What truly unsettled Wang Bing was the gradual distortion of Mo Lin's expression—twisting into something sinister and malevolent. He couldn't fathom why Mo Lin would look at him in such a way, nor understand the bizarre words falling from his lips. A chill spread through his chest. Fear began to creep in.
"Brother, please stop shouting at me like that… You're scaring me," Wang Bing stammered, unable to keep the tremor from his voice.
Mo Lin didn't flinch. "Stay still. I'm not calling out to you. I'm speaking to the one inside your body."
Wang Bing froze. "What…?"
"Are you serious?" His voice rose in disbelief, trying to smother the tremor of fear that had taken hold. There was only one thought echoing in his mind—This guy must be insane.
Speak to a ghost? Is he joking?
Even setting aside how unreachable the contracted spirit within his body was, there was no reason it would heed a stranger's call. Who did Mo Lin think he was? What kind of madman tried to command spirits?
"Brother, you're being delusional. There's no way my contracted ghost will respond to you."
Not even Wang Bing himself could summon the ghost at will, much less a stranger.
But just as his words ended, a shadowy gray-black figure began to drift out of his body.
A chill ran through him.
The apparition took the form of a man, though only the upper half of his body remained. His face was covered in bulbous growths—gnarled and grotesque. It wasn't horrifying in the traditional sense, but anyone with a fear of clustered holes or patterns would likely be nauseated by the sight.
Wang Bing watched, wide-eyed and dumbfounded, as the ghost emerged fully into the space before him. For three years he had been contracted to this entity, and yet this was the first time he had ever seen its complete form.
"Wha—? It actually came out…? Just like that?"
He stood there, mouth agape. This was absurd. What kind of monster is this guy?
The ghost, upon fully materializing, did not snarl or roar as expected. Instead, he dipped his head in a gesture of subservience.
"My Lord, forgive my delay. I meant no disrespect. My spirit is weak, my perception dulled—I did not recognize your call at once."
It trembled as it spoke, a palpable fear in its voice.
For the first time since their bond was formed, Wang Bing could feel his contracted ghost's fear. Genuine, bone-deep fear. Despite his vague understanding of their dialogue, he was certain of one thing: this ghost was terrified of Mo Lin.
"You're from the Ghost Realm, aren't you?" Mo Lin asked, narrowing his eyes.
The apparition nodded. "I once belonged to Yedou. Later, I was seized by a great ghost from the Ghost Realm, and served as a wandering soul for many years."
There was no attempt at deception. Its tone was humble, deferential.
Wang Bing couldn't make sense of the exchange, but he could feel it—his ghost was trying to explain something, perhaps justify itself.
Though currently weak, this spirit had once been formidable—judging by its remnants, it had likely reached the "Perilous Class," a level recognized in the world of ghost tamers as equivalent to a Grade Three ghost.
If Mo Lin could heal its injuries, it might reclaim that power.
"How did you get this injury?" Mo Lin asked curiously.
"My Lord, do you recall unleashing the Five Viscera Ghost-Hiding Technique in the Ghost Realm? The moment you summoned that great being, and single-handedly waged war against seventy-eight great ghosts before departing unscathed?"
Even recounting it, the ghost's voice wavered with emotion and reverence.
"Of course I remember," Mo Lin replied lightly.
He had paid a heavy price back then, using the incomplete technique far before it was ready.
"My injuries," the ghost said softly, "were inflicted in the aftermath of that very summoning. I was merely observing from afar… and yet I was nearly obliterated."
Wang Bing stood nearby, utterly lost in their cryptic exchange. Wait, Mo Lin injured it? But how? He's alive, isn't he? He was in the Ghost Realm?
None of it made any sense.
Did he die and come back? Is that even possible?
What the hell is the Five Viscera Ghost-Hiding Technique? Why does it sound so terrifying?
Mo Lin, sensing Wang Bing's confusion, merely turned away. He didn't bother explaining.
"I'll heal you now," he said simply.
He withdrew ten spirit notes from the Ghost Suppression Book, each worth a hundred ghost coins.
Wang Bing stood there stunned. "W-what the...?"
The spirit currency began to dissolve into mist before his eyes.
Unbelievable… He had never seen anything like it.
This is the work of a true master.
Compared to what he'd known, this was like a mud hut encountering a palace.
With one hand raised, Mo Lin pressed his palm to the ghost's forehead. The mist flowed into the ghost's body, which began to swell and rise, like a balloon inflating. In less than a minute, its lower body began to reform—legs coalescing from the ether, its figure restored.
Simple as it seemed, it was a technique only those of the Underworld Envoy rank and above could perform. Mo Lin hadn't done much—the real credit went to the ghost currency, forged from the very essence of ghostly energy, the most potent nourishment a ghost could receive.
"My Lord, thank you for restoring my form," the ghost said gratefully.
"Return now," Mo Lin commanded.
The ghost bowed and vanished back into Wang Bing's body.
A jolt of energy surged through Wang Bing. He could feel it—the sheer power of a Perilous-Class ghost.
He had finally reached the rank of a Grade Three Ghost Tamer.
"Brother Mo," he blurted in awe, "I tried everything—even two hundred thousand ghost coins couldn't heal my contracted ghost. How did you manage it with only one thousand?"
He had invested heavily—rather than directly healing his ghost, he had purchased another ghost to absorb its power, hoping that transfer would mend his partner.
And yet, Mo Lin had done it in moments, with a fraction of the cost.
"You wouldn't understand," Mo Lin replied calmly.
There was no point explaining. In simpler terms—Mo Lin was an Underworld Envoy. To compare it to the mortal world: a farmer might sit on a fortune without moving it, while a merchant turns a small sum into an empire.
The difference lay not in the money, but the hands that used it.
Wang Bing chuckled awkwardly. "Thank you, Brother Mo."
His tone had shifted completely. Gone was the wary stranger from earlier—now, he was all smiles and deference.
He wasn't stupid. Anyone capable of such power deserved respect.
"I've fulfilled my part of the deal."
"Don't worry, the ghost is yours," Wang Bing said eagerly, leading Mo Lin back toward Yang Xu, who still held the ghost in a cage.
But as time passed and Wang Bing failed to return, Yang Xu grew restless. He began pacing, glancing uneasily at the cage in his hands.
A thought began to form—Should I run?
This ghost was worth twenty thousand ghost coins.
He couldn't let it be taken without a fight.
After a brief hesitation, he made his decision.
Without a word, he spun around, leapt into the driver's seat of a nearby vehicle, started the engine, shifted into gear, and sped off.
The car roared down the street, the rush of wind whipping past Wang Bing, who had just turned a corner.
He stood frozen, watching Yang Xu flee at top speed, not even glancing back.
He didn't even hesitate... Wang Bing thought in disbelief.
Left me standing in the wind like a fool...