[Might as well just let the ghost girl take his life and be done with it]

Bai Zhun leaned against the bed, drowsy and half-asleep. “Not saving him.”

The Seventh Branch owed a favor to Master Han—not to Liu Da. Liu Da had acted dishonorably. If Bai Zhun stepped in now, even Master Han’s coffin lid wouldn’t be able to hold down his rage.

Liu Er hadn’t expected such a firm refusal. He understood Bai Zhun’s fury stemmed from his senior brother’s conduct following their master’s passing.

But Liu Da was still his elder brother. He couldn’t just stand by and watch him die. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Seventh Master, my master gave the Branch Master’s position to my senior brother—he gave everything to him.”

The family fortune, his daughter, and even the secret technique Immortal Cord, which only the master of the Branch of Colors could inherit.

“If my brother dies, the Third Branch will be gone.” With that, he bowed his head again in desperate pleading.

Bai Zhun frowned. The Wu Hua Sect had long since declined. Its disciples had scattered, each struggling to survive. The Third Branch had barely passed down to this generation—he couldn’t just let it die out like this.

Inside the room, there came a faint rustling of paper. Liu Er’s heart lifted with hope. But it was only a paper servant, eyeless and stiff-limbed, who stepped out from the inner chamber. It walked up to him and dropped a cloth pouch.

Liu Er looked down and saw the glint of silver at the edge of the bag. “Seventh Master, this is…”

Bai Zhun’s voice was hazy, as though already dozing again: “Use the money to smooth things over. Go into the prison and learn your master’s Immortal Cord technique.”

Back in the day, Master Han had won the title of Third Branch Master with that very skill. Who could have guessed that, decades later, the world would have changed so completely?

“My brother is innocent! They’re trying to make him a scapegoat!”

Bai Zhun was growing annoyed. “If he’s innocent, go tell your master.”

Once dead, he’d meet his master soon. For all Bai Zhun knew, Master Han was already down there, waiting for this unworthy disciple.

Liu Er fell silent. His master had treasured his daughter like a pearl in his palm—how could he, even in death, forgive a disciple who treated her so?

Liu Er’s face turned pale. The conversation had come to its end. Bai Zhun would help no further. Clutching the half-sack of silver coins, Liu Er kowtowed three more times. “Thank you, Seventh Master, for your guidance.”

Ah Xiu walked him to the gate. Just then, a patrol officer arrived. After a few questions, Ah Xiu’s testimony confirmed that Liu Er wasn’t a criminal, and the officer let him go.

Bai Zhun was a man of bad temper and fragile health. Having been woken from his nap, he tossed and turned with frustration. “He wants the beauty, wants the skill—doesn’t even know how much his own life is worth.”

All around him, the paper servants stood silently.

Bored again, Bai Zhun curled up in his silk quilt and drifted back into his nap.

As his eyes closed and he sank into sleep, a divine platform appeared before him. Upon it stood the golden statue of the Chenghuang ^[1] City God: A Chinese folk religion deity who is believed to protect cities and maintain order between the living and the spirit worlds..

When he was awake, his legs were weak and unsteady. But in the dream, he could walk without hindrance. He walked up to the divine platform, took three incense sticks, and respectfully lit them in offering to the deity.

Tendrils of smoke curled upward, and upon the platform, a sheet of yellow paper appeared out of thin air. Bai Zhun received it with both hands. Holding it up to read, he saw it was a Chenghuang’s spirit pass.

All souls bound for the underworld needed a pass, detailing their name, life history, and burial items. Buddhists had Kṣitigarbha Bodhisattva, Daoists had the Emperor of Fengdu, and what Bai Zhun held was a Chenghuang-issued pass.

Wang Qiufang, age twenty-two, buried with one silk nightgown and a pair of diamond earrings.

The Chenghuang had issued the pass, yet Wang Qiufang had not gone where she was meant to. The fact that the pass ended up at the Seventh Branch meant Bai Zhun was being summoned to apprehend this female ghost.

His expression turned solemn. He bowed slightly and accepted the task. The divine platform gradually faded from the dream. When he opened his eyes again, it was still before noon.

Ghosts roamed the human world most freely around midday—when yang energy was weakest.

A pulse twitched at Bai Zhun’s temple. He gathered his energy, took out a sheet of yellow paper, and wrote Wang Qiufang’s full name and birth date on it.

Then he lit another stick of incense and burned the yellow paper in the furnace. The ashes floated upward, caught by no wind, and drifted out through the skylight.

Ah Xiu had already opened the main gate. Outside waited a rickshaw. None of the neighbors in Yuqing Alley had seen how the cart entered the alley—it was simply there when they looked up, as though it had always been parked by the Bai residence.

The rickshaw puller lifted Bai Zhun and gently settled him onto the seat. Ah Xiu opened a paper oil umbrella and sat beside him. The wheels scraped against the brick path, swiftly rolling the cart out of the lane.

The rickshaw and puller were both crafted from paper and moved by Bai Zhun’s will, following the path left by the drifting incense smoke, which led them to the entrance of the Ritz Hotel.

Bai Zhun frowned. Qiufang ^[2] Autumn’s fragrance is Gui ^[3] osmanthus: a fragrant flowering tree—is this Gui the same Gui ^[4] Jin Dangui?

Just as he entered the hotel lobby, a faint scent of blood hit him. The thread of smoke drifted inward, leading him toward the hotel’s cafe.

That wisp of incense floated lightly and landed on the shoulder of a young man—someone Wang Qiufang had sought after her death.

The man sat with his back to Bai Zhun. As the wheelchair rolled closer, Bai Zhun heard his voice before he reached him.

“Whether he killed anyone, I don’t know. All I know is—I didn’t.”

Huo Zhenye sat with his long legs stretched out, leaning against the sofa. He picked up the coffee brought by a server and took a deep inhale to wake himself up.

Ever since Jin Dangui died, he had constantly caught faint whiffs of blood in the air. He used the scent of coffee to mask it.

Sitting across from him on the sofa was a police officer, speaking patiently and earnestly. “Seventh Young Master, please think carefully—what exactly happened that night? Could it be that this Liu Da killed for love?”

Huo Zhenye’s eyes gleamed with mockery, but his voice carried a careless, almost flippant smile: “I don’t even know them.”

If he didn’t know them, why were they in his room? The officer didn’t dare voice the thought. His superiors had made it clear: when dealing with Seventh Young Master, they were to be extremely polite.

Even though it remained unspoken, Huo Zhenye’s eyes were sharp as blades. Catching the man’s unspoken doubt, he smirked. “Have you checked the bellboys and waitstaff in the guest rooms? For girls like that being ‘sent up’—was it just my room, or others too? And the wine in the rooms—has it been tested?”

Inside the cafe, everyone was impeccably dressed, yet he stood out in a wrinkled suit with his shirt collar loosened, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead. His naturally alluring “peach blossom” eyes and the subtle, almost-a-smile curve of his lips gave him an air of dashing charm.

And yet—they really hadn’t investigated how many of the courtesans had entered the young masters’ rooms that night.

“Y-yes, we’re already looking into all that,” the officer said hastily. Then tried again to coax him: “Seventh Young Master, your elder brother called the main bureau yesterday. If you could try to remember more clearly, we might be able to wrap up the case. We wouldn’t want to delay your upcoming wedding, would we?”

The smile faded from Huo Zhenye’s lips. The bloody scent in his nose only grew stronger. He lifted his coffee cup, hoping to smother it with the bitterness.

Just as he raised the cup, he felt someone watching him.

He turned—and saw Bai Zhun.

Bai Zhun’s pupils contracted. He hadn’t expected they would meet again.

Huo Zhenye stared at him, a nagging sense of familiarity rising—but he couldn’t quite place where he’d seen this person before.

Their gazes locked. Bai Zhun was the first to move, rolling his wheelchair over to Huo Zhenye.

Huo Zhenye waved the officer away. The officer, unable to get a statement and unwilling to offend the Huo family’s seventh son, left the cafe with slumped shoulders.

Huo Zhenye’s eyes never left Bai Zhun. “Who are you?”

Bai Zhun’s expression remained unchanged, but inside, he was furious. He recognized Huo Zhenye instantly—yet this man didn’t remember him at all!

Huo Zhenye noticed the anger in Bai Zhun’s eyes, but couldn’t understand the cause. Still, he was increasingly convinced: “Have we met before?”

Bai Zhun didn’t answer. Instead, he took out an envelope and placed it on the coffee table. “Keep this under your pillow. She won’t come for you again.”

Since he didn’t remember—then there was no need for them to ever meet again.

Whether Huo Zhenye had actually killed someone, and whether Wang Qiufang was Jin Dangui—Bai Zhun didn’t care in the slightest. All he needed to do was deliver Wang Qiufang to where she was supposed to go, and the business would be done.

To the Seventh Branch, this was a business—people did business with other people, and the Seventh Branch did business with gods and ghosts.

Huo Zhenye’s brow twitched slightly. He had dreamt the night before, that much was true. But he didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits. He suspected someone had drugged him.

Some kind of neuroactive substance that triggered hallucinations.

Now Bai Zhun had appeared out of nowhere and seemed familiar, which immediately made him a prime suspect.

“Do nothing shameful in life, and fear no ghosts knocking at your door in the dead of night.” Huo Zhenye smiled on the surface, but his thoughts were turning quickly. He was sure he’d seen Bai Zhun before, and this entire situation felt like a setup. He wanted to figure out who had laid the trap.

Huo Zhenye had just returned from England. Old Master Huo had finally remembered he had this son and, before he could stir up some scandal in Shanghai, arranged a matchmaking meeting for him.

Huo Zhenye walked into the hotel’s private room and immediately realized the old man had schemed against him. So he put on his playboy act right away—the archetypal rich, spoiled young master.

When Miss Tao asked about his experiences in England, he only talked about food, drink, where to get bespoke suits, horse races, and deer hunts.

When she tried to speak English with him, he deliberately played the fool, misinterpreting everything and mixing up words.

But Miss Tao still agreed to the match.

That’s when Huo Zhenye plunged into the Courtesan Queen Selection, spending lavishly to support dance girls.

Today he’d throw a few thousand silver dollars at one, and tomorrow he’d switch to another. The scandal made waves in the papers and infuriated Old Master Huo enough to call and scold him personally.

But the Tao family still didn’t give up. So he upped the chaos even more, spreading rumors that he was utterly bewitched by a dance girl.

If the Tao family had any dignity left, they should be desperate to cut ties. After this episode, the old man would finally give up the idea of arranging another match.

The twelve contestants were hosting a banquet at the Ritz Hotel, and of course Huo Zhenye had to show up—pose for the reporters, get his photos in the news again.

He wasn’t a heavy drinker, but that night after a single cup he was already woozy. Back in his room, he collapsed on the sofa and passed out completely.

The next morning, Jin Dangui was found stark naked, dead on the bed in Huo Zhenye’s room. Her death was gruesome—her eyes had been gouged out, and the taffeta bedsheets were soaked in blood. The entire room reeked of it.

It was the room service attendant bringing breakfast who caught the scent of blood and screamed, waking Huo Zhenye.

Huo Zhenye remained relatively calm, but Liu Da had been lying on the same bed as Jin Dangui, spending the night beside a female corpse.

Such a bizarre and scandalous murder rocked the entire city by the next day. Rumors flew: some said the three had shared a bed, others claimed it was a crime of passion. Tabloid reporters swarmed the hotel like bees to honey.

Huo Zhenye clasped his hands together, curious to see what Bai Zhun would do next.

Bai Zhun clenched his teeth slightly—truly, a leopard never changes its spots. This troublemaker is still the same old troublemaker.

Huo Zhenye raised an eyebrow. It seemed Bai Zhun was out of words.

Bai Zhun thought to himself, ‘Maybe I should just let the ghost take his life and be done with it.’