The task was completed.
Whether it was finding the reason for the renewed energy disturbance in the tube building or confirming the cause of He Shuyu’s death, both tasks were accomplished.
After Chen Ranyi disappeared, the two of them received a text message from the Administration Bureau that the vehicle picking them up was already at the school gate.
Shen Huanhuan took a photo of Chen Ranyi’s self-portrait.
The surveillance in the studio had already been destroyed by Lin Xinjui. The two packed up the mess inside, and Shen Huanhuan left several hundred yuan on the painting board that had been kicked in half by Lin Xinjui.
“Let’s go,” Jiang Yan said.
“Mm, let’s go.” Shen Huanhuan glanced back at the studio one last time, blinking several times, suppressing the sourness in her eyes.
She really liked this girl, Chen Ranyi. The two were about the same age; if they had met, perhaps they would have become the best of friends.
In the early hours of Anping No. 1 High, there was not a sound. Perhaps because this building was too far from the security room, the earlier commotion hadn’t alarmed the staff on duty.
The two quietly walked downstairs, their light footsteps echoing in the corridor.
“I thought Chen Ranyi’s obsession would have been about Chen Ning.”
Shen Huanhuan suddenly whispered.
Jiang Yan didn’t say anything.
So Shen Huanhuan continued: “But she was braver than I imagined.”
“I’ve always thought it takes courage to let go of the shackles of family after great pain and torment… To stop having expectations of a mother, that’s decisive and brave.”
Jiang Yan lowered her eyes, her knuckles tightening slightly before slowly relaxing.
A strong wind swept by outside the window. The peach blossoms beneath the window burst apart, scattering in all directions; one light pink petal fluttered on the wind and landed gently on her shoulder.
Shen Huanhuan noticed the flower too. She looked at the long distance between the window and Jiang Yan and exclaimed in surprise.
“Even from so far, it lands on you.”
Perhaps because she had a year’s experience streaming, and had seen many joys and sorrows, that heaviness gradually faded from Shen Huanhuan’s body.
She pinched the little flower, placing it into Jiang Yan’s palm. “This little flower is fateful with you.”
Jiang Yan smiled.
“Thank you.”
Then, when they reached the school gate, the staff on duty simply took them for teachers working overtime and let them through without checking their credentials.
After getting in the car, the bus started up.
Jiang Yuqing stood in front, first congratulating everyone, then summarizing the logical threads the contestants had uncovered to the live broadcast audience.
Lastly, she shared the current progress of the case.
“The psychic involved has already been arrested,” Jiang Yuqing said. “Lu Dong, male, 48 this year.”
“A talented folk psychic who never officially registered with the Bureau. A few years ago, he bought two books about psychic practice from a roadside stall and self-studied some crooked techniques. He had some personal connections and was the one who approached Chen Ning on his own initiative.”
“According to him, he helped Chen Ning simply to test his own self-taught skills. Later, he stalked the cursed targets and texted them to verify the power of his spells. He thought the curse had failed with He Shuyu, but when Zhang Tian found him, he realized it never failed at all, so he bragged about it to his friends for days.”
“He’s undergoing normal interrogation in the Interrogation Room right now. Do you want to hear his voice?”
The Supernatural Administration Bureau’s Interrogation Room was known for its humanitarian ethos. Everyone sent there was already confirmed to have blood on their hands, and the purpose of the Interrogation Room was to fully embrace humanitarian ideals—extracting more confessions under the torment of vengeful ghosts.
Seeing that no one objected, Jiang Yuqing casually pressed her phone and played a recording.
The audio was very clear.
Whether it was the sound of someone banging their head against the wall, teeth chattering, or the endless shouts and pleas for mercy, it was all crystal clear.
“This was recorded three minutes ago,” Jiang Yuqing said.
“There are sixteen contract-bound vengeful ghosts in the Interrogation Room, each with their own hobbies. Except for killing, the Bureau doesn’t care how they play. As for the prisoners,” her tone changed, voice slowing, “We don’t cuff or shackle them. Other than death, they can do anything—very free.”
When she finished, Jiang Yuqing swept her eyes over the crowd, finally settling on the camera.
Her words carried a strong warning. There were many internal divisions in the Bureau’s management, but one point of consensus—communing with spirits was never an easy shortcut to harming people. The Interrogation Room existed as a deterrent for careless, life-taking psychics.
Of course, when necessary, it would also serve as a deterrent to ordinary people who recklessly took lives.
Shen Xiaoxiao leaned on the chair in front, curiously asking: “What about Zhang Tian and Xiang Nanzhi, and Zhu Xinyun? What will happen to them?”
Jiang Yuqing: “Each of those three has a complicated situation.”
“They’re in police custody for now. The Bureau will assign professionals for follow-up. By the way, don’t worry about Zhang Xiaoliang and Li Cheng. For basic living needs and education, the Bureau will be there every step.”
“Finally, about Chen Ning,” Jiang Yuqing paused.
“In half an hour, the Abbot of Wuling Temple will livestream a summoning, forcibly recalling Chen Ning’s spirit, nullifying her karma for the next life, and imprisoning her in the Interrogation Room for ten years.”
The moment she finished, half the online viewers left the stream for the spirit summoning broadcast.
Sitting behind Jiang Yan, Shen Xiaoxiao exclaimed dramatically: “Wow, it’s the Abbot of Wuling Temple~”
Jiang Yan turned her gaze: “You know her?”
Shen Xiaoxiao grinned: “She’s my and big sister’s master! A dashing beauty, long hair, suit, legs for days—super cool!”
Jiang Yan nodded, saying no more.
She turned, opening the window a crack.
It was one a.m. The sky was deep and dark, but not oppressive. At last, the air no longer carried that lingering bloody stench from the tube building; Jiang Yan drew a deep breath.
There was even a slight sweetness to it.
But now the bus was driving on the asphalt road, barren all around—no wildflowers could waft their scent so far. Jiang Yan lowered her eyes, spotting the peach blossom, which somehow had floated from her pocket back onto her shoulder.
The little blossom lay meekly on her shoulder, dewdrops beading on its petals, as if getting bigger and bigger.
Jiang Yan stared at it for a few seconds.
Jiang Yan threw it out the window.
*
This time, the bus drove until the very end, finally arriving at Jiang Yan’s neighbourhood.
When Jiang Yan got off, the first rays of dawn had just appeared on the horizon.
She glanced at her phone—5:30 a.m. The air was cool but pleasant, the wind comfortable.
On one side, the breakfast shop was packed, bustling with people fresh from their morning exercise and office workers.
Jiang Yan queued for a serving of shaomai, then dragged her suitcase into the complex.
Several elderly ladies were exercising inside. One of them had their eyes lit up as soon as she saw Jiang Yan.
From afar, she called out, “Girl, where have you been?”
As Jiang Yan came closer, the old lady sincerely marvelled, “Hardworking kids like you are rare these days. Back from a business trip this early?”
“You must be exhausted, huh?”
Jiang Yan glanced sideways, about to speak, when the old lady revealed her real reason for greeting, “Girl, ever since you left last time, I just knew something didn’t add up!”
“Are you sure you got all muddy last time by falling into a sewer? Who even falls into sewers these days—and where?”
The old lady looked full of curiosity. Jiang Yan kindly said, “Want to smell for yourself?”
The old lady was puzzled: “Smell?”
Jiang Yan lifted up her sleeve, holding it to the lady’s nose, fanning the fabric so the scent wafted over.
“Smell it?”
The old lady took a deep breath: “I can smell it!”
Jiang Yan: “What does it smell like?”
The old lady savored the scent: “A little fishy…”
“You just came from the seafood market?”
She leaned in for another sniff. “Smells a little off, too?”
The stench of the tube building had seeped into Jiang Yan’s clothes.
Jiang Yan nodded with a smile. “Now you know, right?”
“I fell into a sewer at the seafood market.”
The old lady: “……”
The other old ladies: “……”
They pinched their noses and ran off at top speed, only stopping to catch their breath when Jiang Yan’s silhouette was just a distant blur. The old lady patted her chest, about to sigh, when she noticed the guarded expressions of her friends.
She was confused: “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“Sis,” the ladies moaned, “you’ve been contaminated!”
Once more, with no obstacles in her way, Jiang Yan returned home expressionlessly, took an hour-long bath, and then collapsed into bed.
She hadn’t slept properly in days, and after staying up all night, Jiang Yan slept straight through till noon the next day.
After getting up, she followed online instructions to wash her clothes in the washing machine, then ordered takeout. An hour later, after the bell rang, Jiang Yan put down her more than half-empty takeout container, humming as she pulled her qipaos from the machine.
The song stopped abruptly.
Jiang Yan crouched on the ground in disbelief. After a few breaths, she slowly lifted her clothes, gave them a shake, peered again, and confirmed she wasn’t seeing things.
Several thumb-sized holes had appeared in her clothes.
The area around the holes was all frayed. Jiang Yan poked her fingertip into one, and with a flick, the fray spread to palm-sized.
Jiang Yan’s face darkened.
She felt she had to go to the Bureau about the pay issue. Participation in the show should come with some money, right? Even though He Qingyuan brought her out of the museum, she’d participated diligently—the least she could expect was a reward.
Money was a separate matter.
He Qingyuan had given her seven thousand yuan before; she’d bought clothes, shoes, and various things, and now had barely over three thousand left, being very frugal.
The question of money had become urgent.
Her phone had a message from Cheng Guang sent half an hour ago—she could go to claim her prize again.
Before leaving, Jiang Yan put the so-hard-it-was-like-a-rock leftover shaomai, which she had planned to throw out, back into the fridge.
…
When Jiang Yan arrived at the Administration Bureau, Cheng Guang was not watching the live stream as before.
He waved to Jiang Yan from afar. When she approached, he opened the door of the shabby building and silently led her inside.
On the stairway landing, He Qingguang was still listening to opera. When he saw the two, he tossed them a peachwood charm for the stairs.
Jiang Yan thought He Qingguang would confront her—after all, she’d said she’d finished all the Soul Condensing Pills, but during the live broadcast, she’d given one to Cheng Guang.
But He Qingguang said nothing at all, lying with eyes closed on his old rocking chair, creaking back and forth.
When Jiang Yan got into the elevator, she looked back at He Qingguang, catching him glaring, mustache bristling—but whether it was because he’d caught her out, or for some other reason, after a glare, he closed his eyes again, looking in no mood for anger.
The elevator doors opened slowly.
For a moment, Jiang Yan thought she’d returned to the studio with Chen Ranyi’s self-portrait.
Five black-framed photos were displayed in the center of the hall, surrounded by yellow and white flowers. A staff member handed white lilies to Cheng Guang and Jiang Yan as they entered.
Cheng Guang bowed, laying his flowers down on the white marble.
Jiang Yan bent, putting hers down too.
There were many people in the hall—some hurried in and were soon pushed out by urgent matters, others stood silently praying after offering flowers.
A girl who must have known one of the fallen psychics knelt on the ground, face hidden in her hands, sobbing, her forehead banging heavily on the ground.
“It should have been me—I had something come up, so she went instead,” she choked out, “Why is this so hard… Why was it so hard this time? She was so strong, how could she not have come back?”
“It’s all my fault, it should have been me who died…”
No one answered her.
Above the five photos, the giant screen played segments of their lives and live clips of them in various missions with the Bureau.
Cheng Guang knew Jiang Yan didn’t know much, so he explained quietly: “Last week, the Bureau posted a mission on the official website—a funeral home in southern Tibet had a sudden, strong energy fluctuation, but it returned to normal within minutes. Based on the amplitude, a mission was issued requiring a team of at least four, and among them at least two psychics ranked in the top 100.”
“Six days ago, a team took it. But after the five entered the funeral home, all communication and surveillance were cut off. No one knows what they experienced inside. The Bureau quickly sent three people to investigate, but it was too late…”
Cheng Guang looked at the photos. “Yesterday, in Qiufu Lake, Tibet, locals found the bodies of the five.”
“The three sent to help are still missing.”
Cheng Guang glanced at the sobbing girl, shaking his head: “Her name is Chen Xici, ranked 97th, with very powerful purifying ability—she can force ghosts and spirits to regain sanity for a few minutes. Zuo Tunan, ranked 78th, was her closest friend; they were dorm mates in high school and undergrad, landed in the same city for university, and always worked together, but this once… I heard Chen Xici was about to graduate. With her thesis unfinished, she was forced by her adviser to stay at school 24 hours—so after accepting the mission, she quit last minute, and Zuo Tunan volunteered to take her place.”
This was the first time Jiang Yan had heard of the Bureau’s missions being “issued.”
“Red Pillow’s website posts dozens or hundreds of missions a day,” Cheng Guang explained, “and the rewards are generous—rare elixirs, protective talismans, or hundreds of thousands in cash. Everyone risks their lives for these, and the Bureau never skimps on prizes.”
Jiang Yan nodded.
But she didn’t understand one thing: “For spirits on the level of that funeral home ghost, how did it come about?” Jiang Yan pondered, “Your energy detectors can find spirits newly deceased three or four months ago, but at that stage, spirits aren’t really powerful, are they?”
Cheng Guang shook his head: “It’s too much—even we can’t control it.”
“Millions die in China every year. Even if only one percent become ghosts, that’s a huge number. Most in management hope those spirits reincarnate normally; truly evil people are rare, most spirits were good people without grave crimes in life. So, most psychics want them to reincarnate…”
At this, Cheng Guang sighed.
He complained about their situation: “But spirits are so easily polluted by turbid energy—their memories and minds start to fade. It’s hard for psychics to find their obsession, let alone help realize it. Often it takes a week or longer to go through everything to help one spirit reincarnate.”
“There are too few psychics, only ten thousand on the job, maybe three or four thousand active ones, while the number of spirits stuck in the human world keeps growing. Over time, a group of spirits have lingered too long.”
“They stay in the human world too long, lose their sanity, and start attacking innocents at random, even forming an energy field.”
Jiang Yan raised an eyebrow: “Energy field?”
It was her first time hearing the term.
“Yes,” fear flickered on Cheng Guang’s face, “an energy field.”
“Those spirits who remain in the world too long go beyond being simply polluted—they start expelling turbid energy, forming an energy field.”
Cheng Guang described it: “Each ghost’s energy field is different, large or small—small as a room, large as a whole village—but all of them can disrupt any normal human in their field, causing emotional collapse, mental deterioration, and physical weakness. Some powerful ghosts can even set rules, controlling any human within their field.”
“In short, it’s like the ghost has carved out a little world within our daily space—step in, and you no longer have sole control over your life and death.”
“But even that’s not the most terrifying part,” Cheng Guang said.
Jiang Yan grew curious: “What is?”
Cheng Guang: “The scariest part is, people who die in an energy field are far more likely to stay behind as ghosts. So, in any given field, there are often two, sometimes more ghosts; their fields overlap and devour each other. When a normal person blunders in, it’s a death sentence. Even psychics are in danger.”
“Basically, energy fields are somewhere no ordinary person can dare enter,” Cheng Guang concluded. “The Bureau rarely issues energy field missions. For one, they’re rare—maybe once every six months. And management worries about losing psychics, so only really powerful veterans get sent.”
At this point, Cheng Guang couldn’t help but brag about his idol: “My idol—the one I showed you is number three on the leaderboard, [Lightning-Struck Timber]. He got there by taking on an energy field alone a year ago.”
“That field was in a deserted private hospital where lots of people died from bad operations—a bunch of ghosts’ resentments combined to form the field. I watched the stream—there was a nurse injecting corpses, an old lady with her belly half cut open, a doctor with half his head missing, and a ghost baby dragging its mother’s corpse around with its umbilical cord…”
“Super terrifying, but once the big shot showed up, they froze like they’d been hit by lightning. Didn’t dare move at all. He went from ninth to third place and has never dropped since.”
Jiang Yan praised him halfheartedly before returning to her original question:
“If these energy fields are usually for the veterans, why did number… three do it last time, and why issue the mission this time?”
Cheng Guang didn’t notice Jiang Yan’s subtle pause.
He shook his head: “I don’t know about the number three case, but as for this time…”
Just then, Cheng Guang fell silent, shooting Jiang Yan a quick glance.
Jiang Yan frowned: “Why are you looking at me?”
“Is it related to me?”
Since Jiang Yan had saved him, Cheng Guang felt a kinship with her, so he whispered, “Not you directly. But I only know because I overheard my eldest brother and sister-in-law—don’t tell anyone.”
Jiang Yan: “Relax.”
Cheng Guang whispered, “Last week, an eight-hundred-year-old nature spirit was found in the suburbs—the Bureau was shaken. Pretty much every master left; they only came back the day before yesterday.”
Jiang Yan’s eyes narrowed: “Did that nature spirit die?”
Cheng Guang shook his head: “No, no, our master’s on it! She’d never let a disciple’s kin die!”
Jiang Yan actually didn’t care.
She had no kin, unlike the flowers, insects, and fish who were born to parents—none for her, so she had no ties.
What she wanted to know was how humans treated nature spirits.
She asked Cheng Guang, “Where’s the nature spirit locked up?”
Cheng Guang shook his head: “That’s classified. How could I know?”
Jiang Yan stared at him: “You know.”
Cheng Guang: “……”
Jiang Yan scrutinized him again: “Not only do you know, but you’re also authorized to go in—and bring me in.”
Cheng Guang: “……”
Maybe he owed Jiang Yan a debt—no, in his past life, he must have owed her!
Even as he thought it, he realized with a jolt that even in this life, he owed Jiang Yan.
Cheng Guang couldn’t even raise his head.
A moment later, he whispered: “Just don’t tell anyone…”
Jiang Yan smiled: “Alright.”
Gritting his teeth, Cheng Guang led her out.
“You can save up your prizes,” Cheng Guang offered, “Ask them to give you something really good next time, all at once.”
Jiang Yan nodded.
Cheng Guang took her downstairs, turned right, and fifteen minutes later, arrived at a small three-story red brick building at the end of the road.
The doors were tightly closed; Cheng Guang furtively took out a card, beeped it, and the doors opened.
Jiang Yan looked over at Cheng Guang.
He seemed bashful: “Honestly, my second brother runs the nature spirit management department…”
Jiang Yan: “Mind telling me about your Bureau family?”
Cheng Guang swallowed: “Uh… does it matter?”
“Just curious.”
Cheng Guang hesitated, then admitted, “Our master’s the Bureau’s deputy director—yeah, you know this. My parents died when I was young. My siblings and master raised me. Eldest brother is head of security; second brother is head of the nature spirit department; third sister’s only two years older than me—she’s deputy head of purification. All are accomplished, even their spouses… My eldest sister-in-law is Jiang Yuqing—coordinator deputy head; second brother and third sister aren’t married yet, but second brother’s girlfriend apparently runs the Interrogation Room…”
Jiang Yan was very satisfied with her decision to save Cheng Guang.
Seeing Jiang Yan quiet, Cheng Guang scratched his head, peeked through the door, and, once sure no one was around, brought her in.
“Nobody’s usually here—my brother’s lazy as hell,” Cheng Guang explained. “But breaking in triggers a system—the kind with lethal force.”
He took out nine peachwood charms in various styles, saying that to reach the second floor, they had to get through nine password doors. After doing so, he and Jiang Yan stood at a stairwell.
It was a spiral staircase; up there was the second floor, where the nature spirit was.
Cheng Guang walked up casually, not noticing Jiang Yan’s fingers go suddenly rigid behind him.
But soon enough, Jiang Yan flexed them.
Upstairs, she saw a seven-meter tall fossilized beast: red hair, lion head, horns—a powerful aura that made Jiang Yan feel excited.
After a millennium of dragon vein nourishment, her power as a nature spirit had increased tenfold, now enough to kill a six-thousand-year spirit.
But this fossil was much older than six thousand years.
Cheng Guang, seeing Jiang Yan’s attention fixed on the fossil, commented, “I used to be so curious about that. My brother would tease me—it’s Bai Ze’s body. He loved making things up; Bai Ze’s a mythical beast from the Classic of Mountains and Seas, knows everything about all things and spirits, said to almost live as long as heaven and earth—no way it actually exists.”
Jiang Yan lowered her eyes, hiding the darkness in their depths.
After a long while, she said, “Take me to see the living one.”
Cheng Guang nodded eagerly.
In fact, the new nature spirit was so easy to find—its chirping echoed down the entire second floor.
When Jiang Yan reached the door, she saw a pitch-black little bird strutting round and round, cheeping endlessly, obviously worried.
“Bird’s dying of anxiety! Why’d they catch me? I’m just a little bird, cheep—a poor, innocent, millet-eating little bird!”
It hadn’t even noticed Jiang Yan staring at it from beyond the glass. After pacing a few loops, it suddenly seemed to realize something and clasped its beak in horror, “Oh my god, don’t tell me they want me to have babies! In this day and age, I want to fall in love freely!”
“Besides, oooh, I can’t even date anymore—oooh, these rotten humans drove us extinct, now I can’t even have love!”
At this, the little bird buried its head in its fluffy chest feathers, pitifully wiping away tears.
Jiang Yan silently watched this familiar bird.
If she remembered right, last time this bird had painted itself like a parakeet to go home with a girl named Zhizhi.
“Silver-spotted black dove,” said Jiang Yan.
The black dove’s feathers bristled at the sound of its name. It turned, trembling, and the moment it spotted Jiang Yan, it gave a shriek and fainted on the spot, its claws twitching.
“……”
Jiang Yan turned away: “I’m done, let’s go.”
Cheng Guang blinked: “Huh?”
He didn’t get it: “Leaving already? Weren’t you here to break someone out?”
Jiang Yan didn’t want to waste another word on an idiot.
“See you next round.”
She went down the stairs alone, cold as ever.