Six ghosts—three men and three women.
The male ghosts wore sleek black suits, torsos partially exposed to reveal chiseled chests. The female ghosts stood barefoot in tight-fitting white qipaos, their long legs half-hidden behind slits in the fabric.
They lined up neatly on either side of a storefront and began to dance… was that… urban shuffle?
For a moment, Song Miaozhu wondered if she'd stumbled into a short video shoot from the living world. The only thing missing was blaring music, leaving the performance slightly awkward… yet undeniably eye-catching.
Within minutes, she noticed passersby pausing to watch. A few even drifted closer—only to be swiftly ushered inside by the club's staff. The Peony Club maintained an air of mystery, its entrance veiled by heavy curtains that hid the interior entirely.
Even Fragrant Cloud Pavilion's ear-piercing loudspeakers—usually dominant in the underworld's soundscape—lost ground to the magnetic pull of gyrating silhouettes. If this establishment struggled, the other shops didn't stand a chance.
"No wonder Sister Xiangyun so desperate for upgrades."
Song Miaozhu couldn't look away. The dancers were flawless.
The women were all petite stunners, their movements liquid grace. The men, though perhaps lacking in facial perfection, had impressive physiques, all standing well over 180 centimeters tall. Their sheer presence made them impossible to ignore.
She was still admiring them when a familiar voice hissed in her ear:
"Enjoying the view, Sister Song?"
Xiang Yun stood beside her, lips pursed.
"Very much," Song Miaozhu admitted reflexively before freezing. "Ah—Sister Xiang Yun! You're here!"
"If I weren't, you'd have been lured inside already." Xiang Yun flicked her sleeve in disdain. "Is this what you Yang-world folk call 'appreciating beauty' nowadays?"
"Can you blame anyone for staring?" Song Miaozhu shrugged. "They're good at this. Honestly, even back home, most clubs don't pull it off so well."
The only thing missing was thumping bass to complete the vibe.
Xiang Yun grabbed her arm. "Enough gawking! Come inside and listen to my performance. Then you can decide who truly reigns supreme."
She dragged Song Miaozhu into the Fragrant Cloud Pavilion. They passed through layers of gauzy curtains and into a dreamlike space: artificial hills, lush greenery, elegant pavilions—every step revealed a new scene.
Butterflies flitted through flowerbeds. Koi darted playfully in ponds. If it weren't for the gently burning lantern in her hand, Song Miaozhu might've thought she'd stumbled into a Jiangnan garden in the land of the living.
"Incredible," she whispered, slowing to take it all in.
Xiang Yun chuckled behind her fan. "You've already fallen for the scenery, and you haven't even heard my music yet?"
"It all feels so… real," Song Miaozhu murmured, leaning down to sniff a cluster of blooming peonies. A floral scent reached her nose.
Xiang Yun laughed behind her sleeve. "All papercraft from your Anshou Hall! Purchased centuries ago. You'll find no craftsmanship like this in modern Fengdu." Her eyes gleamed. "Well? Does my pavilion outshine that den of flesh?"
"Without question," Song Miaozhu breathed.
So it was true—what the Secret Art of Paper Crafting said: the finest spirit paper could mirror the real world perfectly.
"If we could use your speaker system to project my zither music through the entire pavilion," Xiang Yun said, eyes gleaming, "we wouldn't have to cram everyone into the performance rooms. No long waits. No turning patrons away. Business would flourish."
"About that…" Song Miaozhu hesitated. "It won't be easy. This garden is massive, and the underworld has no electricity. To make it work, we'd need wiring, a generator… way beyond my capabilities. Not to mention the maintenance costs."
Xiang Yun sighed. "If only you could craft paper like this…"
"Paper…?" Song Miaozhu blinked.
"Yes. Paper-craft already has the power to replicate living-world scenes, objects, and even people. But true masters haven't existed for generations." Xiang Yun gently clasped her hand. "Your Anshou Hall has a long, rich lineage. With spiritual energy awakening again in the living world, this is your moment. If anyone can revive the art of spiritual paper, it's you."
She glanced toward the veiled ghost girl holding her lantern ahead. "Just look at her—she's practically falling apart."
"She's made of paper?" Song Miaozhu asked, astonished.
"Of course!" Xiang Yun beamed. "Crafted a thousand years ago. Still serves tea, carries lanterns, and sweeps floors. Her movements are slower now, and she's not much to look at, but she's still functional."
She sighed nostalgically. "Your ancestor made her. Cost me half my fortune back then. I practically worked for your ancestor for years—every coin I earned went into those commissions."
"She used to say your family could craft paper figures with true sentience, but her skills weren't quite there yet."
Song Miaozhu's stomach dropped.
"If that level was considered 'unskilled'… What does that make me?"
"Sister Xiang Yun, let's install those speakers now. I need to practice my craft."
With the world's spiritual energy awakening again, she couldn't afford to stand still.
"Patience!" Xiang Yun tugged her toward a two-story pagoda. "First, you'll hear me play. Then I'll gift you something priceless."
Unable to resist Xiang Yun's enthusiasm, Song Miaozhu followed her into the performance tower.
The tower had two floors. Paper-crafted maidservants served tea as ghost patrons lounged below. The second floor held the zither rooms.
According to Xiang Yun, there were twelve zither masters here—including herself. Each had their own room, and only a dozen or so guests could be admitted at a time to ensure everyone could clearly hear the music.
With such limited capacity, it was no wonder Xiang Yun was so desperate for better sound projection. The new speaker system would be installed in the main hall downstairs, allowing all guests inside to hear the music immediately upon entering.
Miaozhu had already studied the installation tutorial provided by the speaker supplier and came well-prepared. With Xiang Yun and several zither masters helping—floating and gliding with ghostly ease—they finally got the system up and running, both in the main hall and at the front entrance.
A stage had already been prepared in the hall. Xiang Yun herself took to it, ready to test the equipment. Miaozhu and the other zither masters waited behind the curtain.
As Xiang Yun's fingers touched the strings, delicate notes flowed like mountain springs meeting dawn mist—so vivid Song Miaozhu felt the dew on her skin.
Yet something ached in her chest.
No speaker could ever capture this.
Behind the stage, the other performers exchanged knowing smiles. One whispered:
"Wait until you hear what she's saved for you."