Chapter 133: Children’s Laughter (12)
Almost at the same moment Yan Shixun realized something was wrong, the official in charge, who had been closely following the livestream, also gasped sharply and turned to look at Taoist Song Yi in disbelief.
When their eyes met, they saw the same shock reflected in each other’s gaze.
“Chi Yan…” The official’s words circled in his mouth several times before he finally spoke with a complicated expression, “…she’s got guts.”
Taoist Song Yi gave a cold snort and said what the official had only implied, “There are plenty of people who raise ghost children, but ones who are cruel enough to feed their own fetus to one—after all these years, I only know of one person in the business who would go that far.”
The official was stunned, then suddenly pieced it together. “The photos Mr. Yan sent me from the murder scene—the master the film crew hired… could it be that he was killed by the ghost? Are you saying that’s the one?”
Taoist Song Yi nodded solemnly. “Some cultivators get blinded by money and forget their original path. As long as they’re paid, they’ll do anything.”
For example… using their contacts in the entertainment industry to help celebrities raise ghost children.
In the pursuit of profit and fame, far more people than the public would imagine chose to raise ghost children. With the development of international tourism over the years, foreign cultures had also become more widespread. Many people thought raising ghost children or worshipping Thai amulets wasn’t a big deal.
In fact, if done properly, raising a ghost child was not considered an evil deed but could instead be a virtuous act.
Those who raised ghost children would receive wealth and success. In return, they were expected to use that wealth to do good and accumulate merit, helping the prematurely deceased ghost child to be reincarnated. In the end, with merit fulfilled, both parties got what they wanted.
The same went for offering sacrifices. The foreign masters or spirit mediums who granted them would typically pass on blessed items to those who requested them, instructing them to do good deeds and accumulate merit. That way, the Buddha would protect them.
Although Taoist Song Yi didn’t personally agree with that method of cultivation, he never interfered with other people’s practices and had never thought there was anything wrong with it.
Until now, when he heard Chi Yan admit to what she had done with her own mouth.
Taoist Song Yi had never participated in such things himself, but he could roughly guess the reason behind her actions.
Control.
Raising a ghost child usually came with a set time limit. From the start, a master would act as a mediator and make an agreement with the ghost child—five years, ten years—after which the child would be sent for reincarnation. Sometimes, if the ghost child was too powerful and couldn’t be sent away easily, and the person raising it was a woman, then they might carry the child in their womb to help it be reborn as a human. That, too, was seen as fulfilling karma.
But what Chi Yan had done clearly showed that she had never intended to let the ghost go from the very beginning.
Generally, ghost children selected by female caretakers were those who died young due to accidents or illness. Masters who specialized in this sort of thing would serve as intermediaries and get the ghost children to agree to be raised. Because they died so young, they naturally felt close to women and treated their caretaker like a mother.
The caretaker, in turn, could use the ghost child’s trust and attachment to maintain control and prevent backlash.
Chi Yan likely used her own fetus to feed the ghost child for that very reason—to strengthen her control over it.
On one hand, she wanted to nourish the ghost child, boost its strength, and thereby increase her own luck and fortune. On the other hand, she feared that once it became too powerful, it might break free from her control. So she used her own unborn child to deepen the bond between them.
Out of the lingering attachment formed from flesh and blood, the ghost child would instinctively see Chi Yan as its mother, just like a fetus would—clinging to her and wanting to protect her.
—This was the truth behind Chi Yan.
Taoist Song Yi had heard of many dark and bloody methods of control, but most were done under coercion by evil masters. Chi Yan was the first he had ever seen who voluntarily used her own fetus as meat to feed a ghost.
“How strange…” Taoist Song Yi frowned deeply.
No matter how he looked at it, sending the ghost child away when the time came and finding a new one when needed would’ve been far safer and easier. Yet Chi Yan took great risks and went to such lengths to use her fetus for control, refusing to let the ghost child go.
Why?
Was there something unique about that ghost child? So much so that Chi Yan wouldn’t let go, even to this extent?
Although he hadn’t met Chi Yan in person yet and had only seen her through the livestream, Taoist Song Yi’s impression of her had already hit rock bottom.
He stared at the computer screen showing Chi Yan’s face, but despite being able to see her clearly, her fate and fortune appeared blurry, as if shrouded in fog.
This puzzled Taoist Song Yi enough to let out a low, questioning “Hmm?”
Just then, the official had finished a call with the head of the public opinion team and overheard Taoist Song Yi murmuring calculations under his breath, seemingly confused, and so came over to ask.
“I don’t know if it’s because of the fog or something wrong with her personally,”
Taoist Song Yi’s brows were deeply furrowed as he said, “But I can’t see her fate anymore. I can’t calculate her fortune at all.”
Feeding live fetuses to an evil ghost brought savage, destructive power in return. So now Taoist Song Yi wanted to find out how many fetuses the ghost had consumed—in other words, how many times Chi Yan had been pregnant and then miscarried.
However, he couldn’t calculate it.
Although Taoist Song Yi wasn’t the strongest in the art of divination—often scolded with ear-tugs by Taoist Li—this “not the strongest” only applied when compared to exceptionally gifted individuals like Taoist Li and Yan Shixun.
Among ordinary Taoists, Song Yi was already considered a top-tier talent. He didn’t even need the subject’s birth date and time—just by examining the “Three Courts and Five Eyes” of the face, he could cast a divination and deduce the person’s destiny chart.
Yet in Chi Yan’s destiny chart, Taoist Song Yi saw only a dense black fog, covering every hexagram and concealing all traces of fortune and fate.
It was as if… as if Chi Yan was already dead. Beneath that stunning, human-like skin, there was only an eerie aura of death.
“We can’t wait any longer.”
Taoist Song Yi pulled back his hands and solemnly addressed the official in charge. “The black mist on Chi Yan and the fog over the river carry the same energy. I had previously guessed that this might be the work of a malicious ghost possessing someone, and I’m afraid the root of the problem lies with Chi Yan.”
He turned his head toward the river shrouded in fog, letting the frigid wind off the water whip through his robes. His expression was grave.
He couldn’t help but feel a bit emotional. He had never paid much attention to the entertainment industry. Though people would often bring money to seek help from Haiyun Temple, he personally had little contact with showbiz. The name “Chi Yan” had only become familiar to him earlier today, when someone mentioned her over the phone.
Who would’ve thought that by evening, he would be standing here, facing the danger Chi Yan had brought.
Was this the will of heaven and earth?
Taoist Song Yi suddenly thought of Yan Shixun, who also bore the mark of Evil Spirit Bone Transformation.
That thought brought him some comfort. As long as Yan Shixun was there, the situation wouldn’t be allowed to spiral into complete disaster.
“Taoist, do you mean…” The official hesitated, “to cross the river?”
“I will prepare to cross. But no one else needs to come. We still don’t know what’s waiting on the other side.”
The compass in Taoist Song Yi’s hand spun continuously, as if tracking the conditions on the river. “Once the fog thins enough for us to see and navigate, I’ll set out.”
Or perhaps… the fog would never lift. If that was the case, he would bet his life and charge across the river.
But either way, the only reason he had time to observe now was because Yan Shixun was holding the situation steady.
“The current situation is already far better than what the ghost aura would’ve caused. Don’t look so worried.”
Taoist Song Yi noticed the official’s anxiety and offered some reassurance. “If Junior Brother Yan hadn’t been there—another person with a Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, suppressing the aura’s spread—the situation wouldn’t have held out until we arrived. And with him there, I feel much more at ease.”
The official let out a sigh. “That’s true…”
If Zhao Zhen hadn’t invited the production crew to visit, if Zhang Wubing hadn’t made that joint agreement with Director Li Xuetang, and if Mr. Yan hadn’t appeared on the other side of the river, then the fog born of heavy ghostly energy might have already crept over to this side.
And that would have been disastrous for the densely populated coastal city. Ghost aura invading the living could cause physical illness, mental instability… not only endangering the residents and pedestrians near the riverbank, but potentially triggering a red alert for city-wide safety.
If that happened, he couldn’t escape responsibility.
“Wait, Taoist.”
The official suddenly remembered something. “Do you know how to drive? Have you gotten your license?”
Taoist Song Yi: “……”
Good question.
“If it were my disappointing disciple here,” Song Yi said with a sigh, “he’d probably tell you that Taoists usually fly on swords and don’t bother with cars. But since it’s me…”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to drive.”
“Shameful to say—I failed the third part of the driving exam.”
With a completely blank expression, he recounted his tragic learning experience. “When using lightness skill to descend a mountain, you never have to worry about bumping into others. So I didn’t realize that vehicles on the road… could crash into each other.”
Which was how, during the test, Taoist Song Yi managed to drive his car straight onto a three-meter-high wall.
—The instructor had cried out, “Even I don’t know how to do that! Taoist, teach me!” That incident was still a widely told tale at the driving school near Haiyun Temple.
Official: “……”
“Taoist, Director Li Xuetang reserved the eastern district of the concession area. It’s ten kilometers long from east to west,” the official gently reminded him. “If we don’t drive, walking there would take too much energy and time.”
Taoist Song Yi stared expressionlessly at the official: So, what are you trying to say?
“…So I’ll drive,” the official sighed, then instructed his subordinates to prepare a vehicle and emergency supplies, just in case the people stranded across the river were injured or starving.
Taoist Song Yi was taken aback. “Wait, the situation on the other side is still unknown. We might not even make it across the bridge. Coming with me is basically suicide.”
But the official just gave Song Yi a reassuring pat on the shoulder and joked, “Even though the surveillance here isn’t working for now, that’s no excuse for you to drive without a license. For the sake of road safety, I better drive.”
Taoist Song Yi was visibly moved but didn’t refuse.
The rescue team members nearby, overhearing all this, glanced silently at the completely empty road.
Road safety… were they worried about hitting ghosts? The official clearly feared the taoist would refuse, and this was a very creative excuse.
But meanwhile, social media had exploded.
During the livestream, Chi Yan had openly mentioned the film queen who supposedly raised a ghost. The livestream had millions of viewers at the time, and the news spread like wildfire.
Across social media, influencer platforms, and short video apps—every outlet with high traffic was discussing the issue. Chi Yan and the film queen were being talked about together, and the topic of ghost-raising was dissected with great enthusiasm, drawing massive attention.
As the story spread, many people flocked to the film queen’s social media—some curious, some just there for the drama. Her comments section quickly filled with a flood of critical remarks.
Coincidentally, the actress had been experiencing a booming career over the past year and had built up a huge fanbase. She wasn’t some no-name star. So after a brief moment of confusion, her fans decided this was a smear campaign by Chi Yan against a rival and retaliated furiously.
Within moments, both Chi Yan and the film queen’s accounts became battlegrounds, with chaos surpassing even the original livestream’s popularity. It became the number one trending topic on social media.
Countless bystanders eagerly watched the drama unfold, discussing ghost-raising theories and speculating about Chi Yan.
“Didn’t rumors about Chi Yan raising a ghost start just a few years after her debut? People said that’s how she always landed the best scripts. Those stories disappeared after a while, but thinking about it now, maybe she was just less experienced back then and let things slip.”
“Shut up, hater. Your precious queen is the one raising ghosts, and now she’s dragging someone else down to cover it up!”
“Excuse me? You’ve got it backwards. I think Chi Yan’s the one dragging others into the mud to cover her own mess. She literally admitted it during the livestream.”
“Do you even understand what acting is? Just because she acts well doesn’t mean she’s actually a villain. This was clearly a role in Director Li Xuetang’s film! That’s her character!”
“You must be insane! Ms. Lin Ting is a well-known intellectual and a progressive thinker. She’d never raise a ghost! If you’re saying that’s just a character, that’s outrageous! Plus, everything Chi Yan said clearly came from her own life—it has nothing to do with Lin Ting’s character in the script!”
“Then go ask Director Li Xuetang and see what he says!”
The two fan groups fought so fiercely that they finally agreed to go find Director Li Xuetang and ask him to set the record straight: was it the script, or was it Chi Yan’s personal issue?
They bombarded Li Xuetang’s studio with calls, leaving his long-time partner utterly exasperated.
He had just warned Li Xuetang that Chi Yan might be trouble. Then the moment he left the concession area, Li Xuetang vanished and couldn’t be contacted again.
Even after reaching out to a well-known Taoist, the only reply he received from Song Yi was that everyone who had been in the concession—including Li Xuetang—might be in danger.
The old partner was filled with deep regret. If only he had insisted harder back then, maybe Li Xuetang would have been safe.
This thought, which had taken root the moment he heard Chi Yan personally admit during the livestream that she had been raising ghost children, now grew wildly in the mind of his former partner, who hated her more than ever—believing her to be the true culprit behind everything.
“Is this all just a script?”
When the entertainment reporter on the other end of the line asked the question, the former partner let out a cold sneer and said bitterly, “Then you should go ask Chi Yan why she stole a dead child’s body from someone else’s home—and then go ask the stillborn fetuses who never even had a chance to be born!”
Furious, the former partner hung up the phone.
But on the other end, the entertainment reporter, after a brief moment of shock, quickly became excited.
—He had just landed a massive scoop!
With the entertainment media and the rival company to Chi Yan’s digging deeper, new information from all directions poured in nonstop.
Meanwhile, Chi Yan’s assistant paced anxiously in the office for what felt like the hundredth time, repeatedly calling her with no answer, only to hear the busy signal over and over again. Staring at the rising buzz online and the mounting evidence that was basically as good as confirmed, the assistant felt a wave of despair.
No matter what condition Chi Yan herself was in right now, or what this bizarre “scripted livestream” was really about…
Chi Yan’s career—was over.
…
But Chi Yan, who had no access to the outside world, was completely unaware of all this.
At that moment, she was clutching her bandaged hand, which still throbbed faintly with pain, shrinking behind Yan Shixun with a dark, unreadable gaze.
Everyone in the living room had just heard those sharp, clear childlike voices ringing out one after another.
What should have been innocent and carefree laughter—something that evoked idyllic, heartwarming images and made people smile instinctively—now felt hollow and eerie in the dim setting, sending chills down everyone’s spine.
Chi Yan immediately thought of the terrifying occurrences in her home over the years, especially in recent times.
Bloody handprints smeared across the walls, dead cats and dogs discovered in her bedding early in the morning, the sight of a baby’s corpse in the fridge, and the flesh and blood scrawled all over the walls… These images flashed uncontrollably through her mind, making her tremble harder and shrink even closer to Yan Shixun for protection.
“M-Mr. Yan, it—it’s here! That ghost child that wants to kill me!”
Chi Yan’s voice trembled. “Mr. Yan, you have to protect me!”
Yan Shixun frowned in disgust. For a brief moment, he even wanted to throw Chi Yan out and let her face the consequences of her actions with those ghost children.
Whether she lived or died had nothing to do with him—after all, he wasn’t the one who committed such atrocities.
But things here were… abnormal. Anything imagined could become real.
So, to prevent Chi Yan from conjuring something terrible in her fear and worsening the already uncertain situation, Yan Shixun had no choice but to keep her under his protection—for now.
“Don’t let your imagination run wild. That alone is already helping me,” Yan Shixun said coldly. “Do you know what an alpaca looks like? Picture that.”
“Huh?”
Chi Yan looked confused, completely unaware of why Yan Shixun would say such a thing.
There was a reason why he didn’t explain further.
The human brain was a strange and complex organ. When someone tells you, “Don’t picture a deer in the forest,” your first reaction is almost always to imagine exactly that.
Every word we hear instantly becomes an image in our minds—people are always associating and imagining things, constantly.
And that was exactly what troubled Yan Shixun the most about the current situation.
Unfortunately, it was already too late.
Chi Yan… had already pictured the ghost child in her mind, out of deep-rooted fear.
Zhao Zhen watched helplessly as small bloody handprints began to appear on the wallpaper. Flesh splattered against the walls and ceiling, then slowly dripped down in thick, sticky drops. In an instant, the once luxurious and tidy living room turned into a crime scene, the overwhelming stench of blood piercing their nostrils.
**“Creak… groan—!”**
The wooden floor let out soft sounds, as if a child was walking across it, drawing nearer to the living room step by step from some unseen corner.
Above them, on the ceiling, came the sounds of children running and jumping.
The clattering of marbles, the bouncing of rubber balls…
It was as if the three-person living room had suddenly become filled with the noise of many.
Children’s carefree giggles echoed all around as they ran and leapt about.
And yet—not a single one of them could be seen.
Even Zhao Zhen, who never thought of himself as a timid person, couldn’t help but feel terrified.
Let alone Chi Yan.
“Mr. Yan, Mr. Yan!” Chi Yan cried in panic, grabbing onto Yan Shixun’s arm. Her blood-red nails nearly pierced through his coat into his skin. “I have money—however much you want! Name your price, ten million? A hundred million? I know Mr. Yan can save me!”
But Chi Yan was already so frightened she could barely stay conscious, and didn’t care about anything else. “Mr. Yan, you have to save me! Even if you’re right, and I deserve everything that’s happening to me, that ghost child won’t stop after killing me! It’ll come after everyone else, too! Do you want to just stand by and watch everyone die?”
Her shameless attempt to use everyone else as “hostages” only made Yan Shixun more irritable.
“Chi Yan, I’ll save you—but only because the current situation is still unclear. I need everyone alive to figure out how to get out of here.”
Yan Shixun’s expression turned pitch-black, his deep voice revealing none of his displeasure. “But from now on, the only thing allowed in that brain of yours is an alpaca. Nothing else. Shut your mouth and shut your mind, or don’t blame me if I get rough.”
“If you don’t cooperate and you get in my way…”
Yan Shixun let out a cold laugh. “It’d be easier to just knock you out and carry you.”
“Now. Let go.” He lifted his arm slightly, motioning for her to release him.
He wasn’t someone who liked physical contact, especially not with people like Chi Yan—stained with sin and guilt.
Chi Yan was stunned by his words and instinctively followed his command. She let go and took two steps back.
Yan Shixun turned his attention back to the living room, his gaze sweeping over the carpet where footprints had appeared despite no one walking on it, and the small table where objects were being lifted and thrown down violently.
It was as if a mischievous child was playing wildly.
“Chi Yan, why did you smash the mirror above the fireplace earlier?” Yan Shixun asked in a deep voice. “What did you see?”
Although her actions at the time could be explained as panic, the sequence of cause and effect didn’t line up.
Everyone else had seen Chi Yan lose her mind and smash the mirror first—**then** the strange events had started.
To them, the most terrifying part had been **Chi Yan herself.**
Now, the exact same thing was happening again.
—Something was moving through the room, yet no one could see it.
So Yan Shixun couldn’t help but wonder: Had Chi Yan also seen something back then that only she could see? And now, if someone else were watching this unfold, would they also feel the same eerie confusion that they once felt watching her?
Yan Shixun didn’t know that everything was actually being streamed live—just like every past episode of the show.
But he was right.
From the perspective of the audience watching the stream, this was already terrifying to the point of making their scalps tingle.
[Help me, help me, sob sob sob! Why is this so scary? I’m curled up stiff inside my down jacket, shivering like crazy, my feet are frozen numb but I’m too scared to reach out and put on my shoes.]
[Adding to the one above! I was watching the livestream during evening self-study, and I totally regretted it. Now I’m the only one left in the classroom, and it feels so cold—I’m starting to wonder if there’s a ghost right next to me, sob sob. The only thing I’m grateful for is that I always like to buy clothes one size too big. Right now, being wrapped up in this oversized coat is the only thing giving me any sense of safety.]
[You guys should count yourselves lucky. Right now, I’m seriously tempted to strangle the brat upstairs. Did you hear the bouncing ball sound that suddenly appeared in the livestream? I hear that noise from the upstairs apartment all the time, so at first I didn’t think anything of it. But then it hit me… something wasn’t right. At this hour, that kid should be watching cartoons—not making a racket like this. I’m home alone, and now I can’t even tell which sounds are coming from the stream and which are real.]
[Man, that dude above has it rough. If it were me, I’d be scared stiff by now. But someone please explain—those bloody handprints that suddenly appeared on the wall… were those special effects too? I blinked for just a second, and they were just there! At first, I thought I was seeing things. But after I looked closely, I took a sharp breath. The more I thought about it, the creepier it got!]
[Holy sh*t… that blood splattered all over the living room! Director Li really has a twisted taste. This is way too terrifying.]
[Isn’t it weird? Did you guys see that kid in the living room? He ran right past Brother Yan, but Brother Yan acted like he didn’t see him at all. Not a single reaction.]
[Maybe he was just too short? With someone as tall as Brother Yan, he’s probably used to looking straight ahead. Anything too low just wouldn’t be in his line of sight, so it’s easy to overlook. Don’t ask me how I know. It’s a long, tearful story. I’m not about to tell you how a 150cm me survives living with my 190cm boyfriend. *holds back tears.jpg*]
[*rubs your head sympathetically* But seriously, no. Didn’t you see? Brother Yan was clearly looking down just now. I think he *did* see that kid—but his expression was like he was staring at empty space. He just glanced over him like nothing was there.]
[I thought so too. And don’t you all think the kid looked really strange? My sister’s little boy was born a few years ago, so I know what kids are supposed to look like. That one seemed to be only two or three, but his eyes… they didn’t have that clean, innocent look children usually have.]
[Yes! I was going to say that too. That kid looked super off.]
[What the hell… Don’t scare me, guys. Don’t you know it just came out recently that Chi Yan was exposed for raising a ghost child? Social media is going nuts over it. And now that you’re mentioning it, I really feel like this might be the ghost child coming back to take revenge on her.]
[Totally possible. I heard that if you don’t raise the ghost properly, it can turn on its owner. Wasn’t Chi Yan also looking extremely worn out for a while? I bet that was because the ghost turned against her.]
Yan Shixun’s eyes settled on the floor.
The Jing family was wealthy.
Not only did Jing Bin have a very high income himself, but during that era, giving and receiving gifts was the norm. Refusing a gift could offend someone so badly you couldn’t survive socially. Besides, Jing Bin also came from a well-off family. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had the foresight or support to study abroad on a government-sponsored trip.
Because of this, the living room floor was covered with the finest wool carpet—thick and luxuriously soft.
And now, it became Yan Shixun’s best tool for locating that thing.
—Every step the child took made the plush wool sink just a little.
Which meant that its otherwise invisible form was now fully exposed to Yan Shixun’s eyes.
“I-I saw the mirror crack at that moment.”
Chi Yan swallowed hard and spoke, trembling. “There were so many versions of me in the mirror, and they were all calling out to me. I got scared and smashed the mirror. But right after that, that thing appeared.”
The mirror cracked?
Yan Shixun frowned.
No—that wasn’t right.
From their perspective, it had been a perfectly intact mirror… until Chi Yan broke it.
Was that also the ghost child’s power?
As fragmented thoughts pieced together, Yan Shixun began to untangle the jumbled images in his mind, threading everything into a coherent picture.
Then, suddenly, he realized—
The hallucinations Chi Yan had seen in the mirror were caused by the very ghost child she had once nurtured, who had now turned on her. That was one of its abilities, because…
The fog that had engulfed the boundary of the settlement wasn’t ordinary mist—it was a wall of ghostly energy. That’s why they couldn’t find a way out.
That same ghostly energy had made Zhang Wubing’s imagination materialize into reality within the Jing residence, giving form to a female ghost.
The ghosts appeared in clothes that suited their roles, as if pulled from the characters everyone mentally associated them with. The buildings in the area looked as pristine as they had a hundred years ago.
All of this… was the work of a powerful vengeful spirit.
The ghost child had turned on its master—and sought revenge on the living.
In a flash, Yan Shixun suddenly understood everything.
He realized that to escape this bizarre place, it wasn’t just about piecing together clues from the script.
There was another way.
—Start with the very ghost child that had caused all of this, and persuade it to let them all go.
With that thought in mind, Yan Shixun looked down at the carpet again, his gaze becoming much more cautious.
“What do you want? Chi Yan’s life?” Yan Shixun suddenly asked. “If Chi Yan didn’t lie to me, then your powers should be strong enough now for you to have thoughts and judgment. You can tell me what you want. Maybe I’ll agree.”
Chi Yan was stunned, and then she screamed in disbelief, her voice sharp and shrill: “Yan Shixun, what are you doing! Didn’t you promise to protect me?!”
“Don’t get it twisted. I never agreed to take on your request. There’s no binding contract between us,” Yan Shixun said, frowning as he shot Chi Yan a look of disgust before returning his attention to the empty space in front of him.
Even though he couldn’t see the ghost child’s form, Yan Shixun was certain—since it wanted revenge on Chi Yan, it wouldn’t miss the chance to enjoy her fear up close. It had to be nearby, slowly tormenting her, relishing in her descent into panic.
And the subtle shifts in the wool carpet confirmed that.
After taking a life, the ghost child had completely lost its chance at reincarnation. No matter how much injustice it had suffered, no matter how cruelly Chi Yan had treated it or how deeply it hated her—once it crossed that line, the world would no longer accept it.
Yan Shixun’s heart tightened slightly, and he couldn’t help sighing. What had Chi Yan done, for the ghost child to seek revenge even at the cost of its next life?
But… maybe he still had a chance to save it.
As Yan Shixun waited for a response from the invisible ghost child, the small boy in suspenders and a tiny suit, holding a ball in his hands, looked up seriously at the towering figure of Yan Shixun.
The child tilted his head, as if a bit confused.
How strange. This exorcist didn’t seem like he wanted to kill him. He was different from all the many exorcists before.
But what struck him as even stranger was that, inexplicably, this unfamiliar exorcist made him feel a strange sense of closeness.
Like a father, or an older brother—someone whose presence felt safe and comforting. It made him want to throw himself into the exorcist’s arms.
As if, by nature, they were family.
The child blinked his large, empty eyes and slowly broke into a grin.
Hee hee hee…
The next second, Yan Shixun heard a sound coming from the fireplace.
*Thud!*
If you love what Ciacia is doing, then consider showing your support by supporting a cup of tea for her at Kofi. If you can’t wait for the next release chapter, subscribe to advanced chapters membership on her Kofi to get access to up to 10 chapters!
