Not because he was convinced—reality simply left him no room to argue.
Auntie Fung stood with her hands on her hips, her signature booming voice echoing through the corridor.
“Boy, I know you’re scared! But tell me—where in all of Sham Shui Po doesn’t have a little… supernatural activity? This tong lau is ‘lively’, sure, but it’s clean! No malice! You think those new high-rises outside are any better? The resentment trapped inside all that concrete is even harder to deal with!”
She paused, pointing at the neon glow spilling in from across the street.
“And look at your little group. Walk outside and people will think you’re some kind of circus act.”
(She shot a glance at Lingyun’s ancient robes and Windbeak’s metallic beak.)
“My place includes water and electricity—well, mostly—and I can help block the neighbors’ curious eyes. You scared? Fine, take the innermost room on the second floor. I put a small shrine there. Keeps the casual spirits from bothering your sleep!”
Lingyun opened his mouth to argue again, but felt a tug on his sleeve.
He looked down.
Pardy was staring up at him, big clear eyes blinking, trying very hard to find the right words with his tiny vocabulary.
“…No… fear… Papa… here…”
Lingyun didn’t understand every word, but he could guess the meaning:
“Everyone’s here. Don’t be afraid.”
The little one even stood on tiptoe and patted Lingyun’s hand—like a child comforting a frightened adult.
Lingyun’s nose stung.
All his “martial dignity” and “safety concerns” were instantly pierced by that pure, gentle concern.
He looked at Pardy’s trusting gaze, then at Sunri’s warm, steady eyes, and finally at Lin Che’s “this location is optimal for research” academic expression.
He could only sigh heavily, conceding defeat.
“…Very well. But I require the room with the shrine.”
He clung to the last shred of dignity.
Auntie Fung grinned. “Done! Here’s the key! Oh, and the granny upstairs says you look like the male lead of a period drama. She wants to know if you’ll take a photo with her.”
Lingyun: “……?”
And so, the group settled temporarily into the old tong lau known as Fuk On Building.
Aside from the abandoned detective agency downstairs, the place was empty but furnished—just dusty.
They cleaned up and chose adjacent units:
- Sunri and Pardy shared one room.
- Lingyun took the shrine room (he inspected the shrine carefully; though he didn’t recognize the figure, the stern man holding a massive guandao was clearly some ancient general of great renown).
- Lin Che picked the largest room for “research purposes,” which quickly filled with borrowed case files, his own notebooks, and a newly hung whiteboard covered in diagrams like “Spectral Energy Frequency Model” and “Urban Leyline Yin-Flow Mapping.”
Windbeak spent most of his time vanishing to hunt snacks across the street or napping on windowsills, grooming his metallic feathers, occasionally tossing out a sarcastic comment.
Mo-Dou was the most at ease—sometimes patrolling silently, sometimes curling beside Pardy or on Sunri’s lap, golden eyes fixed on invisible points in the air, as if seeing landscapes no one else could.
Days passed—peaceful, relatively speaking—and life in Fuk On Building found its rhythm.
Until the small incidents began.
A Strange Afternoon
One afternoon, while Sunri helped Auntie Fung sort old case files downstairs, Pardy played alone in the second-floor corridor with his little gears.
Then he heard it.
A faint voice—half singing, half weeping—drifting from the abandoned communal bathroom at the end of the hall.
“Little one… come here… come play with big sister…”
The voice was airy, seductive in a hollow, unsettling way.
Pardy paused, looking toward the bathroom.
A blurry female figure in an old qipao stood at the doorway, beckoning.
Dark mist coiled around her—nothing like the harmless student ghost they’d met earlier.
Any normal child would have screamed or wandered over in a trance.
But Pardy only blinked.
His gentle temperament—passed down from his father—and his travels across worlds had given him a calm far beyond his age.
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He sensed loneliness in the voice, a sticky yearning to cling to something—not pure malice.
He put down his toy and walked toward her.
In the shadows, two pairs of eyes snapped open:
Mo-Dou’s golden pupils sharpened instantly.
Windbeak froze mid-preen, metallic beak slightly ajar.
The qipao ghost brightened as Pardy approached, her form growing more solid.
A triumphant smile crept across her face as tendrils of black mist reached toward him—clearly intending to latch onto this pure child to stabilize her fading spirit.
Pardy stopped a few steps away, looking up at her.
His gaze was too clean—no fear, no disgust, not even confusion.
Just the curiosity of a child observing a strangely shaped cloud.
The black tendrils hesitated, as if burned by that purity.
Then Pardy did something neither Windbeak nor Mo-Dou expected.
He raised his tiny finger—not at the ghost, but at the floor—and began drawing slow circles in the air.
Soft gold light rippled outward.
He hummed the off-key lullaby Sunri often used to put him to sleep.
No spells.
No incantations.
No visible technique.
Yet the ghost’s dark aura writhed, then thinned.
Her smile froze.
Confusion replaced it.
Then… peace.
A faint, long-lost human softness flickered in her eyes.
She looked at her translucent hands, then at the child drawing circles like it was a game.
Her desperate clinging melted like frost under sunlight.
A few motes of light drifted from her form.
She grew faint—transparent.
Before fading completely, she gave Pardy the slightest nod, a fragile, relieved smile.
Then she was gone.
Only a trace of old-fashioned floral perfume lingered briefly in the air.
Pardy tilted his head, puzzled that “big sister” had vanished, then returned to his gears.
Windbeak’s beak opened and closed a few times before he muttered:
“…What the—
Is this kid some kind of portable holy-light cannon?”
For once, no sarcasm—just awe.
Mo-Dou gave a soft “mrr,” tail flicking with quiet approval before closing his eyes again.
Ancient Book Entry
The ancient book opened, golden motes drifting out:
Name: Pardy
Archetype: Child
Level: 2 (+1)
Attributes: Innocence / Sensitivity / Unknown
Skills: Healing / (New) Purification
Revelation: Distortion
The book closed.
Ye Lingyun’s Miserable Daily Life
Despite choosing the shrine room, Lingyun’s heightened martial senses—and his excessive vigilance toward spirits—kept him sleepless.
He privately sought out Auntie Fung, unusually humble.
“Auntie Fung… is there a more effective method to keep these… ‘good brothers’ from disturbing my peace? I do not fear them—I simply dislike the intrusion.”
Auntie Fung nearly burst laughing.
She dug out some incense-blessed talismans and a pouch of cinnabar.
“Boy, calm heart, calm house. The more scared you are, the more fun you are to them, understand?”
Lingyun treated the items like treasures.
He plastered talismans everywhere, sprinkled cinnabar water at the door, and even tried adjusting his “energy field” based on a half-understood note he’d glimpsed from Lin Che’s research.
But things only got worse.
That night, while meditating, he felt cold breath on his neck.
He turned sharply—
A half-headed spirit hovered behind him, examining the talisman on his bedframe.
“Hey, boy, you stuck this one upside down.”
Lingyun: “!!!”
Another night, he woke to something tickling his foot.
A mischievous child spirit was scratching his sole with transparent fingers.
When Lingyun sat up, it giggled and phased through the wall.
Worst of all—
While showering in the communal bathroom, a spirit’s misty “head” emerged from the water pipe.
“Nice body. Sword’s a bit heavy though—throws off your balance.”
Lingyun nearly slipped and died of embarrassment.
He finally realized Auntie Fung was right—
The more tense he was, the brighter he shone to spirits.
To them, he was a walking lantern of “fresh yang energy + funny reactions.”
Auntie Fung laughed until she cried.
“I told you! Treat them like air and they’ll ignore you! But you’re wound up like a bowstring—of course they’ll play with you! You’re the new toy, boy!”
Lingyun, who could split boulders with a sword yet couldn’t cut the intangible, felt a despair deeper than pain.
For the first time, he doubted his swordsmanship—
What use is a blade that can’t hit anything?
The Next Morning
Lin Che walked past Lingyun’s door and froze.
The door was covered in talismans—dozens.
Cinnabar lines crisscrossed everywhere.
Even the doorknob was sealed.
Windbeak flew over, stared for three seconds.
“…Did he… seal himself inside?”
Worse—
At the end of the corridor, three spirits peeked around the corner.
“Got a show today?”
“Will he scream again?”
“I brought a friend to watch!”
Lingyun roared from inside: “GET OUT!”
The spirits: “Shhh—starting!”