If what Lin Jue said was true, then it meant that the task they had taken over wasn’t a coincidence—it was more like a carefully orchestrated plan.

Zhou Jiayu suddenly thought of something. He turned to Li Jinjiang, who had been sitting next to Lin Jue and remained quiet most of the time. “Teacher Li, I’d like to ask—how did you get to know my martial uncle?”

Judging by his behavior, Li Jinjiang seemed like an ordinary person. Even if he had encountered something strange, he shouldn’t have had much knowledge of feng shui. So how could he have contacted a professional like Lin Jue directly?

Li Jinjiang looked a little nervous at the question. He stammered a couple of times but, under Lin Jue’s stern gaze, finally confessed, “S-someone sent me an email, saying you guys could help…”

“An email?” Lin Jue frowned. “Didn’t you say earlier that a friend of mine gave you the contact information?”

Li Jinjiang showed a helpless expression. “The person in the email said… when I called you, I should tell you that. That way, you’d agree to come…”

Lin Jue clearly hadn’t expected to be deceived. Her voice turned cold. “Then why are you telling the truth now?”

Li Jinjiang looked like he was about to cry. His voice even caught with emotion as he said, “I didn’t think it would turn into such a big deal. I just thought there was one ghost, and once you caught it, the school would be fine—”

Shen Yiqiong said, “So now that you found out there are seven, what are your thoughts?”

Li Jinjiang responded with surprising honesty, “I want to resign.”

Shen Yiqiong: “…”

Lin Jue seemed a bit annoyed. Her gaze toward Li Jinjiang was not friendly at all, making him hunch lower and lower in his seat, looking like he wished he could just dig a hole and bury himself in it.

“The thing is definitely still on the school premises,” Lin Jue concluded. “Tomorrow night, we’ll go to the school again, find it, and destroy it. That should take care of everything.”

“Mm.” Lin Zhushui responded calmly.

Neither of their tones revealed much tension. Zhou Jiayu and Shen Yiqiong, having just endured a whole day of ghostly knocking, were already emotionally numb. As a result, the most terrified person among them was now Li Jinjiang. He sat there looking like he might faint at any moment.

Lin Jue smiled and called his name: “Li Jinjiang.”

He shuddered. “Y-yes?”

Lin Jue said gently, “Tomorrow night, you didn’t have to come with us…”

A glimmer of hope appeared in Li Jinjiang’s eyes.

But that glimmer was quickly doused by a bucket of cold water.

“…But since you’re the one who dragged us into this, you’ll obediently come with us.” When she said “obediently,” she deliberately emphasized each syllable.

Li Jinjiang froze, his expression dull, as if the blow had nearly knocked him unconscious.

Lin Jue glanced at her watch. “Alright, that concludes today’s meeting. Everyone go back to your rooms and rest. See you tomorrow night.”

Everyone returned to their hotel rooms.

Lin Jue had originally asked if the two young men wanted to sleep in her and Lin Zhushui’s room, but Shen Yiqiong, sporting dark circles under his eyes, said he wasn’t used to it and dragged Zhou Jiayu away, claiming they had toughened up through experience and could now bravely face any storm.

Lin Jue stared at Shen Yiqiong for a long moment, then finally sighed, “Shen Yiqiong, no wonder you’re still single.”

Shen Yiqiong looked utterly confused, while Zhou Jiayu dared not speak. He had a strong feeling that Lin Jue’s comment was directed at him.

So the two cowardly guys squeezed onto one bed, and before falling asleep, swore an oath not to open the door for anyone. Opening the door? Impossible. Never in this life. They didn’t know how to catch ghosts, but they were expert cowards. Burrowing under the blankets felt like being home—they loved it in there.

Oddly enough, perhaps their determination rubbed off on the ghosts, because the two death-seeking spirits—who’d been as persistent as underpaid migrant workers demanding their wages—finally gave up.

The next morning, it snowed heavily.

Technically, the Spring Festival had already passed, and the temperature should have been rising. But this sudden snowfall made the sky look especially gloomy—though it was daytime, it felt more like dusk.

Zhou Jiayu woke up the “Dark One” Shen Yiqiong and told him to wear a light-colored down jacket that evening.

Hearing that first thing in the morning made Shen Yiqiong grumble. “Can you stop calling me Dark One?”

Zhou Jiayu replied, “Then can you stop calling me ‘Guan’er’?”

Shen Yiqiong: “Nope, Guan’er.”

Zhou Jiayu: “Fine then, Dark One.”

The two of them kept verbally sparring, trying to lighten the mood, but deep down, the looming school trip was weighing heavily on them.

Zhou Jiayu packed his bag, bringing everything he thought might be useful. He had a hunch—they were in for a tough fight tonight.

Shen Yiqiong packed even more than he did and sighed, saying that before Zhou Jiayu came into his life, he thought he’d spend the rest of his days doing feng shui work. But now, it looked like ghost-hunting was in his future too.

Zhou Jiayu comforted him, “It never hurts to have more skills.”

Lin Jue and Lin Zhushui, in contrast, looked perfectly composed. During breakfast, they casually reminded the group of the precautions for that night. In fact, there was only one: Lin Jue said, “If anything happens, just get close to your master. The closer, the better.”

Shen Yiqiong nodded like a woodpecker.

Lin Jue added, “Not too close, Shen Yiqiong.”

Shen Yiqiong, aggrieved: “Why not?”

Lin Jue replied, “Don’t you know coal ignites when it gets too close to an open flame?”

Shen Yiqiong: “…”

It was at that moment that he finally realized—his skin color had become a running joke among these people. The scariest part was, he couldn’t even argue, because he was unreasonably dark. But skin color was natural—what could he do about it?

By three in the afternoon, the sky had already darkened. Howling wind swept through with swirling snowflakes, lashing at their faces like knives.

The whole city seemed to slow down. There were no pedestrians on the streets—only the occasional passing car served as proof that the city was still alive.

They once again arrived at the school gate.

The school’s front gate was open, but the security booth was empty. They slipped in through the side entrance, and Zhou Jiayu immediately sensed a heavier, more suffocating atmosphere than before.

“The object should be in the southwest direction,” Lin Zhushui reported, “somewhere that contains both water and wood.”

“Southwest?” Li Jinjiang said. “That should be the school library…”

“Then let’s go,” Lin Jue urged.

The school was quite large, with comprehensive teaching facilities. According to Li Jinjiang, the library and laboratory were in the same direction—buildings added during the school’s later expansion.

Ding-ling, ding-ling, ding-ling… Just as the group was moving forward, a sharp and piercing bell suddenly rang out, echoing through the empty campus.

“Is that the class bell?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

Li Jinjiang nodded. “Yeah, even during holidays they usually don’t turn it off—it’s set to follow the usual class schedule.”

Zhou Jiayu looked thoughtful.

It was probably set on a timer—streetlamps along the path began lighting up one by one. The bulbs sizzled as the electricity passed through, making a faint buzzing sound.

The walk to the library was a bit long. Zhou Jiayu kept an eye on his surroundings. As they passed the academic building they had entered earlier, he noticed a faint light coming from one of the windows.

But it wasn’t the light that was noteworthy—it was what the light revealed. Zhou Jiayu clearly saw a pair of hands gripping the windowsill tightly. The skin was deathly pale—clearly not human.

Everyone saw it, but no one said a word. Lin Jue and Lin Zhushui were unreadable as always, and the expressions on the other three were oddly calm—as if saying, “So, you’ve finally shown up.”

They finally reached the library entrance. Li Jinjiang took out a key and opened the door. Creak—the glass door slowly opened, revealing a pitch-dark corridor inside.

“I think the light switch is on the right,” Li Jinjiang said, reaching toward the right wall. But the moment his hand touched the wall, he jumped as if shocked and cursed loudly.

“What happened?” Zhou Jiayu asked, startled by his reaction.

Li Jinjiang’s voice trembled. “Th-the wall… there’s something on it…”

Zhou Jiayu quickly pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, aiming the beam at the wall. As the light landed on the surface, he gasped sharply.

The wall around the switch was covered in patches of skin sewn together with thick thread. The flesh was a sickly color, pieced together like a quilt, somehow stuck to the wall.

“What is this?” Li Jinjiang swallowed hard. “H-h-human skin?”

Lin Zhushui said nothing. He stepped forward, placed a hand directly on the patch, and turned around to speak with an indifferent tone: “Just pigskin.”

Hearing that it wasn’t human skin, the three of them breathed a sigh of relief. But Zhou Jiayu noticed Lin Jue didn’t look at ease at all. She turned to the left and, unsurprisingly, found the same patches covering the opposite wall.

“This is a trap,” she said coldly, “testing whether we dare step in.”

Lin Zhushui let out a sharp laugh.

The sight seemed to ignite both their tempers.

Zhou Jiayu didn’t fully understand what was going on until Shen Yiqiong whispered an explanation: “It looks like a formation… using the flesh and skin of living beings as a cage, it can suppress the powers of many feng shui masters.”

Zhou Jiayu suddenly understood.

Lin Zhushui casually flicked the switch, and the lights on the library’s first floor came on. But even though the lights were now on, they didn’t offer much comfort. Instead, they cast an eerie, pale glow over everyone’s faces.

“There are a lot of wooden desks in the library,” Lin Jue said, studying the structure map near the entrance. “There’s plenty of wood, but not much water. If I had to guess, the water should be in the restrooms. And there seem to be several of those—we’ll need to check each one.”

“Too slow. Let’s split up,” Lin Zhushui replied.

Lin Jue smiled. “Sure.” She pointed at Shen Yiqiong. “Hei Zai, you’re with me. Li Jinjiang, you too.”

As soon as Zhou Jiayu heard the grouping, he began to panic. He opened his mouth but couldn’t get out a single protest. Lin Zhushui seemed to read his mind and asked mildly, “What? You don’t want to come with me?”

Zhou Jiayu stammered, “N-no, not at all.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with Lin Zhushui—he was just afraid of giving something away.

“You guys check the second floor,” Lin Jue said. “We’ll start with the first.”

Lin Zhushui agreed.

According to Li Jinjiang, the library was quite large, with at least three restrooms per floor. Searching them all would take time.

There were both stairs and an elevator, but for safety reasons, they chose to use the stairs.

Lin Jue led her group away, leaving Lin Zhushui and Zhou Jiayu behind. Zhou Jiayu’s palms were slick with cold sweat. He tried to maintain a bit of distance from Lin Zhushui, but the man called him closer.

“There might be something on the second floor,” Lin Zhushui said. “Don’t stray too far.”

Zhou Jiayu quickly nodded.

It wasn’t the first time they’d been alone together, but Zhou Jiayu still couldn’t control his racing heartbeat. As they climbed the stairs, he even started wondering whether his nerves were due to the eerie library… or the expressionless man beside him.

The stairs weren’t long, and soon they reached the second floor, which was even larger than the first, surrounded by neatly arranged bookshelves.

Lin Zhushui led Zhou Jiayu toward the nearest restroom.

There were no lights on the second floor, so Zhou Jiayu used his phone’s flashlight again. Lin Zhushui kept his eyes closed, so the light didn’t bother him—but Zhou Jiayu couldn’t manage without it. Without the flashlight, he’d probably end up plastered to Lin Zhushui’s back.

As they moved toward the restroom, Zhou Jiayu noticed the walls were lined with framed portraits. At first, he thought they were of famous figures—a common sight in libraries—but a glance out of the corner of his eye made him stumble in fright.

They weren’t portraits of famous people. They were images of the dead—students wearing school uniforms, their faces deathly pale, staring out at him with hollow eyes.

Lin Zhushui heard Zhou Jiayu’s misstep and asked softly, “What is it?”

Zhou Jiayu replied, “…Th-those portraits. I think they’re of the dead students.”

Lin Zhushui gave a cold laugh. “Cheap tricks.” With a flick of his wrist, the portraits on the wall burst into flames.

The figures inside began to distort. At first Zhou Jiayu thought it was just heat warping the image, but when he looked closely, he realized the figures were actually writhing inside the frames.

Lin Zhushui’s face was like ice as he continued forward. “Zhou Jiayu, remember—what can really kill you will never waste its time trying to scare you.”

Zhou Jiayu nodded firmly.

“Only useless things waste effort like that,” Lin Zhushui added, almost with a sneer. “Fear drains your strength. If you panic first, you’re giving them the opening they want.”

Zhou Jiayu thought his words made perfect sense, though in reality, controlling fear was no easy feat.

Still, Zhou Jiayu’s respect for Lin Zhushui only grew, and he felt a surge of determination.

The restroom was in a more remote corner, down a short, narrow hallway. Lin Zhushui walked ahead, Zhou Jiayu following closely behind.

Drip, drip… The library was too quiet. Before they even entered, Zhou Jiayu heard the sound of dripping water.

The men’s restroom was on the left, the women’s on the right. From outside, both appeared empty. At this hour, in this kind of place, if you saw anyone inside—it probably wasn’t someone alive.

Lin Zhushui entered the men’s room first.

There were eight stalls. Everything looked normal. But Zhou Jiayu still felt uneasy, because he could clearly hear water dripping somewhere.

Next was the women’s restroom. Zhou Jiayu took a deep breath and followed Lin Zhushui inside.

Drip… drip… Water dripped from the ceiling, forming a thin puddle on the floor. The beam of the flashlight reflected off it faintly. Zhou Jiayu slowly lifted his head, trying to locate the leak.

But when he saw what was above the puddle, his breath caught in his throat.

“Sir…” Zhou Jiayu’s voice quivered with a hint of tears. “Th-there’s something up there…”

It was a humanoid thing hanging from the ceiling, its body upside down, limbs bent at unnatural angles to stick to the ceiling. Its long hair dangled in midair, swaying gently. The face was bluish, the mouth slightly open, revealing a crimson tongue—clearly the ghost of a woman who had died by hanging.

Zhou Jiayu had told himself again and again not to be afraid. But when he actually saw it, his body betrayed him—trembling uncontrollably, hands and feet turning icy cold.

“Drip, drip…”
Saliva slid from that thing’s mouth and splashed onto the floor. She had also noticed Zhou Jiayu and Lin Zhushui, and her posture shifted slightly—at a glance, it looked like she was about to pounce on them.

At this point, Zhou Jiayu truly couldn’t afford to think about the fleeting little flutter in his heart. He pressed close to Lin Zhushui, not daring to step even half a pace away.

Just as it seemed the filthy thing was about to leap on them, Lin Zhushui calmly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch, then slowly took something out from within. His movements were unhurried, as if he felt nothing of the suffocating tension hanging in the air.

In just a moment, a small white hairpin appeared in Lin Zhushui’s hand. Zhou Jiayu recognized it—it was one of the items they had dug out of the ceramic jar on the sports field.

The moment the thing on the ceiling caught sight of the hairpin, it became visibly agitated. It started to scuttle rapidly across the ceiling but never dropped down.

A sigh filled with sympathy slipped from Lin Zhushui’s lips. He murmured gently, “Go.”

A burst of bright yellow flame flared up suddenly, setting the white hairpin ablaze in Lin Zhushui’s palm. He didn’t seem to mind the heat at all, holding onto the burning object until it crumbled to ash.

As the hairpin burned, the filthy entity began to emit shrill, bloodcurdling screams. The sound was chilling—Zhou Jiayu felt goosebumps crawl all over his arms.

“Aaaaahhh—!”
The ghostly woman fell heavily from the ceiling to the floor. Her body twisted and contorted, her face utterly grotesque.

At first, Zhou Jiayu thought burning the hairpin was meant to completely destroy the thing. But he quickly realized otherwise—though she screamed in agony and writhed in pain, she was slowly beginning to return to her human form.

Lin Zhushui was chanting under his breath, golden ripples of light spreading out around him. Zhou Jiayu had seen something similar once before, when Lin Zhushui had released the spirits on Huiming Bridge. However, this time there were no lotus blossoms in the light—only flames, as if they were burning away all impurity.

Eventually, the ghost transformed into a teenage girl curled up on the ground. She wore a school uniform and had long hair draped over her shoulders. Tears streamed continuously from her eyes. Just before she vanished, she uttered two words that Zhou Jiayu didn’t understand—“bones.”

Bones? What did that mean? Zhou Jiayu was just about to ask when her body began to fade, eventually turning into soft particles of light. Judging by the scene, it seemed she had moved on to reincarnation.

“Sir,” Zhou Jiayu asked, “what did she mean?”

Lin Zhushui raised an eyebrow slightly. “She said something?”

Zhou Jiayu blinked, surprised that Lin Zhushui hadn’t heard the spirit speak at all.

But Lin Zhushui explained calmly, “Spirits who have been absolved like that usually can’t speak. Even if they try, most people can’t hear them. You probably have a special constitution.”

Zhou Jiayu looked helpless. If given the choice, he really wouldn’t want this sort of ‘special’ trait. “Before she vanished, she said two words… ‘bones.’”

“Bones?” Lin Zhushui echoed softly, frowning in thought.

Just then, a piercing scream rang out from outside the room. Zhou Jiayu immediately recognized the voice—it was Shen Yiqiong. Whatever they had seen on the first floor must have been terrifying.

“Let’s go check on them,” Lin Zhushui said, sounding a bit resigned. “Then we’ll head to the third floor.”

Zhou Jiayu nodded furiously.

As they left the bathroom, Zhou Jiayu glanced back—and for a moment, he thought he saw a shadowy figure standing near the window. But since Lin Zhushui didn’t mention it, he figured it was probably just his imagination.

Back in the first-floor lounge, Zhou Jiayu saw Shen Yiqiong sitting on the sofa, and beside him was an unconscious Li Jinjiang.

Lin Jue, seeing them return, said, “There’s nothing on the first floor. Just one ghost.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…”
How could he say something so terrifying in such a calm voice?

Lin Zhushui nodded. “Same on the second floor.”

Lin Jue said, “Let’s head up to the third floor then. What about this Li Jinjiang? He fainted as soon as he walked into the bathroom.”

Everyone looked at Li Jinjiang.

Shen Yiqiong rolled up his sleeves. “No worries, I’ll wake him up.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…”

He then watched, eyes wide, as Shen Yiqiong stormed over and gave Li Jinjiang several loud slaps across the face. Li Jinjiang groggily regained consciousness, and the first thing out of his mouth was, “H-Help! The down jacket is flying—”

“Pfft.”
Even though the mood was still tense, everyone couldn’t help laughing. Even Lin Zhushui curved his lips slightly.

Shen Yiqiong nearly exploded. “It’s me! It’s me! What do you mean the down jacket is flying?!”

Hearing Shen Yiqiong’s voice, Li Jinjiang finally settled down a bit. Sniffling, he muttered, “Shen Yiqiong? My face really hurts…”

Shen Yiqiong, cold and merciless: “Get up now, or we’re leaving you here.”

Hearing that he might be left alone, Li Jinjiang sprang off the sofa like a cat on fire.

Seeing that Li Jinjiang was up, Lin Jue nodded in satisfaction. “Let’s go.”

And so, the group made their way to the third floor.

---

Author’s Note:
Zhou Jiayu: My heart won’t stop pounding… Is it because the Sir is beside me?

Shen Yiqiong: No, it’s because there’s a ghost floating right above your head.

Zhou Jiayu: …

There will be romance, but our Guan’er here (Zhou Jiayu) is timid, and the Sir is very reserved. The emotional development won’t be straightforward—it’ll take time. Otherwise, it’d break character.