"Are you the one who asked Qianyun to lend you ten thousand nether coins?" Qianyun's third aunt questioned Mo Lin with a skeptical glance.
"Yes, that's me," Mo Lin replied calmly, nodding his head.
"You've been duped, Qianyun! This guy is obviously trying to scam you out of ten thousand nether coins," the woman snapped, voice laced with contempt.
"Qianyun, are you really that naïve? Do you honestly believe this man can help you capture a formidable ghost?"
"Use your head for once, will you?" sneered Qian Wuhai, his eyes narrowed with disdain.
"Stop being so stubborn, Qianyun," the third aunt added. "Even if we gave you the ten thousand nether coins, it wouldn't magically make you a third-rank Ghostbinder."
"You're dreaming if you think capturing a high-risk ghost is that simple," Qian Wuhai continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "These aren't weeds you can pick from the roadside."
Qianyun opened her mouth but couldn't find the words to counter them. Surrounded, scolded, belittled—she found herself at a complete loss.
It was Mo Lin who finally broke the silence. "Are you all quite finished?" he asked, his voice low and steady. "Then allow me to say a few words."
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to him, waiting to see what this mysterious young man had to offer.
"Who says Qianyun can't become a third-rank Ghostbinder?"
"I do, in fact, possess a high-risk ghost."
Timing, as they say, is everything—and at this moment, Mo Lin's statement turned the tide entirely.
"Come forth," Mo Lin commanded coldly.
As soon as his voice dropped, the temperature in the room plummeted. A dark, shadowy figure emerged from the air itself, the oppressive aura unmistakable. The ghost's eyes glinted with fierce malice, and the crowd recoiled instinctively.
Even the old patriarch seated on the elevated platform abruptly opened his eyes, startled by the surge of spiritual energy.
The ghost—clearly high-risk—radiated a chilling force that was unmistakable to any seasoned Ghostbinder.
"This is a high-risk ghost?" Qianyun's third aunt questioned, her tone steeped in doubt. "It seems rather underwhelming—"
"Enough!" Mo Lin barked, his voice like thunder.
In an instant, the woman collapsed to the floor, trembling. She hadn't even seen it move, yet the ghost had already manifested before her. A cold touch slid across her throat, sending terror through her bones.
A ghost is a creature of ferocity, not something one should dare to mock. If Mo Lin hadn't intervened, she would have perished in that very moment.
Standing off to the side, Qian Wuhai gulped nervously. He could feel the ghost's overwhelming power pressing against his skin like a storm cloud.
As a Ghostbinder himself, he was sensitive to spectral energy—and this ghost was far beyond anything he could handle.
Mo Lin had casually summoned a creature so fearsome it silenced the entire hall.
"I'm giving it to you," Mo Lin said nonchalantly.
"Wha… what?" Qianyun stammered, stunned. "You're… giving it to me?"
For a long time, Qianyun had dreamed of forging a contract with a high-risk ghost. Now that the opportunity stood before her, she was overwhelmed—surprised, exhilarated, and somewhat hesitant.
"Yes." Mo Lin remained utterly composed, as though bestowing a common trinket rather than a treasure.
But everyone in the room knew how rare and valuable such a ghost was—something no amount of nether coins could easily buy.
Countless Ghostbinders longed for such a contract in hopes of advancing to the third rank, yet few ever achieved it.
"Isn't a contract needed?" Mo Lin asked. "Then let's proceed."
He had made a promise to Qianyun, and Mo Lin was not the type to go back on his word.
"Well… what's the price I need to pay?" Qianyun asked cautiously.
She knew that signing a contract with a ghost came at a cost. The stronger the ghost, the steeper the price—sometimes nether coins, sometimes blood, sometimes something far more abstract.
"No price. Just sign," Mo Lin interrupted before the ghost could speak.
"Huh?" Qianyun blinked, glancing from the ghost to Mo Lin.
Why wasn't the ghost resisting? Why was it so obedient?
"Produce the contract," Mo Lin ordered.
The ghost, without hesitation, materialized a parchment and handed it over. No argument. No terms.
The contract bore a single line: Sign to bind.
There were no clauses, no conditions—only a space for her fingerprint.
Mo Lin took the paper, passed it to Qianyun, and said simply, "Place your finger here."
Qianyun pressed her fingertip to the page. A soft glow rippled across the parchment as her fingerprint took form. The bond was sealed.
In the next moment, the ghost vanished, absorbed into her body.
A surge of knowledge flooded her mind—ghostly techniques, spectral memories, and instincts not her own.
It was surreal, dreamlike, unreal.
And most shocking of all: she had paid no price.
Qian Wuhai took an uneasy step back. He couldn't even meet Mo Lin's eyes.
Never before had he seen a ghost so tame.
Such a method… it defied everything he knew.
Not even the Taoists could command such obedience from spirits.
"Does anyone else object to Qianyun?" Mo Lin's voice cut through the air like a blade.
No one responded. All the former dissenters were now silent. The louder they had been before, the quieter they were now.
After all, Qianyun was now a third-rank Ghostbinder.
Only a fool would provoke her now.
Qian Wuhai understood more than anyone: with her new rank, Qianyun had become the rightful heir of the Qian family.
"I am old now," said the patriarch slowly, rising to his feet with the help of an attendant. "And this family needs new leadership."
He didn't need to say more. Everyone understood.
"Qianyun, from this day forward, you shall lead this family."
He left the hall quietly, having at last made peace with the future.
He had always wanted to entrust the family to Qianyun, but her lack of power had made it impossible. Now that she had ascended, he could finally rest easy.
She needed no introduction, no further validation. Her strength was proof enough.
The hall was filled with silence—and understanding.
From this day on, the entire Qian family would follow Qianyun's word.
"I intend to use the ten thousand nether coins. Does anyone object?" she asked once more.
"I agree."
"You are the head now. What you say goes."
"Feel free to use it."
"Yes, it's your decision," Qian Wuhai murmured, lowering his head.
The very same words, spoken again—yet now no one dared oppose.
With the patriarch gone, the rest followed his example and withdrew in silence.
Qian Wuhai's face was filled with frustration and reluctant defeat. He had planned to strip Qianyun of her title and claim her place.
Instead, he watched her ascend higher than he could ever dream.
And Mo Lin?
That man's power…
Could he be a fourth-rank Ghostbinder?
It was the only explanation that made sense.