With the soul incense lighting the way, Lang Jiuchuan and A’Piao followed Qiao Yang, who held the soul incense, to Qingchi Ward — the inner river that wound through the entire east-west expanse of the city. They stopped beneath a bridge, where the soul incense no longer moved forward but instead turned in circles, spiraling upward.

A’Piao’s face darkened. “It ends here.”

Lang Jiuchuan surveyed the area. Past the bridge was the western side of the city, home mostly to common folk. Though only a river separated the two, the far side was considerably livelier than the eastern side.

And to their right, where they stood, was a tall, towering perimeter wall — its surface mottled and worn, as though no one had tended to it in a long while.

“What is this place?” Lang Jiuchuan looked at the wall. It stretched a long distance — one could tell that on the other side lay a very large estate.

“This is the Ren Manor — a famously haunted property in Qingchi Ward. About fifteen years ago, the entire Ren household — all one hundred members — died in a single night. The rumor was that they were claimed by vengeful spirits, every one of them dying violently. So it became a haunted estate. There were also rumors that at midnight, the manor would be thick with ghostly energy, as though all one hundred Ren family members were moving about as they had when alive.” Qiao Yang explained. “So the property has been left vacant ever since, completely abandoned.”

Lang Jiuchuan looked carefully. There was yin energy — but no ghost energy whatsoever.

A’Piao said, “Rumors aren’t reliable. I’ve been inside to investigate. Not even a ghost’s shadow — let alone anyone from the Ren Family. Not even wandering, homeless spirits venture near this place.” He looked at Lang Jiuchuan. “She’s not here. I’ve already searched.”

Yet Lang Jiuchuan felt something odd. “You said not even a single ghost comes near this place?”

A’Piao nodded, then felt a flicker of unease.

“Such a large haunted estate — never mind that people are too afraid to come near, but ghosts won’t even take shelter here?” Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze deepened as she stared at the estate behind the wall, her burning eyes as though they could pierce through the stone and probe the truth within.

A’Piao frowned. Compared to drifting aimlessly through the streets as a wandering ghost, having a place to shelter was always preferable. And yet not a single ghost resided in the Ren Manor. Strange.

“Master, what do we do now? The incense is almost out.” Qiao Yang’s voice trembled.

Lang Jiuchuan looked at the soul-guiding incense in his hand. Though it had stopped moving forward, it was still circling in place.

She formed another hand seal and directed it at the incense. Qiao Yang’s soul incense quivered faintly — and the circling pale smoke began to drift forward again. Its direction pointed straight toward the haunted estate.

A’Piao said, “That’s impossible. I brought people to search the entire place.”

“If someone deliberately concealed her aura, she would be very difficult to find — especially with a formation array.”

A’Piao’s expression turned grim. He hadn’t thought along those lines.

Qiao Yang’s legs went weak. “My daughter is just an ordinary little girl. What kind of person would abduct her and go to such lengths as to seal her with a formation array?”

Lang Jiuchuan and A’Piao exchanged a glance and said nothing — clearly both of their minds had gone to something unsavory. After all, less than three months had passed since the incident involving the disappearance of young women with birth charts of pure yin.

“There’s a lake inside.” The water spirit, which Lang Jiuchuan had tied to her waist as a decorative ornament on the bone chime and had been sitting quietly inside like a well-behaved bird, suddenly spoke. “Filthy!”

Being a water spirit, it was especially sensitive to the moisture in the air. Beyond the inner river beside them, there was also a lake inside the haunted estate. The two bodies of water felt distinctly different — one was murky and impure, the other… well, the best it could say was that it felt nauseating.

A’Piao glanced at the water spirit and narrowed his eyes.

The water spirit, exercising good judgment, did not reveal A’Piao’s true nature in front of Qiao Yang. It was a well-behaved water spirit — it had no business frightening mortals, especially a pitiful father who had lost his daughter.

Looking at the sorry sight of him wiping his nose with his sleeve. Tsk.

But then — wasn’t this exactly what she had promised? No longer limited to a single lake or pool, able to absorb water vapor anywhere?

“We’ll have to go and investigate this haunted estate,” Lang Jiuchuan said.

The soul incense had already pointed the way. There was no reason to arrive at the door and not enter.

The group moved around to the alley and found the side gate. It had long been padlocked, and a official seal strip was plastered across it.

An ownerless haunted estate — not yet sold, so it fell under the jurisdiction and sealed management of the authorities. Though it had grown dilapidated from over a decade without any sign of human life, it was still a well-structured large estate in the eastern part of the city. In Wu Jing, where land was worth its weight in gold, even a haunted property held considerable value.

To get inside, the only option was to scale the wall.

Lang Jiuchuan and A’Piao could manage that with ease — but the round, pudgy Qiao Yang found himself at a loss. He looked at the two of them with a helpless, pleading gaze. “Should I… look for a gap big enough for a dog?”

Having come all this way, he absolutely had to follow along and find his Yaoyao.

A’Piao’s mouth twitched. He grabbed Qiao Yang by the collar, tapped his toe lightly, and carried him into the Ren Manor as easily as lifting a feather.

Lang Jiuchuan followed close behind.

The moment they crossed the perimeter wall, a smell of rot and decay hit them — the kind that soaked into the very earth during a wet season, carrying the raw, mineral scent of damp soil, along with a foul, nauseating stench that was hard to name. Part blood, part something else.

The Ren Manor was a five-courtyard estate, with gardens split between the front and rear. To the south was a lake. At a glance, the once-red lacquered gates had peeled and flaked, weeds had taken over every path, and ruin permeated the entire scene.

Lang Jiuchuan stood on the central axis of the Ren Manor, her brow furrowing. She pressed a hand to her chest. Something felt wrong.

“What’s the matter?” Jiangche, sensing the shift in her aura, leapt out and crouched on her shoulder.

Lang Jiuchuan said, “I don’t know. I feel a tightness in my chest.”

She surveyed the Ren Manor, her eyes deepening. Amid Qiao Yang’s reverent, fearful account, the image of a brutal massacre seemed to unfold in her mind — from white-haired elders to swaddled infants, all extinguished in a single night without exception.

She looked down at the grey bricks beneath her feet. The seams between them were a deep rust-red, as though a great deal of blood had soaked into the stone — even the washing of over a decade of years had not fully cleansed it. The blood had fused with the bricks, becoming one with them.

After that night, this place had become forbidden ground in the mouths of the living — a ghost estate.

But a ghost estate with no ghosts.

Lang Jiuchuan blinked — and tears fell from her eyes unexpectedly, startling Jiangche, who nearly toppled from her shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?”

A’Piao looked over with concern. “What is it?”

“It feels terrible.” Lang Jiuchuan reached into her robe and swallowed two pills from a small porcelain bottle, then circulated her cultivation technique to regulate her breathing, pressing down the dark, oppressive gloom and resentment in her chest. “Let’s go.”

Lang Jiuchuan urged Qiao Yang to walk quickly. The soul incense burned as though someone nearby was fanning it — faster and faster, the pale smoke growing thinner and thinner, until the smoke dissipated entirely and the soul-guiding incense was completely extinguished. The group stopped at the edge of the lake within the Ren Manor.

“Southward, toward water — is that what it meant?” A’Piao looked at the position of the lake, then at the stagnant, dead water within it, and his brow creased heavily.

Where would anyone be?

He peered into the lake, and as some thought came to him, his expression went cold. Without thinking, he looked toward Lang Jiuchuan.

A chill wind swept through the estate, carrying the stench of rot and decay.

Lang Jiuchuan stared at the dead, still lake — its water the color of ink-black abyss. She lit another incense stick and let it drift toward the center of the lake. It had only drifted less than three zhang when it dispersed, as though something was blocking its advance.

“Interesting.” She let out a cold, humorless laugh, then shook the water spirit inside the bone chime. “Want to earn some karmic merit? Then go down and probe the depths for me.”

The water spirit: “?”

Are we that close?