Huo Ning’s eyelashes fluttered slightly as she wanted to pry for more useful information.  

Unfortunately, the bus arrived just then.  

With so many eyes around, Huo Ning had no choice but to set the matter aside for the time being.  

After getting off the bus, Song Zhen and Huo Ning headed straight for the hospital.  

As soon as they reached the entrance of the ward, Huo Ning frowned.  

The smell of disinfectant here made her extremely uncomfortable.  

When they pushed open the ward door, a chilling gust of wind rushed toward them.  

Grandma Song hadn’t returned from her surgery yet, so Song Zhen handed Huo Ning a coat she had prepared in advance.  

“The air conditioning here is freezing. We’ve complained to the nurses several times, but no one came to fix it. There’s nothing we can do except layer up.”  

As Song Zhen spoke, a faint shadow of worry flickered in her eyes.  

Young people like them could still endure it.  

But Grandma was a patient—how could she recover if she had to endure such cold air conditioning for long?  

Huo Ning’s gaze shifted past Song Zhen and landed on the empty bed next to hers.  

“Can’t you request a room change from the hospital?”  

This ward was thick with ghostly energy, its resentment lingering endlessly. Staying here would only lead to trouble sooner or later.  

Song Zhen sighed.  

“We tried, but it didn’t work. All the other wards are full—they said there’s no way to switch.”  

“Besides, it’s not just our room’s air conditioning that’s broken. It’d be the same no matter where we moved.”  

Huo Ning thought to herself that the coldness in the ward wasn’t due to the air conditioning at all.  

She pointed at the empty bed next to them. “Did the patient who stayed in this bed before… pass away?”  

Song Zhen jolted, looking at Huo Ning in shock. “That’s incredible, Ningning. How did you know?”  

Huo Ning didn’t answer the question. Instead, she pressed on with a frown, “After he was discharged, was he stabbed twelve times—each strike hitting a vital spot—and despite the doctors’ twelve-hour resuscitation effort, they still couldn’t save him?”  

Now, Song Zhen’s expression wasn’t just surprised—it was outright terrified.  

After the man in the neighboring bed died, every patient assigned to that bed would die within a week, no matter how minor their illness.  

Because of this, the bed had remained empty. Even with the hospital packed to capacity every day, no one dared assign another patient to it.  

Song Zhen subconsciously touched her neck.  

For some reason, Huo Ning’s gaze sent a chill down her spine.  

“Ningning, why are you staring at that bed? That person’s family already took him to the crematorium! He… he can’t still be here, right?”  

Huo Ning smiled. “Don’t worry, he’s not here. You’ve got nothing to fear.”

Actually, he was there.  

She could sense his presence nearby, his resentment still heavy.  

But if she said that out loud, Song Zhen probably wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight.  

Song Zhen let out a sigh of relief, though her confusion only deepened. “But how did you know all that?”  

Huo Ning had no intention of hiding her live-streaming fortune-telling side gig.  

With her growing audience and fanbase, it was only a matter of time before the Song family stumbled upon her broadcasts.  

Rather than scrambling for excuses later, it was better to be upfront from the start.  

“Remember when I told you I was seriously ill and met a master? Well, he was the one who cured the sores on my face. Along the way, he also taught me some skills to make a living.”  

“Only then did I realize—those weren’t just skin problems. They were *karmic sores*.”  

Huo Ning left it at that, her words half-truth, half-lie.  

Song Zhen sucked in a sharp breath. “No *wonder*!”  

She didn’t doubt Huo Ning’s story.  

First, out of trust. Second, before the Song family’s downfall, they had once consulted a renowned master in the metaphysical arts.  

But that master had met a tragic end at seventy-three—his body plummeted off a cliff, vanishing without a trace.  

Rumors in their circles claimed he’d been killed by a ghost.  

Not long after his death, the Song family collapsed.  

As a child, Song Zhen hadn’t believed in ghosts or spirits, dismissing it all as superstition.  

But the older she grew, the more reverence she held, realizing that some things truly existed beyond scientific explanation.  

“So what do you do now, Ningning? Ghost hunting?”  

“Or feng shui readings?”  

It wasn’t that she was overly curious—it was just that Huo Ning had mentioned the master teaching her survival skills.  

And since Song Zhen knew little about these things, ghost hunting and geomancy were the first things that came to mind.  

Huo Ning chuckled. “No. Fortune-telling.”  

Song Zhen was about to ask for a reading herself when the ward door suddenly swung open.  

A frail, hoarse, yet delighted voice called out—  

“Ningning!”  

Huo Ning turned, her heart skipping a beat.  

The elderly woman before her had silver-streaked hair, her face etched with time. Though visibly weary, her gentle eyes shone with warmth and joy as she gazed at Huo Ning.  

This was Grandma Song—her grandmother in this life.  

“Ningning, what brings you back? Did your cousin call you?”  

“That girl worries too much. Grandma’s fine! Work must be busy lately, hm? You’ve lost weight.”

The elderly woman rambled on, her eyes glistening with tears, her expression full of tenderness.  

Grandma Song reached out with a thin, needle-marked hand and gently touched Huo Ning’s face.  

Though she smiled, tears streamed down her cheeks. “Good… good. You look more and more like your mother now.”  

The man beside Grandma Song also smiled warmly, though his gaze carried a hint of sorrow.  

That was Song Xingwen, the elder brother of Huo Ning’s mother—her uncle in this life.  

“Yes, Ningning really does resemble Wanwan.”  

Huo Ning froze.  

From the moment she was born, she had been abandoned by her family for being a girl. She had never known parental love, let alone the doting of grandparents.  

The affectionate gazes of elders, this atmosphere of being enveloped in love—it was all unfamiliar to her.  

Not that she had suffered any mistreatment in the mystical arts sect.  

Her master and senior brothers had always treated her well.  

But more often than not, she was the one sighing and playing the role of both parent and caretaker.  

The reason her heart had skipped a beat wasn’t the way her elders looked at her.  

It was their fortunes—  

Huo Ning’s heart sank further, her expression growing graver by the second.  

Her uncle and grandmother’s brows were darkened, barely a trace of light left.  

Especially Grandma Song—the thick aura of death around her was like the maw of an abyss, ready to swallow her whole.  

If not for the protective golden glow of her accumulated virtue, Grandma would already be in mortal danger.  

Huo Ning saw the vengeful ghost from the neighboring bed hovering behind Grandma Song, its eyes suddenly turning vicious.  

It looked as though it wanted to devour and tear apart Grandma’s soul.  

Only Huo Ning’s presence held it back, making it hesitate.  

Her gaze turned cold as it swept past the ghost.  

Since she had taken over this body, she would protect the family its original owner had cared for.  

She steadied Grandma Song and slipped a protective talisman into her hand.  

“Grandma, this is a talisman I got for you from the temple. It brings safety, smooth fortune, and good health. Wear it for now.”  

As she spoke, she handed another to Song Xingwen.  

“Uncle, this one’s for you.”  

“And Cousin, yours.”  

Touched by her thoughtfulness, Song Xingwen and Grandma Song carefully tucked the talismans close to their bodies.  

Song Zhen, suspecting these might be gifts from Huo Ning’s mysterious master, treated hers with even greater reverence.  

The moment they accepted the talismans, a subtle shift occurred in all three of their fortunes.  

The vengeful ghost lingering near Grandma Song shot Huo Ning a venomous glare.