When the lights flickered back to life, the mall breathed again.
Cold, sterile light spilled across polished marble floors, cutting through the darkness that had swallowed the place seconds ago. Zhao Liren blinked, chest heaving, his eyes struggling to focus after the sudden black-out.
And then he saw him.
The stranger who'd held his wrist now stood clearly before him... tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of man whose presence seemed to still the noise around him. His skin was tanned but smooth, touched by sunlight rather than burned by it. Light brown hair framed his face, parted naturally down the middle in soft, curtain-like layers that brushed his temples. His features were sharp yet gentle... the kind of beauty that calmed before it intrigued.
On both of his wrists were strings of fózhū beads, old yet polished, each bead a different shade of wood and stone. His veins ran clearly beneath his skin, tracing down his strong hands... hands that looked capable of both healing and breaking.
Zhao's voice trembled slightly. "Who… who are you?"
But before the man could answer, a sound broke the moment... the slow, heavy echo of footsteps.
Zhao froze.
The sound was too familiar.
He turned... and saw Shen Lian approaching.
His face was blank. The dark eyes that once burned with focus were empty now, glassy and hollow. He walked through the crowd as if the world around him didn't exist. His gun was already raised, glinting coldly under the mall lights, aimed straight at Zhao Liren.
Zhao's throat closed. "Shen…" he whispered.
The stranger beside him moved before Zhao could even blink. He stepped forward, calm and sure, one hand lifting to touch Shen's forehead... just a palm pressed gently against skin.
In that instant, the air rippled.
Shen's body stiffened, eyes rolling upward, and then... he dropped.
Like a puppet with its strings cut.
The thud echoed through the mall, sharp and final.
Zhao's eyes widened. He stumbled forward, catching Shen's body before it could hit the ground fully. His heart pounded in his ears. He turned toward the stranger, grabbing his collar, voice breaking with panic.
"What did you do to him?!"
The stranger didn't resist. His expression stayed calm, almost soft. "He was being controlled by an evil spirit," he said quietly. "And I think you already knew that. I just saved you both."
Zhao's hands trembled against the man's shirt. "Who are you?"
"I'm Wen Jun," he replied simply.
Zhao stared, his mind spinning between fear and relief. "Can you help-"
"I will," Wen Jun interrupted, tone steady and resolute.
That stopped Zhao. His lips parted, confusion written across his face. "Why… why did you agree so fast?"
Wen Jun didn't answer. Instead, he bent down, checking Shen's pulse, then slid one of Shen's arms over his shoulder. "Help me lift him."
Together, they carried Shen Lian out of the mall. Zhao's heart was still racing, his mind drowning in questions he couldn't ask yet. When they stepped into the parking lot, Zhao froze again.
Parked under the pale yellow light was a NIO EP9... sleek, electric blue, its curves gleaming like liquid metal. It was the kind of car people only saw in magazines, a whisper of wealth most could never touch.
Zhao blinked. "This… this is your car?"
Wen Jun just gave a faint smile, unlocking it with a soft click. "It's mine."
Zhao looked down at Shen, then at the two-seater interior. "Wait… how will we all go?"
Wen Jun paused, thinking. "Wait for me," he said finally, and disappeared back into the mall.
Zhao stood there, the sound of crickets rising in the distance, Shen's unconscious body limp against his side. He stared at the NIO... its quiet perfection, its sharp reflection of the fluorescent light above.
Thirty minutes passed. Zhao began to wonder if Wen Jun had left.
But then... headlights cut through the parking lot again. A black Mercedes rolled to a stop before them, smooth and unhurried. Wen Jun stepped out, hair slightly tousled, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Now we can go."
Zhao blinked, momentarily stunned. "You… changed the car?"
"I prefer comfort when it's a long night," Wen Jun said simply, helping Zhao lift Shen into the back seat.
The drive was silent. Only the low hum of the tires and the distant whisper of the city filled the air. Zhao sat in the passenger seat, glancing occasionally at Wen Jun... at his composed face, the way he held the steering wheel with effortless steadiness, at the faint smell of sandalwood that lingered in the car.
"Turn left here," Zhao murmured. Wen Jun nodded without a word.
The silence grew heavier, thick with questions Zhao didn't know how to ask. His fingers fiddled nervously with his sleeves. Finally, his voice broke the quiet.
"Don't you want to know what happened? Why are you helping us? You didn't even question anything."
Wen Jun's eyes didn't move from the road. "We arrived," he said simply.
The words silenced Zhao again. He turned to look ahead... and there it was. Their apartment building, looming like a shadow in the damp night.
As Wen Jun parked, Zhao stepped out quickly, rushing to open the back door. Together, they carried Shen Lian inside. Zhao's heart squeezed at the sight of him... unconscious, blood still dried on his neck from earlier.
But what neither of them noticed was the faint, unnatural chill that lingered in the apartment.
Inside, the ghost waited.
It stood... or rather floated... near Qin Yuelin's bed, head tilted slightly, blackened lips stretched in a grotesque smile. The air was foul, thick with decay. Its voice crawled through the silence, low and jagged.
"Qin Yuelin," it whispered. "You're so beautiful."
Yuelin stirred. His eyelashes fluttered weakly. When his eyes opened, he froze. The figure above him was no longer a dream. The decaying face hovered inches away... skin flaking, eyes like hollow pits.
Yuelin screamed.
He stumbled out of bed, bare feet hitting the floor, but before he could run, something icy and sharp wrapped around his ankle... the ghost's clawed hand dragging him back.
"Stay with me," it hissed.
Yuelin kicked, clawed, fought to crawl away, tears burning his eyes. "Let me go!"
The door slammed open.
Wen Jun ran in first, the beads on his wrists clattering faintly. His expression was no longer soft... his eyes burned with violet light. Zhao rushed behind him, dropping Shen gently on the sofa before sprinting toward the bedroom, heart in his throat.
Wen Jun raised his hands, murmuring words under his breath... ancient, rhythmic, heavy with power. His voice was both calm and thunderous. The air trembled, rippling with unseen force.
The ghost shrieked, covering its decaying ears, its body writhing as the sound pierced it. Wen Jun's eyes glowed brighter, the fózhū on his wrists glimmering faintly with gold light.
"Return," he commanded.
The ghost's scream shattered into a choking rasp. Its form began to distort, smoke-like, its limbs curling inward as if being pulled into a void. Its last words... faint and gurgling... hissed through the air.
"Not… over…"
Then it was gone.
Only the faint stench of rot lingered, and the low hum of silence after chaos.
Zhao rushed to Yuelin's side, who trembling... dropping to his knees. "Yuelin! Are you okay?"
Yuelin's face was streaked with tears, blood on his cheek where the ghost's claws had scratched him. Zhao pulled him close, holding him tightly. "It's okay… it's over…" he whispered, both of them shaking.
Wen Jun stood by the doorway, his breathing calm. The glow in his eyes slowly faded back to human warmth.
Zhao looked up at him, still holding Yuelin. "It was so easy for you?"
Wen Jun's expression remained unreadable. "He was just a pawn," he said quietly. His voice carried the weight of something deeper... something old. "That's why it was easy for me."
He looked around the dim apartment... the flickering lights, the faint scent of incense from Yuelin's bedside, the shadow still clinging to the corners of the room.
"Remember," Wen Jun said, turning his gaze toward Zhao. "There's always a devil between us."
He stepped closer, his tone soft but grave. "We just can't see where, when, and how."
END OF THE CHAPTER.