chuckled nervously, phantom pains from past lessons surfacing.

"I’ll make contact." Li Canghai’s resigned sigh carried decades of complicated history.

Zhang Wutong’s thoughts drifted to the crimson-clad ghost cultivator he’d twice encountered – an existence both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Dawn’s second light brought their answer.

Ghost in Red materialized without preamble. "Location."

"Within." Li Canghai gestured to the medical chamber.

Her crimson gaze flickered to the trembling scarlet silhouette behind Qiao Feiyu before entering. No comment. No mercy.

"Partial soul loss. Remnants linger." Without ceremony, she seized Shen Yuan’s spectral form, causing bystanders to flinch at the brutal efficiency.

Some things never change.

The fragmented soul materialized, consciousness flickering. "Who… what…"

"Silence." Her voice crystallized the air. "Recall where your essence scattered."

"Soul… must…" Agony contorted the spirit’s features.

"Then pursue it." Her command propelled the spectral form through the window like loosed arrow.

"Track its trajectory. I pursue."

"Yes, red-clad senior!" The chorus held military precision.

She vanished before Zhang Wutong could inhale, leaving only dark amusement at their conditioned response.

The derelict factory’s aura curdled the moonlight.

Within its rusted belly, Shen Yuan’s soul spiraled in panicked orbits. Ghost in Red detached her bronze bell, its faint chime imprisoning the erratic spirit with ancient resonance.

Reattaching the artifact, she focused on the malignancy thickening westward. Curse masters – foreign purveyors of fleshcraft and stolen souls.

"Located." Her form dissolved into crimson mist.

The stench of necrotic rituals assaulted even her seasoned senses. Recent breakthroughs to the Innate Realm stabilized her core against the putrid energy, Tier One ascension nearly within grasp.

"You."

The curse master looked up from his grisly workbench to meet twin rubies blazing in the shadows. Corpses hung like macabre curtains around the foreign intruder.

"Outlander defiling Huaxia’s earth." Her sleeve flicked, smashing him against moldering concrete.

Guttural commands summoned shrieking ghostly children, their clawed hands dripping obsidian venom. The exorcist’s lips curled. Were it not for Shen Yuan’s fragile soul in her bell…

"Pathetic." Palm met ghastly skull, shattering the first attacker. "Half-step Tier One relying on stolen power."

Through the onslaught, her gaze never left the cowering foreigner. "Soul-thief. Tonight ends your profanity."