"Pfft…"
Zhang Gui parted his lips and spat out a dense cloud of black smoke, enshrouding Mo Lin in its eerie gloom and obscuring his vision.
Taking advantage of the cover, Zhang Gui turned and fled.
He was far too weak now—no match for Mo Lin in any capacity. His only hope of survival lay in escape.
Yet the moment Zhang Gui had dashed barely two meters away, a chain shot out from behind, relentlessly pursuing him.
Startled, Zhang Gui attempted a sharp turn, hoping to shake off the pursuing chain.
But the chain clung to him like a maggot on rotting flesh, refusing to let go.
"Get off me!" he roared, striking the chain with a fierce slap.
The instant his hand touched the cold iron, the chain coiled around his arm like a serpent, winding rapidly around his entire body.
In the blink of an eye, Zhang Gui lost all ability to resist and crashed heavily to the ground.
Mo Lin gazed down at the fallen ghost, satisfied by the result.
His ghostly technique, Soul-Binding Chain, had proven extremely effective—excellent for capturing wayward spirits.
"Mo Lin, don't be so arrogant! This is the mortal realm! The Ghost Domain reigns supreme here! There's no place for your Yedu faction in this land!" Zhang Gui shouted, panic rising in his voice. Perhaps he sensed Mo Lin might disperse his soul and was grasping at straws by hurling threats.
Though he was no match for Mo Lin, he still wanted to vent what remained of his defiance.
But Mo Lin had no intention of killing him—not yet. There were questions that needed answers.
Mo Lin pressed his right hand against Zhang Gui's forehead, suppressing his spiritual form.
He had no plans of offering this spirit to Qian Yun.
This ghost was too feral, too bloodthirsty. Qian Yun would never be able to subdue a specter steeped in such murderous resentment.
"Congratulations. You have obtained a new ghost technique: Black Mist."
A new line of text appeared on the third page of the Ghost-Suppressing Tome.
Name: Zhang Wuzhi
Level: Terror Class
Ability: Black Mist
Nether Coin Yield: 40 coins per day
Another spirit had been successfully subdued. Another stream of income was now Mo Lin's.
"He suppressed that ghost… just like that?"
"He actually took Dragonfire's spirit?"
"When did Yun Chuan gain such a terrifying figure?"
The crowd stood in stunned silence. A Terror-Class ghost—subdued in mere minutes?
It was almost too much to believe.
Mo Lin's strength was terrifying, beyond anything they had ever witnessed.
Dragonfire, upon seeing his contract ghost fall into Mo Lin's grasp, panicked and lunged forward, grabbing Mo Lin's hand and howling like a madman.
"Give it back! That's my contract ghost! Give it back!"
His entire status, his reputation—everything Dragonfire had achieved—was built upon the power of that ghost.
Without it, he was nothing.
"You want me to give it back, so you can continue murdering innocent people?" Mo Lin asked coldly.
"I didn't kill anyone! I didn't!" Dragonfire cried, unwilling to accept the brutal truth—his lifeline had been seized.
"Wha…?" Wang Bing stood frozen in place.
A Level Four Spirit Master, now reduced to nothing but an ordinary man.
The change was so sudden, so absolute, that those around him hadn't even had time to react.
"Take him to the Bureau of Public Security," Mo Lin said, turning to Wang Bing. "He's killed at least a dozen people—several of them children."
"…What?"
Wang Bing's eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed in rage as he glared at Dragonfire. Without hesitation, he ordered his men to bind the disgraced spirit master and escort him away.
It was no more than he deserved.
The members of the Wang family now looked at Mo Lin as if they were seeing a monster in human form.
Wang Bing marched forward and smacked the back of Yang Xu's head.
"You idiot! Where's the Yin Envoy?"
Yang Xu stammered, pointing toward the house. "In-inside…"
"Brother Mo is my friend! He's a good man!" Wang Bing shouted loudly, making sure everyone heard.
That snapped the others out of their stupor.
"Don't just stand there! Invite our honored guest inside!" Wang Haibei, Wang Bing's father, gestured warmly.
Mo Lin followed Wang Bing into the Wang family's guest hall.
Upon the tea table sat a wooden cage, covered in black cloth.
Wang Bing stepped forward and handed the cage to Mo Lin. "Brother Mo, here is the item you requested."
Mo Lin lifted the cloth.
Inside was a tiny, pitch-black figure. Its limbs were pierced through with thin red threads, suspending it motionless in the center.
The moment Mo Lin laid eyes on it, he realized: this Yin Envoy was not his senior apprentice sister.
The motionless figure slowly lifted its head, as though sensing something.
"…My Lord… be careful…" the voice was so faint it was barely more than a whisper.
The envoy was far too weak, barely clinging to existence.
Mo Lin attempted to open the cage.
Crackle!
A sharp, crackling noise erupted as if electricity had met water, accompanied by flashes of arcane lightning.
Pain surged through Mo Lin's hand, forcing him to let go.
Only he had this reaction.
Wang Bing, who had touched the cage earlier, had experienced nothing like it.
Mo Lin furrowed his brow. Shrouding his arm in ghostly energy, he tried again.
This time, the cage responded more violently.
Strange symbols carved into the wooden surface began to glow with golden light.
A red thread shot out from the carvings and wrapped itself around Mo Lin's body.
Drawing his crystalline-blue sword, Mo Lin sliced through the thread with a single strike—then brought his blade down once more, shattering the cage.
The wooden prison exploded into splinters.
Mo Lin calmly sheathed his blade, his face expressionless.
But within, his heart was surging with unease.
For a simple, unknown cage to force him to draw his Yin artifact—whoever set this trap was extraordinarily powerful.
The person who had imprisoned this Yin Envoy was no common foe.
Mo Lin placed his hand on the envoy's body, infusing it with ghostly energy.
The envoy had been gutted—hollowed out until only an empty shell remained.
The ghostly energy could keep the envoy's soul from dissipating temporarily, but to fully restore him would require at least twenty thousand nether coins.
Awkwardly, Mo Lin realized… he was broke.
"…Got any money? Lend me some nether coins," he asked Wang Bing quietly.
"A bit. Not much," Wang Bing replied honestly. He had already spent nearly twenty thousand nether coins at the ancestral shrine to obtain the envoy. His resources were nearly depleted.
"Brother Mo, I might be able to gather ten thousand nether coins. Will that suffice?"
"It'll do."
Though not enough to completely heal the envoy, ten thousand nether coins could at least keep him alive.
Wang Bing left to gather the funds. After about thirty minutes, he returned with a small cloth pouch.
Inside was a mix of coin values—just over nine thousand nether coins.
He had exhausted every connection he had to scrape together the sum.
Mo Lin opened the pouch and waved his hand. The coins evaporated like fire consuming dry leaves, transforming into a shimmering mist.
That mist flowed into the envoy's body, patching the holes, mending the torn soul.
The envoy, once the size of a child's palm, gradually expanded.
Eventually, he returned to the size of a grown man.
And for the first time in a long while, his eyes opened.