"If you are that confident in yourself… then go into that temple right now, instead of standing in front of me," Chóng Fēi said—directly challenging Lìngxiāo.
His tone was sharp, almost hopeful that Lìngxiāo would lose.
The hall went silent. Everyone glanced at each other, then back at them.
Lìngxiāo's polite smile never left his lips—only deepened, darkening slightly. It was a strange smile… a mix of innocence and horror, the kind that made Chóng Fēi swallow hard.
It reminded him of the ghosts who smile right before they kill you.
"Stop staring at me. Lowly exorcist," Chóng Fēi snapped, trying to force strength into his voice to hide the chill crawling up his spine. "Just do your work… nothing more."
Lìngxiāo's smile widened a fraction, though his beautiful eyes held no light this time.
He could not help thinking—
Humans always become harsher when they are scared…
But all I wanted was for them to trust me. Maybe that is as difficult as climbing a mountain.
"My apologies, Fēi Gōngzǐ. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. My purpose is only to help humans who need me," he said softly.
Mò Qīn muttered, unheard by most, "He is the type of guy I would willingly see become the next target of the Red Robe guǐ…"
"I am talking about humans, not you," Lìngxiāo murmured faintly with a small smirk—his normal tone always felt blade-sharp.
"Yeah, why would you think about a worm like me…" Mò Qīn huffed, curling his tail around Lìngxiāo's neck.
Lìngxiāo cleared his throat when he noticed others staring at him for talking to something invisible.
Some knew about his curse-partner. Others were simply confused.
"I will go right away," he said with a warmer smile. Adjusting his sleeve, he added, "I will check the temple as I promised."
Chóng Fēi smirked, as if his plan was succeeding.
"Then go. And if you return within three hours. Atleast alive—which is impossible. " He paused, considering a price—fully convinced Lìngxiāo would never come back alive. "That room. The one upstairs."
He pointed toward the large dark wooden door. Lìngxiāo and Mò Qīn looked up.
"Yes, Fēi Gōngzǐ," Lìngxiāo replied.
Everyone stared at the door too. Black wood. Heavy. Ancient. It looked important… and full of memories.
"You have no fixed place to live, right?" Fēi continued.
"Then that will be your room. Everything you need will be given—if you come back without a scratch on your skin."
Gasps and whispers broke out immediately.
"Why is Gōngzǐ acting like this?"
"Is he challenging him because he does not want him back?"
"Why that room? Others were empty!"
Lìngxiāo's smile froze—just for half a heartbeat.
A forgotten memory… or someone's shadow… flickered behind his eyes.
But then he smoothed it away.
He smiled again—not because of the offer, but because of his own quiet confidence.
Though something bitter stirred beneath it.
"I do not ask for prices for my work… but if this will ease everyone's hearts, then I will do it. I will return—and I will live here," he said with a light bow.
Shock ran through the crowd.
They never imagined the famous "Wandering Smile"—the exorcist who protected people everywhere—would live in their cursed city, where anyone could die at any moment from the Red Robe with the lantern.
And yet… they cheered.
Because if Lìngxiāo stayed, they believed they would finally be safe.
Fēi crossed his arms.
"Very well. See you soon."
Lìngxiāo bowed and stepped out of the mansion.
Cold, sharp air struck his skin like knives.
"Dàozǔ, are you insane?" Mò Qīn burst out. "You are going to live in this hell again just because he offered you an old ancient room which looks like a hunted store room?!"
"Maybe I am," Lìngxiāo said softly, walking toward the temple with the lantern in his hand.
His brown hair blew gently behind him.
"I still have many things to find here… No one lives without obsession—good or bad. And mine… is saving the common people who need me. And… to know why he died."
Mò Qīn sighed, falling quiet.
"Like a broken angel…"
"Hm. An angel with an evil smile… eyes but no tears," Lìngxiāo whispered, his gaze softening.
"Can you not be lively once?" Mò Qīn complained.
"I am walking and breathing. That alone is God's blessing. I was never meant to have it," he said simply.
He walked through the cold, empty streets like they were a peaceful garden path.
"Now do something useful instead of giving me therapy."
"Fine…" Mò Qīn muttered, landing lightly on his shoulder, tail swaying thoughtfully.
He scanned the area for clues.
"Do we not need to check the dead bodies first?" he asked.
"Yes… but you saw how Fēi Kùmsūn acted. I did not want unnecessary trouble. We will still find clues in the temple," Lìngxiāo replied gently.
But his mind drifted to the upstairs door…
What mystery waited for him there?
**
The temple door was slightly open.
Blood faintly stained the ground from earlier.
Wind howled as soon as he stepped closer, whipping his hair back, dust stinging his eyes.
"He is already growling in the wind's language," Lìngxiāo murmured with a calculating smile as he knelt.
He touched the dried blood, lifting it to his nose.
A strange mix of wine and old ink.
"Yeah… I can smell his welcome," Mò Qīn muttered—half teasing, half uneasy.
"The blood smells like a drop of his memory… old and nostalgic," Lìngxiāo whispered.
He pulled out a white cloth from his robe and pressed the blood into it.
"Might be useful later."
Before he could stand, a dead crow dropped in front of him—headless, legless—like it had been thrown.
"What the—it is tied to black magic too," Mò Qīn hissed.
Lìngxiāo studied the crow calmly and picked it up with one hand—casual, as if he were inspecting a piece of meat.
"It could be… a message. If we look closely."
"I think so," Mò Qīn agreed nervously.
Lìngxiāo drew his knife.
With no hesitation, he slit open the crow's chest.
Cold organs spilled out, blood drying on his pale fingers.
Messy. Disturbing.
Yet he showed no sign of disgust—more statue than human.
Inside the half-open ribcage lay something shocking:
A bloody key, shaped like a five-headed flower. And at its center—A hole for a missing, tear-shaped gem.
The wind stopped for one breath.
As if something had just acknowledged him—and was waiting for him to write the next line of the story.