Chinatown's Mott Street was alive with lantern light by the time Ye and Rui arrived. Red and gold paper lanterns swayed from storefronts, casting warm glows over the sidewalks where elders sat burning joss paper. The smell of sandalwood and fried dumplings mingled in the air, a familiar comfort that felt out of place with the danger ahead.
Lao Guo's funeral parlor was quiet. The front door was propped open, and the faint sound of a radio—playing old Chinese opera—drifted out. Ye pushed the door open, the bell above it jingling softly. Lao Guo was behind the counter, folding sheets of joss paper into small boats. He looked up, his eyes widening when he saw them.
"Shaoyang, Rui—you're back. Did you find anything?" He set down the joss paper, wiping his hands on his blue apron.
Ye nodded, pulling out the broken bronze mirror. "Feng Qin talked. The Yin Nest is under the old army hospital—basement, behind the blood pool. Dao Feng's tied to a stone altar. Feng Xinyu has the other whisk fragment." He leaned against the counter, his voice tight. "We need to go tonight. At midnight—when Yin energy is strongest, but also when Feng Xinyu might be distracted by the festival."
Lao Guo's face paled. "Midnight? That's risky. The Yin Nest is a prison for spirits—once you go in, it's hard to get out. Dao Feng's been there ten years… what if he's not himself anymore?"
Rui stepped forward, her notebook in hand. "Feng Qin said he's still alive. The whisk fragment will lead us to him—Ye said it's connected to Dao Feng's energy." She paused, looking at Ye. "We need to prepare. Talismans, runes, the mirror—everything we can use."
Ye pulled a bag of supplies from his bike: cinnabar, glutinous rice, blank yellow talismans, and a small block of peachwood. "I can make Binding Talismans—they'll trap Feng Xinyu long enough to get Dao Feng and the whisk. But they need yang energy—my blood, or…" He looked at Rui. "Yours. Medium blood is strong—stronger than mine, maybe."
Rui hesitated. She'd never used her blood in rituals before—her grandma had warned her it was dangerous, that it could bind her to spirits. But Dao Feng was counting on them. "Okay. How do I do it?"
Ye took a small knife from his bag, its blade sharp and silver. "Just a tiny cut—on your finger. Let a drop fall on each talisman. It'll activate the cinnabar." He handed her the knife, his fingers brushing hers. "I'll show you the symbol first."
He dipped a brush in cinnabar, drawing a curved symbol on a blank talisman—two lines crossing, with a circle in the center. "This is the Binding Symbol. It traps yin energy, but only if it's charged with yang. Your blood will be the charge." He held up the talisman, letting her study it. "Got it?"
Rui nodded, taking the knife. She pricked her index finger, wincing slightly. A small drop of red blood welled up, and she let it fall onto the talisman. The cinnabar symbol glowed faintly, turning from red to gold.
"Whoa," she said, surprised.
Ye smiled. "Told you medium blood was strong. Let's make more—we'll need at least a dozen. And you should carve Algiz into some peachwood chips. If Feng Xinyu attacks, you can throw them—they'll repel her."
They worked in silence for an hour, the radio's opera playing softly in the background. Rui carved runes into peachwood, her fingers steady, while Ye painted talismans and mixed a paste of cinnabar and rice water. Every so often, their hands would brush, or Ye would pass her a new talisman, and Rui would feel a warm tingle—different from the cold of Yin energy, something softer, brighter.
"You're good at this," Ye said, nodding at her peachwood chips. The Algiz rune was carved cleanly into each one, its lines sharp and precise.
Rui laughed, setting down her knife. "I used to carve wood as a kid. My dad had a workshop in our basement—said it 'calmed the whispers.'" She picked up a chip, turning it in her hand. "Never thought I'd use it to fight ghosts, though."
Ye set down his brush, leaning back against the counter. "Life's funny that way. I never thought I'd leave Xuanqing Mountain—let alone team up with an FBI agent." He looked at her, his eyes soft. "But I'm glad I did. You're… different. Not scared of what you can't see."
Rui's cheeks heated. "Neither are you. Most people would call you crazy for carrying a wooden sword and talking to spirits."
"Most people are boring," Ye said, grinning.
Lao Guo cleared his throat, breaking the moment. He held up a small cloth bag, filled with something that clinked. "Holy water. From the Chinatown temple. It's been blessed by Taoist monks—good for repelling vengeful spirits. And here's the key to the hospital basement." He handed Ye the bag and a rusted key. "Be careful. I'll be here, burning joss paper for you. Just in case."
Ye took the bag and key, his smile fading. "Thanks, Lao Guo. We'll be back. With Dao Feng."
They finished preparing at 11:30 p.m. Ye slung a canvas bag over his shoulder, filled with talismans, peachwood chips, holy water, and the repaired bronze mirror. Rui tucked her rune chips into her blazer pocket, her Glock secure in its hidden holster. She checked her walkie-talkie—Mike's voice crackled through, saying his team was already at the hospital parking lot.
"Ready?" Ye asked, holding the door open for her.
Rui nodded, touching her jade pendant. It was warm, but not glowing—yet. "Ready."
The drive to the old army hospital was quiet. Ye rode his bike, Rui following in her SUV. The streets of Manhattan were empty at this hour, the only lights coming from street lamps and 24-hour bodegas. When they arrived at the parking lot, Mike was waiting with two SPU agents—Jake and Lisa—their flashlights on, their faces serious.
"Team's set up around the perimeter," Mike said, handing Ye a walkie-talkie. "We'll keep cops and civilians away. Check in every five minutes. If we don't hear from you… we're coming in. Even if you say not to."
Ye nodded, clipping the walkie-talkie to his belt. "Deal. Jake, Lisa—you stay here. This is between me, Rui, and Feng Xinyu."
Jake frowned. "You sure? We can help—"
"I'm sure," Ye said, cutting him off. "Feng Xinyu's after Dao Feng and the whisk. She'll lash out at anyone who gets in her way. We don't need more people getting hurt."
Rui squeezed Mike's arm. "We'll be fine. Promise."
Mike sighed, but nodded. "Go. Before midnight."
Ye and Rui walked to the back of the parking lot, where the metal door to the basement was hidden behind a stack of old crates. Ye used the rusted key to unlock it, the lock clicking loudly in the quiet. He pushed the door open, and a cold wind rushed out—carrying the smell of damp earth and rot.
"Stay close," Ye whispered, pulling out his peachwood sword. "Yin energy can play tricks—don't trust what you see."
Rui nodded, her hand resting on her Glock. She could feel the Yin energy now—thick, cold, like a wet blanket. Her jade pendant began to glow blue, faint at first, then brighter. The whispers started—faint, overlapping, begging for help. Dao Feng… help… the altar…
They descended the stairs, the concrete steps crumbling under their feet. The basement was a maze of tunnels, their walls covered in graffiti and old hospital posters—"Support Our Troops," "Wash Your Hands." Ye led the way, his sword held high, Rui beside him, her flashlight cutting through the darkness.
After ten minutes of walking, they reached a large chamber. The floor was covered in a thick, black liquid—the blood pool Feng Qin had mentioned. In the center, a stone altar stood, and tied to it was Dao Feng. His clothes were torn, his face pale, but his eyes were open—wide, alert, filled with relief when he saw them.
"Shaoyang… Rui…" he whispered, his voice weak.
"Dao Feng!" Ye ran forward, his sword raised. But before he could reach the altar, a figure stepped out from the shadows—Feng Xinyu, her white shroud flowing, the silver whisk fragment clutched in her hand.
"Took you long enough," she said, her voice cold. "I've been waiting."
Ye swung his sword, but Feng Xinyu dodged, the blade cutting through thin air. She waved her hand, and a burst of black smoke shot toward Rui. Rui threw a peachwood chip—carved with Algiz—at the smoke. It exploded in a shower of golden light, dispersing the smoke.
"Nice trick," Feng Xinyu sneered. "But it won't save you." She lunged at Rui, her fingers curved like claws. Rui pulled out a Binding Talisman, holding it up. The talisman glowed gold, and Feng Xinyu stumbled back, hissing.
Ye took the opportunity to run to Dao Feng, cutting the ropes that bound him with his sword. Dao Feng collapsed into Ye's arms, weak but alive. "The whisk," he gasped. "She has it—don't let her use it. It can open the Underworld."
Rui kept Feng Xinyu at bay, throwing talismans and rune chips. The chamber filled with light—gold from the talismans, blue from the runes, black from Feng Xinyu's smoke. Feng Xinyu screamed, a sound like breaking glass, and swung the whisk fragment at Rui.
"Ye!" Rui yelled.
Ye turned, throwing the bronze mirror at Feng Xinyu. The mirror hit her square in the chest, and she froze. Her true form was reflected in the glass—no longer a vengeful spirit, but a young girl, 18 years old, smiling with her family in a sunlit garden.
Feng Xinyu's eyes widened. "Ma… Ba…" she whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Rui stepped forward, her voice soft. "They're waiting for you, Feng Xinyu. In the Underworld. They don't want revenge—they want you to rest."
Feng Xinyu looked at the whisk fragment, then at the mirror. She let the fragment fall to the floor, her body beginning to fade. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."
She vanished in a burst of white light. The blood pool dried up, the Yin energy dissipating. The chamber went quiet, except for Dao Feng's ragged breathing.
Ye helped Dao Feng stand, and Rui picked up the whisk fragment. She walked over to them, holding it out. "It's whole now," she said, smiling.
Dao Feng took the fragment, pressing it to the half Ye had been carrying. The two pieces clicked together, glowing silver. "Thank you," he said, his voice filled with tears. "Both of you. I thought I'd never see the sun again."
Ye clapped him on the back. "You're family. We don't leave family behind."
Rui looked at her watch—it was 12:15 a.m. The festival was over, but the lanterns in Chinatown still glowed. "We should go," she said. "Mike's probably going crazy."
They walked back up the stairs, Dao Feng leaning on Ye. Outside, Mike and the agents were waiting, their faces relieved. Dao Feng was loaded into an ambulance, and Ye climbed in with him. Rui followed, sitting beside them.
As the ambulance drove to the hospital, Rui looked at Ye and Dao Feng—brothers, reunited at last. She thought about Feng Xinyu, about the spirits they'd helped, about the runes and talismans that had saved them.
This wasn't the end. There would be more spirits, more dangers, more adventures. But for now, they were together.
And that was enough.