This is a difference in sheer power.
Mo Lin was of the Yin Division rank—far beyond the capabilities of a lowly Peril-class ghost to contend with.
The confrontation lasted but a breath; Mo Lin effortlessly subdued the ghost with a single, fluid motion—strike, capture, and seal, all in one seamless sequence.
Activating his spectral technique—Ghost Eye—Mo Lin gazed at the subdued specter, and its attributes unfurled before him like a scroll.
Name: Zhang San
Class: Peril-level
Technique: Ghost Qi Blade
"Ghost Qi Blade – condenses ghostly energy into a slash capable of cleaving like a sharpened weapon."
Mo Lin had promised Xian Yun he would capture a ghost for her—and this one, by coincidence or fate, was perfectly suited.
He placed his hand upon the ghost's head, and it spun in place, gradually condensing into a dense, obsidian sphere.
This was the twelfth form of the Soul-Scattering Ghost Capture Technique—The Seal.
A skill essential to every underworld emissary.
"You're… a Yin Envoy?"
"No—this aura… You're a Yin Division officer?"
The bound ghost cried out in disbelief. One question rang incessantly in its fading consciousness:
Why?
Why would a being as exalted as a Yin Division officer descend to capture a ghost as lowly as him?
"Please, my lord, spare me! I never meant to kill… Those Ghostmasters were trying to capture me. I acted in self-defense!"
The ghost begged piteously, its voice trembling in desperation.
With such a vast chasm in strength between them, supplication was its only hope of survival.
"Don't worry. I have no intention of harming you," Mo Lin replied calmly. He pocketed the dark sphere and turned his gaze toward Yun Ling's direction.
Only a weak spirit remained there. Yun Ling's two contracted ghosts would be more than enough to dispatch it.
Seeing no need to intervene, Mo Lin turned and walked away.
Yun Ling had just vanquished a Danger-class ghost, its soul dispersed by her ghostbinding arts.
"There must be another Peril-level ghost still hiding here," she murmured thoughtfully.
After all, a Danger-class ghost alone could never have slain three trained Ghostmasters. Her deduction was clear: another, more dangerous entity had been involved.
She and Tang Fang searched the derelict building for quite some time, but their efforts proved fruitless. Eventually, they had no choice but to abandon the hunt.
"Perhaps it sensed your presence and fled in fear," Tang Fang offered. It was the only plausible explanation she could think of.
Yunchuan City – The Xian Family Estate
The time was past one in the morning, yet the estate was brightly lit, as though preparing for a festival.
Within the grand hall, heated voices rose in fierce argument.
"Xian Yun, have you gone mad?"
"You've already squandered over ten thousand ghost coins! And now you want another ten thousand? Are you trying to drain the Xian family of everything it has?"
The voice belonged to Xian Wu Hai, her older cousin.
"You're no longer the acting head of the family. You have no right to access the clan's treasury."
A woman clinging to Wu Hai's arm added coldly.
Others joined in, emboldened by the crowd, casting accusations and blame upon Xian Yun.
"You've already burned through two-thirds of the family's foundation! Are you trying to destroy us?"
"I know you're desperate to become a Ghostmaster, but this isn't something that can be rushed. You've made too many mistakes lately."
Even her Third Aunt, who once doted on her, chose to remain silent.
The vast hall felt cold and hollow.
Xian Yun sat alone at the center, encircled and condemned like a criminal on trial.
"I know someone. A man of extraordinary strength. He promised to capture a ghost for me—if I lend him ten thousand ghost coins. He may even help me secure a Peril-class ghost. If that happens, I could be promoted to a Level Three Ghostmaster," she said, refusing to back down.
"Level Three? You're dreaming."
"You think capturing a Peril-class ghost is that easy?"
"Wake up, will you?"
"If ghosts were that easy to catch, the streets would be crawling with Ghostmasters by now."
"Don't you understand how rare Ghostmasters truly are?"
"Even I'm only a Level Two Ghostmaster. What makes you think you deserve Level Three?"
Wu Hai's scornful voice cut through her hope.
Another woman echoed disapproval.
"Even if you catch one—how can you be sure it will agree to form a contract?"
"Ghosts see humans as inferior, like animals. The stronger the ghost, the more arrogant they become. Contracting with them is nearly impossible."
Her Third Aunt finally spoke again.
"Yun'er, stay home and calm yourself for now. I'll help you find a normal-class ghost. With time and training, you might become a Level Two Ghostmaster."
"No…" Xian Yun refused without hesitation.
She had seen Mo Lin's strength with her own eyes.
Her belief in him wasn't born of obsession—it was instinct.
Though they had not spent much time together, he left an indelible impression of quiet reliability.
He had promised to help her—and she believed with unwavering certainty that he would.
"Even if I have to borrow ten thousand ghost coins, can I not do so?"
For the first time, Xian Yun lowered her pride. She uttered the word borrow—a plea, not a demand.
The room fell silent.
Eyes exchanged uncertain glances.
"No." Wu Hai's voice broke the stillness like shattered glass.
Xian Yun didn't respond. Instead, her eyes turned toward the white-haired elder seated at the head of the hall—her grandfather, and the current patriarch of the Xian family.
He sat with his eyes half-closed, as though dozing.
But his heart ached for his granddaughter.
Caught between the interests of the family and the child he cherished most, the old man finally spoke.
"Let Yun'er take the ten thousand ghost coins."
His voice was soft, yet it struck like a thunderclap—warm and resolute.
Xian Yun's eyes welled with tears.
Everyone had turned against her—except for him.
"Father, the clan only has a little more than ten thousand ghost coins left! That is our last reserve. If we give it to her, what will we use to grow the family?"
"And don't forget, she's already destroyed several ghost artifacts! We've got nothing left!"
Her eldest uncle stood and argued passionately.
"I say we not only deny her the coins—we lock her away, as a warning to others."
"She's squandered two-thirds of our resources. She must be taught a lesson!"
The hall was charged with hostility.
Her uncle's family was unrelenting, determined to crush her defiance.
Then, a single unfamiliar voice shattered the tension:
"Lock her up? I'd like to see who dares."
The crowd turned in unison.
A man walked in slowly, dressed in simple leisurewear.
At his waist hung a crystal-blue longsword that gleamed in the light.
It was Mo Lin.
He had come to deliver the ghost to Xian Yun.
Just as he arrived at the estate gate, he heard the clamor of her being rebuked—for trying to help him.
How could he remain indifferent?
He entered without hesitation, surveying the room before walking directly to Xian Yun.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently.
"I'm fine…" she replied, voice hoarse and heavy.
"The argument—it's because of the ten thousand ghost coins?"
"Not entirely," she whispered again.
"I see…" Mo Lin replied casually, as though no one else in the room mattered.
He spoke only to her.