Things did not stop there.
Even after that night, the next day, he went to an early morning bath before meeting everyone downstairs. He went to the washroom with his Jìng Róu mirror—if by chance needed.
Mò Qīn called out, suspicious of the whole situation. "You could have brought me with you instead of going at this ugly bath house like entering into a nightmare into early morning before breakfast." He looked out of the window. "Well, it still looks like night."
Lìngxiāo did not answer.
He was too busy studying the presence—which had come here this time. The bath house felt like its comfortable territory. His eyes were fixed on the damp floor where his bandage lay—the one he had unwrapped while showering.
It was being pulled toward the small wooden tub. Slowly.
While there was no one else with him.
Lìngxiāo's smile tilted up just a little as he answered Mò Qīn. "Do not worry. It is fine."
"I do not think so," Mò Qīn mumbled to himself, his tail rolling here and there thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the bathhouse door.
"Shh." Lìngxiāo hushed from the other side of the door.
Mò Qīn fell silent when ordered.
Lìngxiāo focused on the bandage again.
"Bandages mean healing wounds," he said to the presence, almost gently. "Do you have wounds to wrap?"
The bandage—which had been playing, trying to hunt him—froze mid‑path, as if surprised that Lìngxiāo was speaking to it so thoughtfully.
It did not take it after that. It simply burned and faded into ashes.
Lìngxiāo chuckled faintly to himself. He was more thoughtful about the philosophy and the message behind it than about taking it as any threat.
'Seems like it does not want to heal pain… it wants to burn it away.'
He stood up to go behind the changing screen. His fingers touched the damp fabric wrapped around his body. 'If it is still watching me…'
His gaze drifted to the screen.
A shadow was there. But it simply… walked away. As if giving him space. Or doing something else. But surely not leaving him alone.
Lìngxiāo kept watching for a moment. 'If it is not actively disturbing me… this is not only about the case. There is something more.'
A knock echoed through his room.
Lìngxiāo began changing his robe and hushed to Mò Qīn. "You speak."
Mò Qīn answered immediately. "Yes?"
"Lìngxiāo Gōngzǐ, may we confirm to our Jade Chóng Fēi that you will arrive within half an hour for breakfast? He ordered me to confirm."
The maid spoke with silent nervousness, as if Chóng Fēi would tear her arm off if she did not return with an answer.
'Is His Highness getting impatient? Or did the spirit do something again?'
Once he was done, Lìngxiāo came out of the bathhouse quickly, before Mò Qīn could answer. His long brown hair was half‑damp and loose around his towel.
"Tell him I will be in the dining hall within twenty minutes," he answered kindly.
"Thank you for confirming." The maid hurried away.
"What did that presence do while you were in there?" Mò Qīn asked quickly, confused and questioning whether Lìngxiāo was still himself or already possessed.
"You thought I would die or be possessed, and you would be freed, Mò?"
Lìngxiāo asked while fixing his robes and drying his hair quickly, not even too serious about his own dangerous words.
Mò Qīn huffed. "Why do you always say that?" Then added bitterly, "Just tell me directly if this is personal."
"If everything were direct, life would not be this easy. So I have a reason not to be indirect."
He smiled brighter, sweetly at him, showing neither the full calculation of the spirit nor the full bitterness—it was all mixed together.
"You will rot impossibly, surely," Mò Qīn mumbled, annoyed, crawling closer to him on the bed.
"Maybe yes. Exorcists do rot in a different way."
Lìngxiāo answered while trying to tie his hair lightly—presentable, but open enough to let it dry. His gaze was on the mirror. 'Interesting guǐ. I did not need to use the mirror. It seemed… rotten wine found out to be too sweet.'
Then he blinked. He felt—no, saw—someone behind him. He touched his own hair and looked behind.
Nothing again. But his hair was fully dry within seconds.
Mò Qīn sensed it too. But he did not try to do anything. He had not been ordered. "Brilliant. Now the spirit is drying your hair like a personal servant?"
Lìngxiāo knew this presence had probably done something. But it was weirdly tender, while earlier things had been horror.
He wondered what would come next.
"This is the stillness before the storm, perhaps. We cannot be reckless in any way. You should not insult him either—he might break the peace here."
"Like hell—"
But before Mò Qīn could finish his mocking, the melting candle—still glowing—leaped toward him.
Lìngxiāo turned sharply, a wave of spiritual power making the candle blow away just as it was about to set the blanket on fire.
"Now it is showing me frustration too," Mò Qīn said dryly, with mocking disbelief.
Lìngxiāo sighed.
"We might be saved, but common people could be hurt if you make the unsteady presence angry. Let it be. At least it is not hurting others."
"The most unbearable spirit I have ever seen," Mò Qīn hissed, tangling around Lìngxiāo's wrist. "And I am supposed to be the spirit here."
"You talk too much. Go back for now." Lìngxiāo got ready to go downstairs. "Your face would scare common people. Again."
"Fine. Since I have no work."
Mò Qīn turned into a pendant around his neck—a form he had not taken for a while.
Lìngxiāo closed the door of his chamber after taking his small bowl with himself.
**
The dining hall was luxurious yet almost lifeless—compared to the towns Lìngxiāo had visited for his work.
'They left it just as before… but it feels different now.'
He looked up at the ceiling art. The golden paint was no longer fully there. The drawing of dancing figures reminded him of something he could only feel—but could not name.
He looked forward once he reached the bottom of the stairs, offering a gentle yet professional smile to the elders and heads of the household, bowing warmly.
"Thank you for waiting for me." He looked around lightly, searching for Chóng Fēi. "Has His Highness not arrived yet?"
One elder bowed and responded, "Our apologies. He may be convincing his zhù fù to join."
Lìngxiāo blinked as he took a seat, thoughtful but accepting. 'Is he not joining because I am sitting in front of him?'
He cleared his throat. "Is His Highness unwell?"
"He has been feeling unwell since yesterday and did not wish to eat his nighttime meal," another elder said.
"I see," Lìngxiāo whispered.
At that moment, Chóng Fēi joined the breakfast. Bored. Exhausted. In a bad mood. He did not acknowledge the respectful bows as he usually did, with pride.
"Hm. Sit down." His voice was flat. His gaze fell on Lìngxiāo once—strange, unreadable—before dropping to his food.
"Everyone should eat. My father is not willing to join us. He is still asleep."
'He fell asleep this quickly? It is not even the time. Interesting…'
Lìngxiāo looked down at his food bowl and took out his own from his sleeve to put the food there. But he saw something which made him forget what he was about to do.
It looked centuries old.
'Have they given me rotten food? To humiliate again..?' He looked carefully at his bowl, then at the others.
All of it was rotten. 'Oh, lord. This is suspicious.'
"Everyone, kindly listen to me." He stood up to speak urgently.
But everyone had already put food in their mouths.