The old man, supported by Evan Wade, walked a few steps, stopped, and sighed, “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to come outside. The sunlight is still a bit harsh, but it’s alright. I thought I wouldn’t be able to walk, but I didn’t expect I could move this fast. Looks like I stayed in that little place for too long.”

Evan Wade held up the umbrella and looked at the sky.

Today was overcast, pale gray clouds hanging low, with no sun in sight.

He glanced back slightly. Under the old locust tree, on the wooden bench, the old man sat with his eyes closed.

His breathing had stopped for a long time—maybe days, maybe months, maybe years.

Recalling what the old man had said before, that he hadn’t left this courtyard in ages, and with the tiger waist token on him, Evan Wade had known the old man’s state as soon as he entered, so he hadn’t drunk that cup of tea.

He looked at the old man’s back.

If obsession does not fade, the soul does not disperse, trapped in a small space—this is called an earthbound spirit.

But what binds the soul—is it the land, or the things in one’s heart that cannot be let go?

The old man walked more and more easily, faster and faster.

As if he had cast off some heavy burden.

Evan Wade rested his left hand lightly on the qin case behind his back, held the umbrella in his right, and stepped out.

In the garden, there is wood, called “kun”; under the wood, there is a ghost, and that is the locust tree.

Beneath the locust tree, a blurry figure dressed in ancient clothing, with the words “Mr. Locust” embroidered on the cuff, gave a slight bow to Evan Wade.

Creak—

The wooden door moved without wind, slowly closing, sealing the old man’s corpse and story within this small courtyard.

Chapter 0012: Seeing the True Form

Evan Wade held a black cloth umbrella, following the old man’s directions, and walked forward.

It was about to rain. There weren’t many people on the road, it was empty, and a faint chill seeped from the bluestone slabs. The buildings on both sides were filled with an ancient atmosphere.

Just like the Ming Dynasty over a hundred years ago.

After winding through several turns, he arrived at the old city district that hadn’t yet been developed, stopped, and looked up.

Ahead was a garden. Facing the main gate was a three-story wooden building. It was easy to see that this had once been a refined and elegant place, but now, all the romantic stories had been worn away by wind and rain, and with a lack of maintenance, it looked rather dilapidated.

“We’re here. This is the place.”

The old voice sighed softly.

Under the black umbrella, Evan Wade looked down at the old man, then at the garden. It wasn’t easy to approach. He picked a willow leaf, opened his spiritual sight again, and could clearly see that the garden was shrouded first in a thick, dense black mist, and outside that, a layer of pale blue light.

It wasn’t hard to guess that members of the special operations team from Weiming Sect had found this place.

But somehow, they had also attracted the vengeful ghost that Qiniang had become.

Evan Wade reached out and touched the outer layer of blue light, clearly feeling an instinctive urge to avoid this place. Obviously, this was a precaution set up by Weiming Sect disciples to prevent ordinary people from accidentally wandering in.

If you tried to force your way in, you’d be bounced right back out.

Evan Wade pondered for a moment.

But the old man took two steps forward, stepping just outside the range of the black umbrella, and sighed, “I’m back.”

“I lived here for so many years, left for so many years, and finally, I’ve returned.”

He reached out his hand. For some reason, neither the blue barrier nor the black resentment that filled this place could stop him. With a creak, the long-sealed door slowly opened inward. Through the gap, you could faintly see a small path facing the main gate, and red lanterns lining both sides.

The old man stood sideways at the entrance, slightly bowed, one hand gesturing into the courtyard, and said to Evan Wade:

“Little Wade, come in.”

Evan Wade patted the qin case, nodded, and stepped inside.

As he crossed the threshold, the two doors behind him slammed shut, letting in not a sliver of light. The red lanterns instantly turned a ghastly white, glowing with a greenish-blue light, casting an eerie, ghostly atmosphere along the path.

Faintly, the sound of a suona horn drifted over, along with singing.

The air was thick with yin energy.

Not something people would enjoy.

It was more like music for ghosts.

Finally about to face the real master of the place, Evan Wade felt his heart grow calm.

With the qin case on his back and the black umbrella in hand, he walked unhurriedly down the path, ghostly lanterns flickering on both sides.

His footsteps echoed.

Step, step, step.

……

Talismans floated in the air, forming an array.

Then, at an even faster speed, they burned to ash.

Irene Shaw was half-kneeling on the ground, blood streaming from her shoulder, staining her white shirt red. On the ground beside her, Isaac Hill lay motionless. Ethan Grant’s face was as pale as paper, completely bloodless. He barely managed to move next to Isaac Hill, turned him over, pressed on his neck, and his expressionless face eased a little, then he nodded to Irene Shaw.

This meant Isaac Hill was still alive.

He no longer had the strength to speak.

Irene Shaw let out a slight sigh of relief, then looked at the pitch-black ghost domain around her, and at the woman in red hidden in the darkness, shrouded in wisps of night fog. A bitter expression appeared on her face.

The opponent was not just a vengeful ghost.

This was already a ghost of calamity level.