The moment A’Piao stepped inside, Lang Jiuchuan’s little paper figurine quietly crept in right behind him, clinging to his trouser leg.

He felt something was off and looked down, nearly stumbling. The man known by the elegant alias “Master Liufeng,” whose full name was Sheng Huai’an, had just taken his seat and looked up. “Manager Piao?”

A’Piao kicked at the air, silently cursing Lang Jiuchuan twice in his heart, then smiled. “I have long heard of Master Liufeng’s remarkable bearing, and seeing you in person, you truly live up to your reputation.”

He studied the refined man before him, trying to read some clue from his face — but whether it was because years of officialdom had deepened his ability to conceal his thoughts, or whether the man simply had nothing to hide, A’Piao could not find a single thing that seemed out of place.

No — if nothing were wrong, that Lang Jiu fellow would not have been making so many furtive moves.

He was already seated here, and if Lang Jiuchuan wanted information, he…

As a ghost, he was not bound by the morals of the living. If she were to offer him some fragrant incense, he would certainly tell her everything without holding back.

They were all on the same side, after all.

Lang Jiuchuan surely knew this too, yet she had still sent a little paper figurine to spy. That meant she felt something was off about this Sheng Huai’an.

Indeed — though Lang Jiuchuan had only exchanged a brief glance with Sheng Huai’an, she had heard Xue Shi’s assessment of the man and felt a vague unease. Moreover, the remnant soul she had picked up had been attached to a newly published anthology of Sheng Huai’an’s writings, and now that the man had appeared, the remnant soul had grown violently restless. These layers of strangeness naturally drew her attention.

During that brief meeting just now, she had caught a glimpse of his dark, sinister gaze — which was strange indeed. How could a great scholar steeped in the classics possess such an expression? Even someone with a fierce temper like Xue Shi, no matter how proud and lofty, would not have eyes that were dark and malicious, carrying a sense of cruelty.

Eyes like those could only mean one thing: this man was extraordinarily guarded, and ruthless at heart.

There was also something else unusual about him. Afraid A’Piao might not catch it, she had sent the paper figurine to serve as her eyes and ears.

The moment she had entered this place, she had sensed an uncommon aura — fierce and sharp. It was not merely the prosperous literary energy that scholars carried about them; there was something else, some other spiritual instrument on his person.

As A’Piao sat across from him, being a paper ghost, he felt a faint discomfort at close proximity. Fortunately his paper form was no ordinary thing, otherwise he would have been repelled outright.

A’Piao’s expression remained perfectly neutral. He quietly drew upon his ghost energy, suppressing that trace of discomfort, and looked at Sheng Huai’an with a smile. “May I ask, Master — have you come to buy information, or to sell it?”

Sheng Huai’an reached toward the silk pouch at his waist. “Rumor has it that Tongtiange can obtain any information one desires. Is that true?”

“Information is graded,” A’Piao said evenly. “Different tiers command different prices. Whether you can obtain what you seek depends entirely on whether your offer meets the mark. And if we accept a commission but fail to deliver, we will refund the full payment and compensate half the sum as a penalty for breach of contract.”

Sheng Huai’an asked, “What about finding someone?” He paused. “To be more precise — what if I need to locate a ghost?”

A’Piao’s eyes flickered. “Finding persons and tracing ghost whereabouts — that is not beyond our capacity. However, we at Tongtiange believe that for such matters, seeking out a yin-yang master would offer better value for your coin.”

Sheng Huai’an was visibly startled. He raised an eyebrow. “Does the manager not wish to take my commission?”

“I am simply informing you that better options exist.”

Sheng Huai’an tapped the table lightly. “If a better option had worked, I would not have come to your establishment, given the considerable cost.”

“You have already tried, then?” A’Piao narrowed his eyes. “If the one you seek is a soul, and you cannot find them, then either they have dissipated entirely, or they have entered the underworld to reincarnate. Why are you so insistent?”

“This person is of great importance to me. And I am certain he has not entered the underworld.” Sheng Huai’an’s refined face grew subtly grave. He cannot enter.

Such certainty.

“May I ask — why are you so sure?”

Sheng Huai’an stiffened. His gaze turned sharp and shadowed as it fell upon Manager Piao.

Manager Piao showed not the slightest trace of alarm. He said calmly, “When a person dies, their lamp is extinguished and their soul returns to the underworld. If it does not return, it becomes a wandering, homeless spirit — destined either to dissipate entirely, or to be devoured and torn apart by other malevolent ghosts. How can you be so certain he still lingers in the mortal world?”

Several expressions passed across Sheng Huai’an’s face. He seemed to be holding something in. “I have my own means of knowing. I simply want to know whether Tongtiange can take this commission.”

Manager Piao curled his fingers and began tapping the table rhythmically, one tap after another. The sound was like knocking directly upon the heart — unnerving, producing a creeping restlessness.

Sheng Huai’an watched those slender fingers tapping lightly, listened to the crisp, clear rhythm, and felt an irritation rising on his face — along with a growing unease. It was as if he were sinking into a fog, the mist weaving itself into fine threads, wrapping around him tighter and tighter, until he could not breathe.

Something was wrong.

Sheng Huai’an suddenly reached for the pouch at his waist and gripped the spiritual instrument inside. The scorching heat of it jolted him instantly awake. He realized he had been sliding toward a delusional state and was struck with sudden terror, cold sweat breaking out across his back.

He fixed his gaze sharply on Manager Piao and abruptly stood up. The other man had already ceased his tapping and was watching him with a flat, indifferent expression.

This man had always prided himself on being cultured and composed — but now he simply wanted to curse. Tongtiange, they said — pay enough silver and you can buy any information you want. He would never have thought to come here if he had any other choice.

But to think the transaction had not even begun, and he had nearly been trapped.

This worthless Tongtiange was nothing but a den of thieves.

And this unsettling Manager Piao was thoroughly rotten — that rhythmic tapping just now, he refused to believe it was accidental. He had been trying to draw out his secrets.

Sheng Huai’an said in a low, heavy voice, “It seems your establishment has no intention of accepting my commission. Then I will not impose any further.”

Manager Piao’s eyes drifted almost imperceptibly to the pouch at his waist. “Master Liufeng need not be in such a hurry. Why not tell me — what sort of ghost are you looking for?”

“There is no need.” If he stayed any longer, he feared he would lose more than he had come with.

He strode toward the door. The moment he reached for it, Manager Piao’s cool, chilling voice drifted up behind him.

“Master Liufeng — are you keeping a ghost under your command? Has it fled, and now you wish to capture it and drag it back?”

Sheng Huai’an froze with shock. He spun around sharply and locked eyes with Manager Piao, a flash of murderous intent crossing his gaze.

Seeing that, A’Piao’s brow darkened. So Lang Jiu had been right after all. This celebrated man — this great Confucian scholar with a towering reputation, beloved by countless students, whose anthology had caused such a stir — had actually been keeping a ghost in his service?

Keeping a ghost in one’s service was not unheard of. His own master kept him; Lang Jiuchuan herself had kept Fuqi. In a sense, all of that could be called ghost-keeping. But the nature of it was entirely different — they followed willingly, of their own accord, one might say as willing ghost-servants.

What he despised most were those who wore the mask of righteousness, who styled themselves as pillars of morality and virtue, yet forcibly seized a ghost and bent it to their own desires.

This so-called great scholar before him had a ghost spirit imprisoned on his person.

A’Piao rose unhurriedly and walked forward. He looked down at the pouch at Sheng Huai’an’s waist. “Master, would you be so kind as to bring out the spiritual instrument in that pouch?”