"Dàozǔ, is there any problem?"
Mō Qīn called out, suspicious of the whole situation.
Lìngxiāo did not answer. He was too busy studying the presence. His eyes were fixed on the damp floor where his bandage lay—the one he had unwrapped while showering.
It was being pulled toward the small wooden tub. Slowly.
While there was no one else with him.
Lìngxiāo's smile tilted up just a little as he answered Mō Qīn. "Do not worry. It is fine."
"I do not think so," Mō Qīn mumbled to himself, his tail rolling here and there thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the bathhouse door.
"Shh." Lìngxiāo hushed from the other side of the door.
Mō Qīn fell silent when ordered.
Lìngxiāo focused on the bandage again.
"Bandages mean healing wounds," he said to the presence, almost gently. "Do you have wounds to wrap?"
The bandage—which had been playing, trying to hunt him—froze mid‑path, as if surprised that Lìngxiāo was speaking to it so thoughtfully.
It did not take it after that.
It simply burned and faded into ashes.
Lìngxiāo chuckled faintly to himself. He was more thoughtful about the philosophy and the message behind it than about taking it as any threat.
'Seems like it does not want to heal pain… it wants to burn it away.'
He stood up to go behind the changing screen. His fingers touched the damp fabric wrapped around his body.
'If it is still watching me…'
His gaze drifted to the screen.
A shadow was there. But it simply… walked away. As if giving him space. Or doing something else. But surely not leaving him alone.
Lìngxiāo kept watching for a moment. 'If it is not actively disturbing me… this is not only about the case. There is something more.'
A knock echoed through his room.
Lìngxiāo began changing his robe and hushed to Mō Qīn. "You speak."
Mō Qīn answered immediately. "Yes?"
"Lìngxiāo Gùnsūn, may we confirm to our Jade Chóng Fēi that you will arrive within half an hour? He ordered me to confirm."
The maid spoke with silent nervousness, as if Chóng Fēi would tear her arm off if she did not return with an answer.
'Is His Highness getting impatient? Or did the spirit do something?'
Once he was done, Lìngxiāo came out of the bathhouse quickly, before Mō Qīn could answer. His long brown hair was half‑damp and loose around his towel.
"Tell him I will be in the dining hall within twenty minutes," he answered kindly.
"Thank you for confirming." The maid hurried away.
"What did that presence do while you were in there?" Mō Qīn asked quickly, confused and questioning whether Lìngxiāo was still himself or already possessed.
"You thought I would die or be possessed, and you would be freed, Mō?"
Lìngxiāo asked while fixing his robes and drying his hair quickly, not even too serious about his own dangerous words.
Mō Qīn huffed. "Why do you always say that?" Then added bitterly, "Just tell me directly if this is personal."
"If everything were direct, life would not be this easy. So I have a reason not to be direct."
He smiled brighter, sweetly at him, showing neither the full calculation of the spirit nor the full bitterness—it was all mixed together.
"You will rot impossibly, surely," Mō Qīn mumbled, annoyed, crawling closer to him on the bed.
"Maybe yes. Exorcists do rot in a different way."
Lìngxiāo answered while trying to tie his hair lightly—presentable, but open enough to let it dry. His gaze was on the mirror.
Then he blinked.
He felt—no, saw—someone behind him. He touched his own hair and looked behind.
Nothing again. But his hair was fully dry within seconds.
Mō Qīn sensed it too, but he did not try to do anything. He had not been ordered. "Brilliant. Now the spirit is drying your hair like a personal servant?"
Lìngxiāo knew this presence had probably done something. But it was weirdly tender, while earlier things had been horror.
He wondered what would come next.
"This is the stillness before the storm, perhaps. We cannot be reckless in any way. You should not insult him either—he might break the peace here."
"Like he'll—"
But before Mō Qīn could finish his mocking, the melting candle—still glowing—leaped toward him.
Lìngxiāo turned sharply, a wave of spiritual power making the candle blow away just as it was about to set the blanket on fire.
"Now it is showing me frustration too," Mō Qīn said dryly, with mocking disbelief.
Lìngxiāo sighed.
"We might be saved, but common people could be hurt if you make the unsteady presence angry. Let it be. At least it is not hurting others."
"The most unbearable spirit I have ever seen," Mō Qīn hissed, tangling around Lìngxiāo's wrist. "And I am supposed to be the spirit here."
"You talk too much. Go back for now." Lìngxiāo got ready to go downstairs. "Your face would scare common people. Again."
"Fine. Since I have no work."
Mō Qīn turned into a complex necklace around his neck—a form he had not taken for a while.
***
The dining hall was luxurious yet almost lifeless—compared to the towns Lìngxiāo had visited for his work.
'They left it just as before… but it feels different now.'
He looked up at the ceiling art. The golden paint was no longer fully there. The drawing of dancing figures reminded him of something he could only feel—but could not name.
He looked forward once he reached the bottom of the stairs, offering a gentle yet professional smile to the elders and heads of the household, bowing warmly.
"Thank you for waiting for me." He looked around lightly, searching for Chóng Fēi. "Has His Highness not arrived yet?"
One elder bowed and responded, "Our apologies. Our Dàozǔ may be convincing his father to join."
Lìngxiāo blinked as he took a seat, thoughtful but accepting. 'Is he not joining because I am sitting in front of him?'
He cleared his throat. "Is His Highness unwell?"
"He has been feeling unwell since yesterday and did not wish to eat his nighttime meal," another elder said.
"I see," Lìngxiāo whispered.
At that moment, Chóng Fēi joined the dinner. Bored. Exhausted. In a bad mood. He did not acknowledge the respectful bows as he usually did, with pride.
"Hm. Sit down." His voice was flat. His gaze fell on Lìngxiāo once—strange, unreadable—before dropping to his food.
"Everyone should eat. My father is not willing to join us. He is asleep."
'He fell asleep this quickly? He used to sleep late. Interesting…'
Lìngxiāo looked down at his food bowl.
It looked… centuries old.
'Have they given me rotten food?' He looked carefully at his bowl, then at the others.
All of it was rotten.
'Oh, lord. This is suspicious.'
"Everyone, listen to me." He stood up to speak urgently.
But everyone had already put food in their mouths.
"THU! WHAT IS THIS?!"
"IS THIS CALLED FOOD?!"
"WHO COOKED IT?!"
"IT DOES NOT EVEN TASTE LIKE IT WAS COOKED TODAY!"
Loud whines filled the hall. People spat their food onto the floor, coughing and gagging.
Lìngxiāo watched in amazement. 'It really was rotten.'
He pinched the bridge of his nose, elbow resting on his other wrist.
Chóng Fēi was even more surprised by the unified disgust. "What the fuck are you all saying? My cook is more loyal than any of you."
One man coughed into his sleeve before speaking. "We apologize for our behavior, Dàozǔ. But you should check for yourself."
"Yes, we are not lying."
"Please, check."
"Something is terribly wrong."
"Fine. I will show you." Carelessly, he took a spoonful of lotus soup and put it in his mouth.
A gag rose in his throat.
He turned away, took the bowl, and poured the soup out—but instead of saving his side of the floor gracefully, he threw the whole bowl down sharply, without an ounce of gratitude.
Everyone's shoulders hunched at the sharp, violent sound.
Lìngxiāo only searched for what was happening.
"It would be wrong to call it food," Chóng Fēi cursed under his breath, roughly cleaning his mouth. His gaze fell on Lìngxiāo once more, heavy with suspicion.
"You." He pointed. "How did you notice the problem before even tasting it? That food doesn't even have a rotten smell."
"I sensed it. I wanted to alert everyone, but unfortunately I was too late," Lìngxiāo admitted.
"Sensed food that is supposed to be visibly rotting?" Chóng Fēi was not satisfied with that description. He stepped closer, his eyes boring into Lìngxiāo.
"Eat yours. Let me see if yours is the same or not." He ordered.
The others said nothing. They waited for Lìngxiāo to take a few bites from his plate.
'Is he trying to prove something?'
Lìngxiāo did not waver. His gaze was gentle yet challenging. He had no reason to refuse.
He would simply do it—until he reached the depth of everything.