The bodyguards were just that—bodyguards. No matter what, Qian Yun was still the heiress of the Qian family. Any guard with half a brain wouldn't dare to block her path like some reckless brute.
Only after Qian Yun and Mo Lin had already exited the hotel lobby did one of the guards finally raise his voice.
"The young lady has escaped—go after her, quickly!"
Putting on a show of dutifulness, the guard set off in pursuit.
Qian Yun, now in the driver's seat of her crimson Maserati, floored the gas pedal. The sports car roared to life, tearing through the streets with impressive speed. Mo Lin sat calmly in the passenger seat, his posture relaxed, his gaze steady.
Sneaking a glance at him, Qian Yun lowered her voice and gently reminded, "Brother Mo, if you have enough ghost currency, you might be able to purchase that ghost emissary outright."
Receiving no reply, she kept her eyes on the road, gripping the steering wheel with determined focus.
She even ran a red light, unwilling to lose precious seconds. If they arrived at the Jin Ancestral Hall only to find the ghost emissary already sold, the consequences would be grave.
At the Jin Ancestral Hall.
More than a hundred people had gathered within the expansive courtyard of the old temple. Today's event was a relatively small auction, and most of the items up for bid were tools used in ghost hunting, along with a few minor ghost artifacts.
The official currency of exchange? Ghost currency—rare, ethereal, and difficult to obtain.
The auction was nearing its end. All the listed items had already been sold. Many in the crowd, however, had not come for tools or trinkets. They were here for the rumored ghost emissary.
But as the event drew to a close, no such item had appeared, and restlessness began to bubble to the surface.
"Didn't they say there would be a ghost emissary?"
"Exactly! Where is it?"
"Was this all a scam?"
"The auction's nearly over and there's still no sign of it."
The crowd erupted in angry murmurs and frustrated complaints.
"Patience... The ghost emissary will be presented now," came the smooth, unhurried voice of a middle-aged man, who greeted the attendees with a pleasant smile.
Following the direction of his extended hand, the crowd turned their gaze to see a woman stepping forward, cradling what appeared to be a small wooden cage—eerily reminiscent of a birdcage.
Red characters were densely inscribed across the wooden frame, a black cloth draped over it, and crimson threads tightly bound the structure.
"This is the ghost emissary," the man announced, slowly peeling back half the black cloth.
Within the cage, a miniature black figure was suspended in mid-air, its limbs pierced and bound by red threads, its body hanging lifelessly at the center of the cage.
The man allowed the audience only the briefest glimpse before swiftly covering it once again.
"If anyone here is capable of forging a contract with this ghost emissary," he declared, "they could rise to the rank of a Level 5 Ghost Tamer... perhaps even Level 6."
The statement landed like a thunderclap.
The murmurs turned to astonished gasps. Excitement surged through the crowd like wildfire.
To become a Level 5 Ghost Tamer—what an unimaginable leap! In all of Yunchuan City, there wasn't a single individual who had reached that height. The opportunity to be the first was tantalizing beyond measure.
Yet among the hopeful were also the wise. A few narrowed their eyes in suspicion.
A contract with a ghost emissary? If it were truly so simple, would the organizers be offering it up in an auction? Why wouldn't they keep it for themselves?
"If it were that easy to form a pact with a ghost emissary," one corpulent man muttered to himself, "they wouldn't be selling it."
The middle-aged auctioneer responded only with a cryptic smile, preserving the mystique.
"Now begins the auction for the ghost emissary. The starting bid—twenty thousand ghost coins."
His voice echoed through the courtyard.
The once clamorous space fell utterly silent.
Twenty thousand ghost coins.
A sky-high price.
Ghost currency could only be acquired by extracting it from ghosts—a process both dangerous and painstaking. The supply paled in comparison to demand, making it a coveted, near-sacred resource.
Though a conversion rate technically existed—one thousand RMB per ghost coin—no one in their right mind would exchange ghost coins for earthly money. The true street value was far higher.
Even two thousand ghost coins would bankrupt an average ghost tamer. Twenty thousand was an astronomical sum.
The crowd, earlier full of bluster, now stood hushed, not a voice daring to speak up.
A full minute passed.
"Anyone willing to place a bid?" the auctioneer finally prompted again.
Still, silence.
"Can the price be lowered?" asked a young ghost tamer hesitantly.
The auctioneer shook his head. "No. The bottom line is twenty thousand. We don't set the price—it was given to us by the consignor. We're only handling the sale and taking our cut."
"If there are no bids, the ghost emissary will be withdrawn from the auction," he announced once more.
"I'll buy it," a voice rang out clearly.
A young man dressed in designer clothes raised his hand confidently.
All eyes turned to him.
"Young Master Wang sure knows how to make an entrance."
"So generous! So rich!"
"He can afford twenty thousand ghost coins? The Wang family must have struck gold these past years."
The young man—Wang Bing—was the picture of wealth and entitlement. A second-generation rich kid and a Level 2 Ghost Tamer, his family's resources were beyond doubt.
The auctioneer's eyes twinkled. "Young Master Wang, a pleasure."
"I want to inspect the goods first," Wang Bing said.
"Of course," replied the auctioneer.
The man handed him the wooden cage. Wang Bing pulled aside the cloth and peered closely inside, nodding to himself.
It was indeed a ghost emissary. Wounded, yes—its soul near collapse, likely requiring over a thousand ghost coins to fully heal—but its identity was beyond question.
Wang Bing didn't care about its current state. He had other plans.
He would let his contract-bound ghost absorb the ghost emissary, allowing it to evolve into a higher-level threat.
That alone would elevate him to a Level 3 Ghost Tamer.
"Are you satisfied with the item?" the auctioneer asked with a deferential tilt of the head.
"I am," Wang Bing replied, reaching into his coat and producing two thick stacks of ghost coins.
The auctioneer accepted the payment with a smile. He didn't even bother counting it—no one would dare cheat the Jin Ancestral Hall.
Should anyone try to deceive them, the retribution would be swift and severe.
Wang Bing, now in possession of the cage, turned and strode away, followed closely by a man clad in black—his bodyguard and the Wang family's top ghost tamer, a Level 3.
His duty was simple: protect Wang Bing and ensure the ghost emissary returned safely.
Qian Yun brought the Maserati to a screeching halt outside the Jin Ancestral Hall and grabbed Mo Lin by the hand.
"Brother Mo, hurry! If we're too late, someone might've already bought the ghost emissary!"
But just as she tried to pull him forward, she stumbled slightly.
It was as if she were trying to drag a mountain.
Mo Lin hadn't moved. He stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed ahead with a chilling calmness.
Following his line of sight, Qian Yun spotted Wang Bing walking out of the ancestral hall.
In his hand, the unmistakable outline of that small wooden cage—shrouded in black cloth.
Too late.