Zhou Jiayu had thought that once his soul returned to his body, everything would be fine. But who would’ve expected that Shen Yiqiong would inform him that there were aftereffects of the soul leaving the body—ranging from mild weakness to serious illness.

Zhou Jiayu didn’t feel sick, but he definitely felt weak. Just walking a few steps left him gasping for breath. Fortunately, this condition was recoverable. With some herbal tonics and rest, he was mostly back to normal within a few days.

When Shen Musi and the others came over, they brought Little Yellow and the little paper figurine with them. The moment the paper figurine entered the room, it rushed to Zhou Jiayu’s side and clung to his arm, refusing to let go, acting like a spoiled child. Zhou Jiayu quickly patted its paper head to comfort it.

Little Yellow also wanted to run over for cuddles, but the moment it saw the cage placed in the corner of the room, its black bean-sized eyes widened in shock.

Big Yellow looked utterly ashamed. Little Yellow dashed to the cage and barked furiously at Big Yellow. Zhou Jiayu couldn’t understand the words, but the anger was obvious in the tone.

Big Yellow looked guilty, listening to Little Yellow with a crumpled expression and occasionally sneaking a glance at Zhou Jiayu. Zhou Jiayu was both amused and annoyed by the situation. “Alright, alright. If you two want to chat, go outside. Your shouting is giving me a headache.”

At his words, Little Yellow cautiously opened the cage and dragged its grandma outside.

Later, Zhou Jiayu learned that when Shen Musi brought Little Yellow back, her family had assumed the worst. Yellow weasels were fiercely protective, and they had all been determined to avenge her. However, Little Yellow’s grandma wasn’t familiar with human faces. To her, all humans looked like weasels—essentially indistinguishable. So ironically, the person Little Yellow was closest to, Zhou Jiayu, became the target because of the strong aura he carried.

It was sheer misfortune. Had she struck an ordinary person, the most they would’ve suffered was the loss of a soul fragment and a bit of mental confusion. But she had slapped Zhou Jiayu and nearly killed him.

When she saw Zhou Jiayu collapse completely, the first thought in her mind was: Have I gotten stronger, or is this human just a drama queen?

Thankfully, when Zhou Jiayu’s soul left his body, Lin Zhushui had been right beside him. He immediately sealed his orifices to preserve the body and later that night retrieved his soul. Even so, Lin Zhushui only had about a 70% chance of success—he wasn’t sure Zhou Jiayu’s body would survive the night.

When Zhou Jiayu woke up, Lin Zhushui had already returned to normal. Shen Yiqiong later confided that the day they returned from the temple fair, the teacher had looked terrifying. No one dared to speak the entire time. After setting up the soul-retrieving array, he went out again and returned holding a cage with a weasel inside. The weasel cowered, trembling with fear. No one knew what Lin Zhushui had said to her.

Lying on the couch from weakness, Zhou Jiayu asked, “Was he really that angry?”

Shen Yiqiong replied, “Sigh, why would I lie? I’ve followed him for so many years, and I’ve never seen that expression on his face.” He recalled it with lingering fear. “Even the teacher’s favorite senior disciple didn’t dare to make a sound.”

For some reason, Zhou Jiayu felt warm and fuzzy hearing that, and the corners of his mouth curved into a smile.

The big yellow weasel didn’t stay long—she left after catching up with Little Yellow. But before she did, she secretly left three or four pelts on Zhou Jiayu’s bed. Zhou Jiayu got quite a scare when he found them.

The pelts were beautiful—thick, soft, and warm. Each was large enough to cover his bed.

Zhou Jiayu couldn’t identify the animal they came from, so he took them to ask Lin Zhushui.

Lin Zhushui only said, “They’re good stuff. Keep them.”

Zhou Jiayu replied, “Then I’ll keep one and give the rest to you, Teacher.” Every time he saw Lin Zhushui now, he couldn’t help but think of what he’d heard in the underworld, making him feel strangely bashful. “Thanks for going through all that to bring my soul back.”

“I don’t want them,” Lin Zhushui said. “They’re warm, but I don’t need them.”

Zhou Jiayu opened his mouth to say something more.

Lin Zhushui continued, “If you really want to thank me, just learn to draw those talismans I gave you properly. You’ll need them eventually.”

Zhou Jiayu could only obediently agree.

He never did figure out what kind of animal the pelts came from. Later, Lin Zhushui had someone turn them into a long coat. It was incredibly warm. Even more miraculous, when Zhou Jiayu wore it, the ghosts and spirits he usually saw disappeared. But the coat was only suitable for winter—wearing it in summer would make people think he’d lost his mind. According to Shen Yiqiong, Zhou Jiayu looked like a bear in the coat, and warned him never to wear it in the forest…

While Zhou Jiayu was recovering, cooking duties fell to the four housemates again. Zhou Jiayu had once thought Shen Yiqiong’s noodles were the peak of culinary disaster, but after tasting Shen Erbai’s fried rice, Shen Chaosan’s stir-fried meat, and Shen Musi’s desserts, he realized Shen Yiqiong’s noodles weren’t actually that bad.

In the end, with no other choice, Zhou Jiayu sat on a stool by the wall and directed them as they cooked. But what he couldn’t understand was—how could food made with the same ingredients, same steps, and same heat taste so drastically different? Were they cursed or something?

After this incident, everyone in the house reached a consensus: anyone could get hurt, except Zhou Jiayu. If Zhou Jiayu got sick, it meant they’d be cut off from good food, and life would become a torment.

“I’ll protect you with my life,” Shen Yiqiong vowed solemnly.

Zhou Jiayu replied, “Then can you help me finish some of this fried rice?”

Shen Yiqiong ruthlessly refused: “No. I’ll die.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…”

Apparently, dying was acceptable—but eating fried rice was not. Shen Yiqiong made this declaration right before being smacked on the back of the head by Shen Erbai, who had made the fried rice.

During those days, Zhou Jiayu was so weak that even walking down the stairs left him gasping, like some sickly heroine. The others were very understanding, even adding extra cushions to his chair…

Despite his condition, Zhou Jiayu didn’t forget the promise he’d made in the underworld to the deity in the temple. He briefly told Lin Zhushui what he’d experienced and asked how to properly thank the Buddhas who had protected him.

“What did the statue look like?” Lin Zhushui asked.

“It had six arms,” Zhou Jiayu had taken care to observe before leaving, so his memory was clear. “Its body was blue, wearing tiger-skin clothes, and had a necklace of human heads… The right leg was bent, the left leg straight, and each of the six hands held something different—a trident, a knife, a bowl, and so on…”

After listening, Lin Zhushui paused in thought. “The statue you saw was likely Mahākāla, also known as Daheitian. In Buddhism, he governs wealth and illness and often guards tombs.”

Zhou Jiayu was surprised. “But they looked completely different.” He remembered the statue in the temple looking gentle, totally unlike the one he’d seen in the underworld.

“Buddhist statues have many forms. The wrathful form is just one of them. What you saw was his angry appearance,” Lin Zhushui explained. “We’ll visit the temple again in a few days. Just bring more offerings.”

Zhou Jiayu nodded in agreement.

A few days later, he visited the temple again with generous incense offerings and a donation. Kneeling on the prayer mat, he solemnly thanked the deity. As he did, he clearly felt a gaze upon him—gentle and full of compassion.

Zhou Jiayu thought that, all things considered, he was actually quite lucky. Though his constitution often brought misfortune, there were always kind people to help him through.

And Lin Zhushui… was the greatest benefactor he had ever met. Thinking of that, Zhou Jiayu couldn’t help but smile like a fool.

Even though they’d had some mishaps, the new year still had to be celebrated.

From the fourth and fifth day of the lunar new year, relatives began visiting. More and more people came to Lin Zhushui’s main residence, though most were stopped at the gates.

Zhou Jiayu didn’t think much of it until the morning of the fifth, when he heard the honking of a car at the front gate.

“Shibo’s back?” Shen Yiqiong leapt off the couch.

“Shibo?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

“Teacher’s cousin!” Shen Yiqiong’s eyes sparkled as he dashed to the door. Zhou Jiayu, curious about the excitement, slowly followed to join the fun.

When he reached the entrance, he saw the open lot beside Lin Zhushui’s residence filled with luxury cars. People were getting out and speaking with the security guards.

Zhou Jiayu was stunned. “Why are there so many people outside?”

“This isn’t even that many,” Shen Yiqiong scoffed. “Our teacher’s been pretty low-profile the last couple of years. A few years ago, the cars would’ve lined up to the next street.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” Damn, that’s impressive.

“But don’t even think about letting those people in.” Shen Yiqiong laughed. “With sir’s temperament, the fact that he didn’t have them kicked out is already giving them face.”

As he spoke, a red sports car drove in through the gates. Shen Yiqiong stood by the road and waved at the car: “Shibo! Shibo! You’re back!”

The window rolled down slowly, revealing the face of a woman. She wore exquisite makeup, a fitted cheongsam, and a mink shawl. Her unique air made Zhou Jiayu feel as if he’d stepped back into the Republican era. “Yiqiong.”

“Shibo!” Shen Yiqiong looked truly delighted to see her. It made sense—he was always surrounded by men. To a teenage boy like Shen Yiqiong, seeing a beautiful woman was like finding an oasis in a desert.

“You must be Zhou Jiayu?” the woman said with a sweet smile. Though her features were striking, her beauty wasn’t aggressive. “I’ve heard of you. My name is Lin Jue.”

“Sh—Shibo, nice to meet you.” Zhou Jiayu hesitated but ultimately decided to follow Shen Yiqiong’s example and called her Shibo.

“Don’t call me Shibo. Just use my name,” Lin Jue said with a half-smile and a warm tone. “Or, if you prefer, you can call me ‘sister.’”

Zhou Jiayu was taken aback. “Is that… allowed?”

Lin Jue chuckled. She rested her chin on her hand and glanced over Zhou Jiayu. “I see how it is.”

Zhou Jiayu was completely confused. He had no idea what she meant by that or why she was laughing. But Lin Jue didn’t insist on any particular form of address—she said gently that it was up to Zhou Jiayu, and they didn’t really stand on ceremony.

In the end, Zhou Jiayu felt that calling her “sister” was a bit inappropriate, so he followed Shen Yiqiong and called her Shibo instead.

After parking her car, Lin Jue walked with the two of them toward their residence, chatting along the way.

“By the way, I bought some things for Zhushui,” Lin Jue said. “Yiqiong, remember to sign for them this afternoon.”

Shen Yiqiong agreed readily.

Later, Zhou Jiayu learned that after Lin Zhushui’s parents passed away, it was this cousin Lin Jue who had helped him a great deal. People often say an elder sister is like a mother, and during Lin Zhushui’s childhood, it was Lin Jue who looked after him. She knew his eyesight was impaired, so every now and then, she’d buy clothes for him, coordinate the outfits, and hang them neatly in his wardrobe. No wonder Lin Zhushui’s style was always so impeccable—he didn’t seem to care, but someone else clearly did.

At that moment, Lin Jue said with a somewhat meaningful smile, “Right now, all these things are still done by me, his older cousin. But in a few years, someone else will take over… and that’s a good thing too.”

Lin Jue’s arrival brought new energy to the Lin household’s New Year festivities.

The only downside was that Zhou Jiayu hadn’t been feeling well lately and couldn’t cook. Lin Jue wasn’t as particular as Lin Zhushui—she waved her hand and ordered a feast of takeout.

After several days of eating their own cooking, the five men stared wide-eyed at the dishes Lin Jue had ordered.

“How did you all even survive before I got here?” Lin Jue asked, genuinely baffled.

“Some things are fine if you’ve never had them. But once you do, you can’t go without them again,” Shen Mushi said rationally. “It’s like finally climbing out of a pit, only to have someone throw you back in. Can you bear that?”

Zhou Jiayu thought about the food the four of them had cooked… and decided that no, he really couldn’t bear it.

Lin Zhushui arrived around lunchtime. He wasn’t interested in the takeout and only ate a little before putting down his chopsticks.

Lin Jue smiled at him. “Zhushui, you’ve been in a pretty good mood lately.”

Lin Zhushui sipped his tea without replying.

Lin Jue said, “Since you’re in such a good mood, do me a favor.”

Lin Zhushui raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have any peach blossom charms.”

Lin Jue: “…” Her expression twisted slightly.

The other five at the table all stared at their food, pretending they hadn’t heard anything.

“I’m not popular because of those charms!” Lin Jue snapped. “And anyway, your charms only attract bad peach blossoms—”

Lin Zhushui stayed silent.

Lin Jue gave up arguing with him. She reached into her bag, pulled out several newspapers, tossed them onto the table, and tapped them with a finger. “Shen Yiqiong, read.”

Shen Yiqiong reluctantly put down the chicken leg he was gnawing on, wiped his fingers with a napkin, picked up the top newspaper, and began reading aloud: “Another incident at S High School—female student dies tragically after ceiling fan falls.” He read the headline and skimmed the rest. “Whoa, is this real? Sounds like a ghost story.”

“Ghost story?” Lin Jue said. “Since when do ghost stories make the papers? Keep reading.”

Shen Yiqiong nodded, stuffed a shrimp into his mouth, chewed a couple of times, then gulped it down and continued reading the rest of the article.

It turned out that within the past year, there had been six deaths at a certain high school in S City—one incident every two months, all involving female students. The deaths were bizarre: one drowned after falling into a toilet, another fell down the stairs and broke her spine, and the most absurd one involved a student who accidentally drove a compass into her eye while doing homework—the point pierced through to the back of her head, and she couldn’t be saved. These incidents all looked like accidents on the surface, but taken together, they were extremely suspicious.

“Must be something dirty there,” Shen Yiqiong said. “Whatever it is, it’s dangerous. And the school didn’t hire anyone to deal with it?”

“Of course they did,” Lin Jue replied. “More than one. But no one could fix it—otherwise they wouldn’t have ended up coming to me.”

Lin Zhushui asked calmly, “When did it start?”

“Last year,” Lin Jue replied.

Zhou Jiayu took the paper from Shen Yiqiong and read it himself. The article didn’t go into much detail about the previous incidents, instead focusing on school safety improvements—clearly trying to divert attention.

Lin Zhushui closed his eyes, deep in thought.

“I wasn’t going to bother you with this,” Lin Jue said, “but I went and took a look—I didn’t find anything unusual.”

“You didn’t?” Lin Zhushui asked.

Lin Jue sighed. “Nope.”

The others were clearly surprised. It seemed this situation really was unusual if even Lin Jue couldn’t find anything.

Zhou Jiayu didn’t know much about Lin Jue’s strength, but judging from Shen Yiqiong’s expression, she was definitely not weak.

Lin Zhushui tapped his fingers gently on the table. “Isn’t it winter break now? Why are there still students at school?”

“They’re holding cram classes for the seniors,” Lin Jue said. “Well… they were. After this latest incident, I’m sure those have stopped. The school’s already gone through three or four principals over this. If it weren’t for their excellent college entrance rates, the education bureau would’ve shut them down by now.” Six students had died in a year, all in such bizarre ways. It must’ve been difficult for the authorities to suppress the news.

But with the intense pressure around college admissions, even if the school wanted to suspend classes, parents might not allow it.

“Tch, is school really more important than your life?” Shen Mushi said disapprovingly. “One incident every two months—who knows when it’ll be their own kid?”

“No one feels the pain until the knife’s already cut them,” Lin Jue replied. “But there’s no point complaining now. We can’t just sit back and watch those kids die one by one.”

She took a sip of wine and sighed. “Some things… are just beyond control.”

“What about the victims—any common traits?” Lin Zhushui asked.

“I looked into it,” Lin Jue said. “All girls. Three were seniors, three were juniors. All had long hair…”

“Senior and junior students? So freshmen are next?” Shen Yiqiong said. “And the school isn’t reacting?”

“What can they do?” Lin Jue seemed a little frustrated. “They turned to me and I can’t even find the cause—no one else stands a chance.”

Her tone was almost arrogant, but it was hard to argue with. So far, Zhou Jiayu hadn’t seen anything Lin Zhushui couldn’t handle.

“Let’s go take a look, then.” After a long silence, Lin Zhushui finally agreed to Lin Jue’s request.

Lin Jue visibly relaxed. Clearly, even she wasn’t sure he’d take it on.

“Send me the details,” Lin Zhushui said. “I want to read up first.”

Lin Jue nodded.

During the rest of the meal, the group discussed the case. Shen Mushi noted that supernatural incidents tied to schools were especially troublesome—many schools were built on old graveyards due to land prices. The strong yang energy of students usually balanced the yin, but when something went wrong, it meant the balance was broken. With so many deaths, if it really was something unclean, it had to be powerful.

“Yeah,” Shen Chaosan, who usually didn’t say much, spoke up. “Remember that school incident three years ago?”

Shen Yiqiong’s face went pale. “You mean the one where two students were found hanged?”

Shen Chaosan nodded.

“How could I forget?” Shen Yiqiong had only been fifteen years old at the time, and had only been following Lin Zhushui for a little over a year. He had been so terrified that he forgot his own surname, and it was all thanks to Shen Chaosan’s quick thinking. He had sent Lin Zhushui a message in advance, and Lin had saved them at the critical moment.

“This time, six people died,” Shen Musi sighed. “Looks like this is a big deal.”

Zhou Jiayu, listening from the side, felt a chill run down his spine. Shen Yiqiong’s face also turned pale from the bad memories, and he barely touched his food.

“We should head over as soon as possible,” Lin Zhushui finally concluded. “Be vigilant against any unexpected changes.”

Lin Jue nodded in agreement.

This New Year had truly been eventful. Zhou Jiayu had only just returned to his body, and Lin Zhushui had already taken on a murder case.

Originally, Lin Jue thought Lin Zhushui wouldn’t bring Zhou Jiayu along for something so dangerous, but then she heard him telling Zhou Jiayu to get ready—they’d be leaving in a few days.

“Is it okay for him to go like this?” Lin Jue, although not fully informed, still had some understanding of Zhou Jiayu’s constitution.

“There are things he has to see for himself,” Lin Zhushui said lightly. “I can protect him for a while, but not forever.”

That made sense. With Zhou Jiayu’s kind of constitution, unless he spent his whole life hiding at home, he was bound to run into things like this eventually. Lin Jue understood what Lin Zhushui meant, so she didn’t press further.

Of the remaining four disciples, Lin Zhushui chose Yiqiong. Erbai seemed like he wanted to go too, but Lin Zhushui simply told him, “Take care of your own business first.”

No one knew exactly what he was referring to, but Zhou Jiayu clearly saw Shen Erbai’s face show a bit of embarrassment after hearing that. Honestly, it was the first time Zhou Jiayu had ever seen such an expression on him…

High school winter breaks only lasted a little over twenty days. After confirming he’d accepted the case, Lin Zhushui booked a flight for the morning of the ninth day of the New Year.

The delay was to allow Zhou Jiayu’s body time to recover, at least enough so his soul wouldn’t be unstable.

This trip seemed like it would be dangerous. Zhou Jiayu brought all his talismans. Shen Yiqiong, as usual, went to buy glutinous rice. This time, though, he was smart about it and sewed three small rice bags into the inner lining of his clothes—he could even use them like sandbags for weighted training.

For the next few days, Lin Zhushui was nowhere to be seen. He was likely researching the case at the high school. Lin Jue stayed in the guest room at the Lin residence, and everyone welcomed her presence, mainly because only when she was around would Lin Zhushui allow them to order takeout.

“This paper doll is so cute.” Even though only one more person had joined them, the whole house felt livelier. Lin Jue, watching a weasel tussling with the paper doll, smiled. “Is it yours?”

“Yeah.” Zhou Jiayu nodded. “It was a gift.”

“Be careful on this trip,” Lin Jue reminded him, her expression holding a deeper meaning. “Don’t stray too far from Zhushui… Oh right, Zhou Jiayu, have you ever been in love?”

Zhou Jiayu himself hadn’t, but the original owner of this body had had a girlfriend, so he hesitated. “I guess… kind of?”

“Oh?” Lin Jue clearly didn’t believe him. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” You can tell that just by looking?

Suddenly, Lin Jue reached out and tapped the corner of his eye. “To be honest, I checked your birth chart before I came.”

Zhou Jiayu was stunned.

“Your chart contains all four of the ‘peach blossom’ times—Zi, Wu, Mao, and You. Do you know what kind of fate that is?”

Zhou Jiayu didn’t, so he shook his head.

“It’s a textbook case of the ‘Four Peach Blossom Fates’,” Lin Jue explained. “Normally, if someone has even two of these in their chart, their romantic luck will be off the charts. But you’ve got all four—”

Zhou Jiayu was completely clueless and looked totally lost the whole time.

Seeing his dazed expression, Lin Jue, who had kept a straight face, suddenly burst into laughter. She poked his cheek. “Okay, okay, I’m done teasing. You’re really too cute.”

Zhou Jiayu: “???” He was so confused by her words that his head practically had question marks floating above it.

“Stay safe,” Lin Jue repeated, ending the conversation.

At first, Zhou Jiayu thought Lin Jue had been messing with him about the Four Peach Blossom Fates, but after being reminded by Ji Ba, he checked his birth chart and confirmed that his date and time of birth actually did align with the Zi, Wu, Mao, and You time slots. Year, month, day, and hour—he had them all. He even looked it up and found people saying that if a person has even two of these times, they’ll have incredible romantic luck. So having four? No wonder the original owner had been so lucky in love. But that was the original owner—Zhou Jiayu himself had been single for over twenty years, poor guy.

During the days Lin Jue stayed, she loved teasing Zhou Jiayu. At first, he tried to treat her seriously like an elder, but eventually gave up. He realized Lin Jue’s personality was nothing like Lin Zhushui’s and couldn’t believe she was actually his senior.

Shen Yiqiong and the others were more experienced. They said Lin Jue was always calm and composed in public, but at home she was lively to the point of chaos—and she had even burned down three kitchens before giving up on cooking altogether. Now she had become a takeout expert, knowing exactly which places in the city had the best and cleanest food.

Zhou Jiayu had nothing to say about that. He figured the Lin family must’ve offended the Kitchen God somehow, to all be this uniformly bad at cooking.

On the morning of the ninth day of the New Year, the sky was bright and clear.

Lin Jue flew with them to the city, saying she wanted to see if she could be of any help.

The high school was located in a prosperous city in the southwest. The temperatures down south were warmer than in Zhou Jiayu’s hometown. As the plane flew, he noticed the snow slowly disappearing. By the time they landed, there was no snow at all—just gloomy skies and a chilly drizzle.

If northern cold was like a physical attack, then southern cold was definitely magical. Zhou Jiayu bundled himself up like a ball, but still felt the damp wind seeping through his clothes into his bones.

Zhou Jiayu: “S-So cold…”

Shen Yiqiong didn’t even bother pretending to be tough. He was dressed just like Zhou Jiayu, with only his face showing. “Yeah, cold as hell.”

Lin Jue and Lin Zhushui were both dressed rather lightly. Lin Zhushui was one thing—they were used to his fashion choices—but Lin Jue was still wearing a cheongsam and shawl. Zhou Jiayu stared at her—not because he thought she looked good, but because it looked freezing.

Shen Yiqiong totally understood Zhou Jiayu’s feelings.

Getting off the plane, Shen Yiqiong couldn’t help but ask, “Shibo, aren’t you cold?”

Lin Jue pointed to her lips. “Does my lipstick look good?”

Shen Yiqiong nodded. “Yeah, the red date color looks classy.”

Lin Jue said, “Red date your ass—I’m frozen!”

Everyone: “…”

The group concluded: Never ask a girl if she’s cold. Not everyone is Lin Zhushui—of course she’s cold. She just looks good doing it. Asking that is basically making things worse.

The car they got into was warm, at least. The driver was someone Lin Jue knew—a minor school official who introduced himself as Li Jinjiang.

He was polite enough, though his forced smile made it clear how much the case had impacted the school.

“They hired another Taoist to go in,” he said as he drove. “From some temple, supposed to be pretty powerful.”

Lin Jue frowned. “And you’re letting people into the school this late at night?”

Li Jinjiang replied, “That master insisted on going in at night. Nothing we could do.” It was winter break, and after the murders, the school was practically deserted. Aside from the guards at the gate, the school was basically shut down.

“What’s the master’s name?” Lin Jue asked.

“I think it’s something like Master Zhang…”

“Master Zhang?” Lin Jue repeated. “Could he be a descendant of Zhang Daoling?” Zhang Daoling was the founder of the Zhengyi Daoist sect. Most people titled “Heavenly Master” came from his line.

“No idea.” Li Jinjiang shook his head. He occasionally glanced at Lin Zhushui through the rearview mirror, clearly curious about the silent man sitting behind him with his eyes closed—wondering what was so special about him that made Lin Jue go to such lengths to bring him in.

“Zhushui, should we take a look?” Lin Jue asked.

“Sure,” Lin Zhushui said calmly.

“Then let’s head to the school,” Lin Jue said. “We’ll assess the situation.”

Li Jinjiang hesitated. “But it’s almost nightfall…”

“What’s there to be afraid of?” Lin Jue raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t we here now?”

Li Jinjiang had no choice but to turn the car around and head to the school. His expression showed just how much he hated the idea—if not for Lin Jue’s insistence, he clearly wouldn’t have gone near the place.

When the car arrived at the gate, the guard looked surprised to see Li Jinjiang. “Mr. Li, what are you doing here this late?”

Li casually said he was showing some friends around the school.

The guard gave him a look like he was out of his mind.

Zhou Jiayu sat in the back seat and could immediately tell something was off about the school’s aura. He looked out the window at the trees and towering buildings, and felt that instead of the vibrant energy a school should have, the place felt deathly still—almost like a graveyard.

They got out of the car and headed toward the main building, where the supposed Master Zhang was said to be performing a ritual. But as soon as they reached the entrance, they heard a scream from inside. A moment later, a group of people came tumbling out, looking terrified.

They saw the newcomers and screamed, “Help! There’s a ghost!!”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” Talk about perfect timing.

__

Author’s Note:
Zhou Jiayu: Wants to take good care of Mr. Lin.
Lin Zhushui: Wants to take good care of little silly fish.
Zhou Jiayu: Eh… eh, wait a second… wuwuwu… (This kind of “taking care” wasn’t what I had in mind!)