Mo Lin's chest visibly convulsed, as though something unspeakable was stirring within, clawing its way to the surface.
"Is he… vomiting?"
Wang Bing, startled, immediately rushed to support him.
"Brother Mo, what's going on? You're throwing up without a word? Trying to sully the temple to humiliate this bunch?"
Mo Lin's brows knit together in visible irritation. Is this guy a fool? he wondered.
To Wang Bing, it appeared as though Mo Lin had ingested something foul and was now suffering the consequences. The retching seemed overly dramatic, and the way Mo Lin's mouth opened—something seemed to be pushing its way out.
Several of the middle-aged men from Jin Ancestral Hall had now surrounded Mo Lin, their expressions wary yet not alarmed.
"Kid, best you stop poking around about the ghost warden."
"You don't look well anyway. Take your leave while you still can." One of them waved him off dismissively.
At this point, none of them grasped the gravity of what was unfolding. They remained unaware of the true reason why their contract ghosts refused to answer their summons. Had they known what Mo Lin was preparing to unleash, their casual demeanor would have turned into outright terror.
Just as the being inside Mo Lin's body reached the brink of emergence, an old man clad in a traditional Daoist robe stepped into view. His beard was long and white, his complexion pale and waxy. He was emaciated, skin clinging tightly to bone, yet each step he took was firm, his presence emanating strength and vitality.
"My lord, please restrain your divine arts. There is no need to lower yourself to argue with these blind and ignorant juniors."
To the untrained eye, Mo Lin might appear no more than a peculiar young man. But to this old Daoist, Mo Lin was a terrifying enigma. He could see the ghostly aura pouring from Mo Lin's back, hear the monstrous, guttural howls echoing from within his belly—an unholy sound that sent a shiver down his spine.
Perhaps it was his lifelong cultivation and familiarity with spirits that made him so acutely aware of the supernatural.
"And who might you be?" Mo Lin asked, gazing at the elderly figure.
"I am Li Hui, the master of this temple. My word here is law," the old man replied solemnly.
Since the person in charge had finally revealed himself, Mo Lin no longer needed to continue his demonstration. With a slow, deliberate breath, he forced the entity back into his body. The air lightened, though the tension remained palpable.
"Please, my lord, step inside," Li Hui said, gesturing respectfully toward the inner chamber.
His sudden show of deference startled the other elders of Jin Ancestral Hall. Their faces twisted in discontent.
"Master Li, this man has disrupted the auction—" one began.
"He's clearly here to make trouble," another added hurriedly.
"You should have him expelled immediately!"
"Silence!" Li Hui's voice cracked like a whip.
"You're all blind and useless," he snapped, his tone cold and thunderous.
The protesting elders fell silent at once, cowed by his rebuke. Their eyes darted nervously toward Mo Lin, and none dared to speak further.
Mo Lin followed the old Daoist into the room, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the temple's interior.
Back outside, Wang Bing remained rooted where Mo Lin had stood only moments ago. His gaze fell upon the remnants of the "spittle" Mo Lin had left behind.
Pick it up… gather it… quickly…
The voice echoed inside Wang Bing's mind.
It was the voice of his contract ghost, urgent and commanding.
Disgusting, Wang Bing thought with a grimace.
That this was the first time he had ever communicated with his contract ghost—and it was about collecting vomit? The situation couldn't be more absurd.
But there were so many people around. Did he really have to stoop down and scrape up someone else's… drool?
His pride protested.
And yet—
Pick it up. Now.
The ghost's voice was rising in agitation.
This isn't ordinary spit, it snarled.
This is concentrated ghost energy, powerful enough to take form. This came from him—the one within Mo Lin. For ghosts like us, this is a supreme elixir. It will strengthen me beyond measure.
The voice pulsed with a frenzied need.
Even more incredibly, the ghost added:
It's fully absorbable. No refinement needed. Unlike hell coins, this is pure. Potent. Priceless.
The realization struck Wang Bing like a lightning bolt. The urgency, the yearning in the ghost's voice—it was real. It needed this.
"What… what is this stuff?" Wang Bing muttered, unable to hold back his question.
Shut up. Pick it up.
The ghost's tone left no room for argument.
Shaking slightly, Wang Bing tore a tissue from his pocket and crouched down, gathering the thick, syrupy droplets.
Strangely, the tissue didn't absorb the liquid. Instead, the three drops clung together, jiggling slightly like translucent jelly. They shimmered faintly—ominous and otherworldly.
Wang Bing, now desperate to avoid drawing attention, quickly folded the tissue over the eerie substance and tucked it into his pocket.
As he stood up, he caught sight of Qian Yun nearby, her dark eyes fixed squarely on him, her expression a mixture of horror and revulsion.
"I—this—" Wang Bing tried to speak, but no words came.
Qian Yun recoiled, folding her arms across her chest and taking two steps back. Her body language was clear. She was disgusted.
Wang Bing sighed internally. How could he possibly explain that the "saliva" he'd just collected was a treasure beyond measure—for ghosts?
Inside the chamber, Mo Lin took a seat, and Li Hui bowed respectfully before him.
"I, Li Hui, pay my respects to the Lord of the Underworld."
"You recognize this robe?" Mo Lin asked in surprise.
"In my youth, I once crossed paths with envoys from the Netherworld. I was fortunate enough to behold an Underworld Lord once," Li Hui replied. Though old now, he had once been a real Daoist cultivator, steeped in ancient arts that most had long since forgotten.
With no desire to waste time, Mo Lin cut to the heart of the matter.
"I'm here to investigate something. Who captured the ghost warden?"
"I am no longer involved in the temple's daily affairs," Li Hui said, shaking his head. "But I can inquire for you."
He turned toward the doorway and called, "Qing Yun, come in."
A smartly dressed middle-aged man in a black suit stepped into the room.
"Yes, Master?"
"Who captured the ghost warden?"
"That's a business secret," Qing Yun replied with a faint smile. But as he met Li Hui's stern gaze, the smile faded, and he quickly added, "I don't know who he is. He merely consigned the ghost warden to us—we earn ten percent commission."
"You had no part in capturing the ghost?" Li Hui asked again.
"Sir, you overestimate me. I lack the power for such a thing," Qing Yun answered swiftly.
Li Hui said nothing, simply waiting for Mo Lin to respond.
"What's his name? Who does he work for? Where is he from?" Mo Lin pressed.
"He's not a local from Yunchuan," Qing Yun explained. "He told me to call him 'Grandpa Sun.' As for his true identity or affiliations, I have no idea."
Sensing Mo Lin's doubt, Qing Yun hurriedly added, "He's extremely cautious. We only met once. But if you want to find him, I can contact you when he comes to collect the hell coins."
"Very well."
Mo Lin left his number and departed without another word.