The Guan Yin pendant around Rui Lengyu's neck burned like a smoldering ember, its heat seeping through her turtleneck as she stared at the text on her phone. "Columbia University: Professor Wang Missing from Ancient Books Section—Security Footage Shows 'Floating Books' and a 'Translucent Man'." The photo attached made her pulse quicken: a dimly lit archive room, books scattered across the floor, a single leather-bound journal open to a page etched with Xuan Ying's broken-cross symbol. The Pivot Shard in her blazer pocket hummed in response, its golden glow casting faint lines over the screen—pointing directly north, toward Morningside Heights.
"Ghost Professor," Ye Shaoyang said, leaning over her shoulder to look at the phone. His peachwood sword, propped against the passenger door, flared faintly gold—Yin energy, sharp and old, clinging to the image. He tapped the journal in the photo. "That's Wang Chong—Xuan Ying's father. Master Qingyunzi wrote about him. 1950s Xuanqing disciple, exiled for trying to teach black magic to students. Died in a fire at the university's archive… or so everyone thought."
Lin Mei's fingers tightened around her cinnabar vial, her voice quiet with gravity. "He's not just a ghost—he's a 'Bound Spirit.' Xuan Ying tied his soul to the ancient books, forced him to guard the 'Yin-Yang Ring's Weakness'—a spell that can break her control over the ring. She's scared we'll use it to free your mother from her influence."
Ye parked the SUV on Broadway, the spires of Columbia's Low Library visible through the trees. The air smelled like old paper and freshly cut grass, but the calm was shattered by a student running past, yelling: "The books are moving again! They're chasing people out of the archive!"
A campus police officer stood at the entrance to Butler Library, his face pale. "We closed the ancient books section an hour ago," he said, handing Ye a flashlight. "Professor Wang was cataloging Ming Dynasty scrolls. Next thing we heard, he was screaming. When we got there, the room was trashed… and he was gone. Just that journal left."
The archive room was on the library's third floor, its door hanging off its hinges. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the sweet, musty scent of decaying parchment. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with leather-bound volumes and rolled scrolls, and in the center, a oak table held the open journal—Wang Chong's, Rui realized, its cover embossed with a tiny Xuanqing Mountain symbol.
"Stay behind me," Ye said, his hand brushing her elbow. His fingers were warm through her blazer, and the Pivot Shard in her pocket dimmed, as if reassured by his presence. "Bound Spirits lash out with their regrets. Wang's is failing his daughter—Xuan Ying. She'll use that guilt to make him fight."
Rui nodded, pulling out her oak rune chips—soaked in double-strength cinnabar, their blue glow faint but steady. She stepped forward, her Yin Sight activating, and saw him: Wang Chong, a tall man in a 1950s tweed jacket, his hair gray at the temples, his hands clutching a scroll. His eyes were hollow, his body translucent, and around him, books hovered in mid-air, their pages fluttering like angry birds.
"Leave," he said, his voice echoing. The books shot forward, their pages sharpened into blades. Ye swung his sword, slicing through a leather-bound volume, and the pages dissolved into black smoke. "This is none of your business. Xuan Ying will kill me if I let you take the journal."
"Xuan Ying's already using you," Rui said, her voice soft but firm. She held up a rune chip, its glow brightening. "She tied your soul to these books. She lied about freeing you—she just wants the spell in the journal. The one that breaks the Yin-Yang Ring."
Wang's body trembled. The scroll in his hand unfurled, revealing a sketch: a young Xuan Ying, no older than 10, standing beside Wang in front of Xuanqing Mountain. "I wanted to help her," he whispered. "She was so angry—Master loved your 外婆 (wàipó—grandmother) more. She thought the Yin-Yang Ring would make her 'worthy.' I taught her the basics… and she ran. Stole the ring. Killed your grandmother."
A wave of cold Yin energy rushed forward, and Rui stumbled back. Ye caught her, his arm around her waist, and his sword flared gold, pushing back the energy. "He's not in control," Ye said, his voice tight. "Xuan Ying's whispering to him. We need to break her hold."
Rui closed her eyes, focusing on her medium energy. She sent a thread of blue light toward Wang, wrapping it around his translucent form. "I can hear her," she said, her eyes still closed. "She's yelling at him—calling him a failure. Tell him you're sorry, Wang. For not stopping her. For letting her hurt people."
Wang's hollow eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Yingying," he whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I let you become this."
The books around him fell to the floor, and his body began to glow. He held out the journal, its pages flipping to a spell written in ancient Chinese: "Yin-Yang Ring, break thy chain; blood of the wronged, free the pain." "This is the spell," he said, his voice fading. "It needs Xuan Ying's blood… or yours. You're the Balance Keeper—your blood can override hers."
With a final smile, he dissolved into light. The journal closed, floating into Rui's hands, and the Pivot Shard in her pocket glowed—syncing with the spell, its surface etching the words into its metal.
Ye helped Rui stand, his hand lingering on her arm. "You okay?" he asked, his thumb brushing the faint scar on her wrist—where Xuan Ying had sliced her weeks earlier. His eyes were sharp with worry. "Your arm—does the 咒毒 (zhòudú—curse poison) hurt?"
Rui nodded, pressing a hand to her bicep. The black mark had spread, now reaching her elbow, and it throbbed in time with the Pivot Shard. "It's worse. Like it's reacting to the spell."
A cold voice echoed through the archive room—Xuan Ying's, coming from the Yin-Yang Ring Rui had confiscated from Chen earlier. "Clever of you to find the spell. But it won't save Master Qingyunzi. I have him, Rui. 满月夜 (mǎnyuè yè—Full Moon Night) , ancestral hall. Bring the Pivot. Bring your blood. Or he dies."
The ring fell silent, clattering to the floor. Rui picked it up, its surface cold and smooth, and the spell in the journal glowed brighter. "She has Master," she said, her voice tight. "We have to go. Now."
Dao Feng and Lin Mei were waiting outside the library, their faces grim. "Xiao Li texted," Dao Feng said, holding up his phone. "Master's robe was found by the ancestral hall's back door. No sign of him, but there's cinnabar on the ground—Xuan Ying's."
Lin Mei took the journal, flipping to the spell page. "This is our chance," she said, her eyes bright. "With this spell, we can break the Yin-Yang Ring. Free your mother from Xuan Ying's control. Stop the ceremony."
Rui's Guan Yin pendant throbbed, a quiet warning. The Full Moon was in hours. The ancestral hall. Master Qingyunzi. Her blood.
But as she looked at Ye—his sword glowing, his hand in hers—she didn't feel fear. She felt resolve. They had the spell. They had the Pivot. They had each other.
"Let's go," she said, tucking the journal into her blazer. "We have a Master to save."
As they walked to the SUV, the sun began to set over Columbia's campus, painting the sky in deep oranges and purples. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang—13 times, not 6—and a cold wind swept through the trees, carrying Xuan Ying's laugh.
The final night was here. The ceremony was waiting.
But this time, Rui Lengyu wasn't going to let Xuan Ying win. She had the spell. She had the team. She had the courage to face her past—and her future.
And when the Full Moon rose, she would fight.
For Master. For her mother. For everyone Xuan Ying had hurt.
No matter what.