Several lines of text suddenly appeared before Lucien Blackwood's eyes.
[Huang ting Scripture: 23%]
At the same moment, he felt a surge of something pure within his body.
It moved with his breathing—flowing steadily through every part of him, reaching places he had never consciously sensed before.
This… was Qi.
In Daoist philosophy, Qi was considered a fundamental force—the origin of all life, the driving energy behind creation, destruction, and transformation. Something intangible, yet undeniably real.
For an ordinary person, even with guidance from a master, sensing Qi could take years.
Lucien, however, didn't need that kind of time.
Three months ago, this strange "interface" had suddenly appeared in his mind.
At first, he had assumed he didn't have any special advantage after being reborn. It hadn't shown up when he first arrived in this world, after all.
Now it was clear—
It had simply been waiting.
With this ability, not only could he remember anything he read, but he could also grasp its meaning almost instantly.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"…If I had this back when I was studying, I wouldn't have had to pull so many all-nighters."
Still, even without it, he had managed just fine. He completed his education, got into a decent university—nothing extraordinary, but nothing to regret either.
After a brief moment of distraction, Lucien refocused and continued reading.
The Huangting Scripture was something he had discovered among Old Man Su's collection.
Although the old man had long left China behind, his attachment to his homeland seemed to grow stronger with age. In his spare time, he collected Daoist classics and ancient texts—every one of them genuine, valuable, and carefully preserved.
Thanks to that, Lucien didn't need to waste time searching for cultivation materials after deciding to take this path.
The Huangting Scripture, an important text of the Shangqing School, focused on the cultivation of spirit and the nourishment of Qi.
Its core idea was simple in theory, yet profound in practice—mapping the human body to the divine. Organs, bones, even pores were believed to correspond to celestial entities. By visualizing and harmonizing with these internal "gods," one could refine the body and spirit… and perhaps even transcend mortality.
Whether immortality was real or not—
Lucien didn't care.
What he did know was that since he began studying and practicing, his body had undergone a noticeable transformation.
The damage caused by years of bad habits—late nights, irregular routines—had completely disappeared.
His strength had improved. His movements felt sharper, faster, more controlled.
Despite his lean frame, he was confident he could easily take down several street thugs without much effort.
That wasn't surprising.
Old Man Su's collection didn't just contain scriptures—it also included martial arts manuals.
Bajiquan… Xingyiquan… Taijiquan…
Lucien had practiced a few of them casually. While he hadn't mastered any, he wasn't far from reaching a respectable level.
If Jamie had actually tried to attack him earlier—
He wouldn't have walked out of the shop on his own.
That thought brought Lucien back to what he had seen before.
His fingers paused on the page.
After studying the Daoist texts, he had awakened something else.
A supernatural ability.
Spirit Sight.
The ability to perceive what lay beyond ordinary vision—to glimpse the unseen, to sense the presence of the dead, and to see through illusions.
Earlier, when Jamie and Lisa entered the shop, Lucien had noticed it immediately.
A faint trace of black mist clung to them.
When he focused his Qi into his eyes, fragments of images appeared within that mist—
A package.
A ventriloquist doll.
A pale, sinister old woman.
And finally—
A horrifying scene.
Their tongues torn out.
Their bodies lifeless.
Compared to that gruesome fate, however, something else concerned him more.
"…Did I end up in a horror movie world?"
In his previous life, there had been a film that left a strong impression on him—
Dead Silence.
Even now, he could recall parts of it clearly.
Especially the nursery rhyme.
"Beware the stare of Mary Shaw;
She had no children, only dolls;
And if you see her, do not scream—
Or she'll rip your tongue out at the seam."
Lucien exhaled slowly.
"That's it."
The two people who had just left his shop—
They were the unfortunate victims from the original story.
"So that's how it is…"
For a moment, everything made sense.
Why his ability had awakened now.
Why this world felt slightly… off.
In a place like this, without any means to protect yourself—
You wouldn't even know how you died.
Suddenly, Lucien frowned.
Another line of text appeared.
[You have come into contact with the cursed.]
[An evil presence in the darkness has taken notice of you.]
"…You've got to be kidding me."
All he had done was offer a casual warning—
And that thing had already set its sights on him?
Judging by the pattern…
Would a doll be sent to him next?
Would it come for his tongue too?
For a brief second, the shop fell into silence.
Then—
Lucien smiled.
Bright. Calm.
Almost amused.
"I wasn't planning to get involved…"
His fingers tapped lightly against the book.
"But if you're dragging me into this—"
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"Then I'll just deal with you properly."
Because creatures like that—
Resentful spirits, vengeful ghosts—
They didn't change.
Even after death, they couldn't distinguish right from wrong. Killing their enemies wouldn't end their obsession—it would only deepen it.
And eventually—
They would turn on the innocent.
Mary Shaw was exactly that kind of existence.
To her, killing someone like Lucien would probably seem insignificant.
But—
"Old hag… you picked the wrong person."
Lucien didn't intend to seek Jamie out.
Without seeing the horror for himself, the man wouldn't believe anything he said.
But Lucien was certain—
Jamie would come back.
Soon.
And when he did…
Lucien would be ready.
After all, running an antique shop wasn't exactly profitable.
But solving a haunting?
That was different.
"A few antiques won't fix my financial problems…"
He leaned back slightly, thoughtful.
"But helping someone get rid of a ghost?"
A faint smirk appeared.
"Ten thousand dollars sounds reasonable."
In the original story, Jamie wasn't poor.
This could work out for both sides.
Until then—
He would continue studying.
Because in the end—
Strength came first.
Lucien lowered his gaze and returned to the scripture.
—
Three days later.
Rain poured heavily over the streets, soaking everything in its path.
A figure hurried through it, steps uneven, breathing unsteady.
Jamie.
He didn't stop until he reached the antique shop.
Standing at the entrance, he hesitated for only a moment before pushing the door open.
The bell chimed softly.
Inside, everything was the same.
Warm light.
Quiet shelves.
And behind the counter—
The same black-haired young man sat calmly, watching him.
As if he had known this moment would come.
As if he had been waiting.
"You…"
Jamie tried to speak, but his throat felt dry.
Since leaving this place, his life had fallen apart.
Lisa was dead.
Brutally.
Unnaturally.
And he had become the prime suspect.
The police didn't believe him.
No one did.
But he knew—
Something was wrong.
The package.
The doll.
The nursery rhyme.
And the cold, suffocating fear that refused to leave him.
At his lowest point, he remembered this place.
That warning.
And the man who gave it.
So he came back.
And the moment he saw him—
Jamie understood.
The person standing before him…
Was the only one who could help.