He Jiafeng Yi had a frail-looking physique, yet possessed a mouth that once started talking couldn’t stop. It was as if all the energy in his body had been dedicated to his glib tongue, making the dignified Imperial Preceptor as gossipy as a street fortune-teller.

Sure enough, after quieting down for just a moment and turning around a street corner, he started rambling again: “A few months ago, you asked me to investigate his background. I researched for some time, then suddenly there was no more news. Now that he’s returned to court, I took one look—ha! The ghostly aura around him and the curse binding you two were incredibly heavy. I was puzzled for a long while, but after seeing his reaction when he grabbed you, I suddenly understood—those four characters: ‘troubled by love.'”

He Simu raised her eyes to watch the bustling pedestrians on the street. If she hadn’t wanted to avoid causing unnecessary panic, she would have immediately made He Jiafeng Yi disappear from her sight.

Why was the path to the Imperial Preceptor’s residence so long?

“Of course, this naturally has nothing to do with me. Seeing how composed you remained earlier, you must have rejected him, so it has nothing to do with you. I noticed him with that young lady upstairs—they make such a perfect couple, chatting so happily, probably already in love. I imagine he’ll soon forget about you, this over-four-hundred-year-old woman… experienced woman, and throw himself into the embrace of that beauty.”

Before He Jiafeng Yi could finish speaking, the walking stick in his hand vanished into thin air. He stumbled, then found the same walking stick pressed against his throat.

He Simu pointed the stick at him and smiled: “Care to repeat that?”

He Jiafeng Yi obediently replied: “Venerable ancestor, you need to hear the truth sometimes.”

“What truth have you spoken?”

“Which part isn’t true? Aren’t you over four hundred years old?”

“They just met and were being polite strangers. You deliberately called me over and stirred up trouble with your exaggerations. Who taught you to be such a gossip?”

He Jiafeng Yi suddenly realized: “Oh my! They aren’t actually in love—so that’s the real issue!”

“…”

He Jiafeng Yi snapped his fingers, and the walking stick returned to his hand. Leaning on it, he sighed: “Venerable ancestor, how could you steal from an ill person?”

He Simu thought that perhaps He Jiafeng Yi’s soul fire had been consumed by her in a previous life, and he had come to collect the debt in this one.

With a fake smile, she said: “You certainly know how to talk. I assume you’ve completed the tasks I assigned? If you can’t capture the Lord of the Wenshen Ghost Palace soon, I’ll summon ghost soldiers to search the imperial palace for him.”

He Jiafeng Yi immediately straightened his expression and tilted his umbrella toward her: “That won’t do, that won’t do. Our private relationship is one thing, but I am, after all, the Imperial Preceptor who eats the emperor’s salary. If I let a group of evil ghosts into Southern Capital, wouldn’t I be neglecting my duties? Rest assured, I already know his whereabouts.”

“If you already know, what are you waiting for?”

“Venerable ancestor, this is Southern Capital—the heart of Great Liang, where mortal relationships are most intricate and complex. Pull one thread and the whole fabric moves; it’s not like the border towns or ghost realm where you can act freely. Venerable ancestor, I don’t mean to criticize, but I often feel you rule as Ghost King too simply and directly. You don’t employ any political tactics or checks and balances. Fortunately, you have such powerful magic—somehow you’ve managed to get by these three hundred years.”

He Simu paused her steps, chuckled softly, and turned her head: “Would you like to rule instead?”

Seeing the blue light emitting from the Ghost King’s lantern at her waist, He Jiafeng Yi smiled: “I would gladly serve you like a loyal dog or horse, but unfortunately I’m too open-minded to become an evil ghost. I can only do more while I’m still alive. Rest assured, I’ll find an auspicious day to take care of this matter properly.”

After not seeing him for several years, He Jiafeng Yi’s peculiar habits had truly flourished—now he even needed to select an auspicious day for ghost-catching.

Seeing He Simu’s impatient expression, He Jiafeng Yi immediately put on a fragile look, furrowing his light eyebrows as he said: “For a powerful evil ghost like the Lord of the Wenshen Ghost Palace, those lazy sorcerers under my command naturally cannot handle him. I need to capture him personally. But venerable ancestor, you know my physical condition—I must choose a day when ghost energy is weakest and spiritual energy is strongest. Otherwise, if my already limited lifespan is reduced and my health damaged, what then?”

As He Simu watched He Jiafeng Yi enthusiastically deliver this speech with a pale face, she thought that being a fortune-teller was beneath him—why didn’t he become a storyteller? He could probably become Great Liang’s premier storyteller.

Seeing they had finally reached the Imperial Preceptor’s residence, they stepped under the eaves. Zi Ji finally spoke her first words of the day: “Umbrella.”

He Jiafeng Yi turned and handed her the closed umbrella, and the quiet, elegant beauty placed it with the others in the corridor, arranging them neatly.

Looking around, everything in the Imperial Preceptor’s residence was extremely orderly, without a hint of disorder. Tables, chairs, and furnishings were all arranged meticulously. If any object was moved even an inch, Zi Ji would soon discover it and restore it to its original position. Even if a plate broke, Zi Ji would find an identical replacement. And from He Simu’s recent observations, Zi Ji was quite strong.

These master and servant made quite a pair—one couldn’t stop talking, the other barely spoke; one was disheveled, the other perfectly neat; one was frail, the other robust.

He Simu thought, that wherever He Jiafeng Yi found this maid, they were truly a perfect match.

He Jiafeng Yi’s joke indeed didn’t come true. After getting rained on, Duan Xu remained vigorous. After resting for a few days, he changed into new navy-blue clothes, selected many gifts, and spiritedly visited Wang Suyi to apologize.

Wang Suyi was very surprised to see him bring such lavish gifts and said there was no need for such formality. Her mother had already told her that Duan Xu had been chasing bandits that day, and national affairs were naturally more important.

But Duan Xu shook his head and said: “I wasn’t chasing bandits that day. I saw a lady I admired.”

Wang Suyi was stunned by his words. She thought Duan Xu already had someone in his heart—was he bringing these expensive gifts to reject the Wang family? Such matters should be handled by his father, not him.

Then she heard Duan Xu continue: “Does Miss Wang know about the arrangements between your honorable father and mine? In this capital, regarding marriage matters, there are only so many families—there aren’t many choices.”

Duan Xu spoke frankly, and Wang Suyi nodded.

Duan Xu smiled: “Then Miss Wang, would you marry me?”

Wang Suyi looked at Duan Xu with confusion and disbelief.

In the bright early summer sunlight, the young man’s smile was warm and his expression sincere, yet he seemed like an impenetrable wall, impossible to see through.

“Let’s talk,” he said.

Previously, Wang Suyi’s knowledge of Duan Xu was limited to his reputation as the famous Third Young Master of the Duan family—elegant, talented in literature, and skilled in horsemanship and archery. According to her unreliable brother, Duan Xu had an excellent temperament and was cheerful—he had never seen anyone who loved to smile so much. However, after one day together, you’d have the same impression as after a year—somewhat dull.

Perhaps her brother hadn’t realized that this wasn’t dullness; rather, he had never truly understood Duan Xu, and neither could she.

News of the engagement between the Duan and Wang families spread quickly, becoming recent gossip among Southern Capital’s official families. The young General Duan had been the most desirable bachelor among the capital’s young ladies, causing countless women to sigh with regret. Wang Suyi was also a famous beauty in Southern Capital. In others’ eyes, considering their backgrounds, talents, and appearances, there was nothing incompatible between these two.

Of course, this news also reached the Imperial Preceptor’s residence. He Jiafeng Yi was having his shoulders and legs massaged by his disciples while contentedly eating a bowl of white fungus soup with red dates—quite a scene of leisurely self-care. As he ate, he said: “Venerable ancestor, didn’t I tell you? They’re truly in love, aren’t they?”

He Simu stood by the desk with her sleeves raised, painting a picture of roses and banana leaves. She had Zi Ji prepare ivory white and emerald green pigments in advance. Unable to see colors properly, she painted by feeling. Just as He Jiafeng Yi finished speaking, she completed the painting, ignoring him.

Seeing He Simu ignore him again, He Jiafeng Yi waved his disciples away and wandered to her side. Looking at the painting, he exclaimed: “Venerable ancestor, I often feel you’re more human than I am. Zi Ji, come look—how could these colors of roses and banana leaves be painted by a ghost who sees colors differently? It’s impossible!”

Zi Ji, who was grinding ink, glanced at the painting and said: “Beautiful.”

He Simu put down her brush and said with a cold smile: “That’s probably because you’re particularly lazy and ignorant, and don’t apply yourself. You can’t even be a proper human.”

He Jiafeng Yi knew she was referring to when she taught him painting as a child. He had made excuses day after day, refusing to practice, and now she found even his talismans ugly.

He Jiafeng Yi laughed heartily and immediately changed the subject: “But honestly, for our poor young General Duan, whether they’re in love or not doesn’t matter. He can only marry according to his family’s and faction’s wishes.”

He Simu glanced at him and gave a light chuckle without comment. He Jiafeng Yi detected some disagreement in that glance and assumed a posture of respectful listening: “What’s this? Does the venerable ancestor think otherwise?”

“You don’t understand Duan Xu.”

“Then, if one understands him, how should one view this matter?”

He Simu waved her hand over the painting to dry the ink faster and said calmly: “He excels at pretending to comply, but no one can make him do anything against his will. He won’t marry someone he doesn’t like. That girl must have something that touches his heart, or some ability to help him achieve his wishes. He would never shortchange himself.”

Seeing her calm expression and normal tone, He Jiafeng Yi asked with rare seriousness: “Venerable ancestor, he’s getting married, you’re losing him. Aren’t you sad?”

He knew He Simu had many lovers before, but he hadn’t managed to meet any of them—they had all died before he was born.

From his years of experience, he had never seen He Simu show such patience and understanding toward other mortals. It was difficult for evil ghosts to understand humans, like someone who sees colors differently trying to paint. His venerable ancestor was the guardian of the human world, yet didn’t have the leisure to understand every tree and leaf.

“He matters to me,” He Simu was silent for a moment, then smiled gently: “Perhaps I will be sad, but sadness lasts only a very brief time, even shorter than his fleeting life.”

He Jiafeng Yi was quiet for a moment, thinking that his venerable ancestor’s emotions were truly complex. He sighed and returned to his chair to lie down. Raising his hand to reveal his thin arm, after a dizzying calculation with his fingers, he said: “Unfortunately, I see Duan Xu has had bad luck recently. There will be changes in court, and this marriage will face many twists and turns. He won’t make it to the auspicious day I set. Venerable ancestor, are you sure you don’t want to steal the bride?”

He Simu replied affectionately: “Get lost.”