Chapter 19: Ghosts of the Past & Clues of the Present

Xinyi: The Shadows Her Father Left Behind

The archives smelled like time itself—aged parchment, ink, and the lingering dust of things people had long since stopped asking about.

Xinyi stood between towering shelves, her fingers tracing over old documents with quiet precision. Her father's legacy wasn't in the books of public history.

No, the truth was buried in private records, in the files people had deemed irrelevant—until now.

She didn't want to be here.

Digging into her father's failures was an admission of something uncomfortable—that he might have been onto something after all.

And if that was true…

Then maybe she had ignored a path that should have never been abandoned.

Mei stood a few feet away, rifling through another stack of records. "Still no trace of anything unusual," she murmured. "The board covered up his last few years too well."

Xinyi didn't look up. "Then we're looking in the wrong place."

Mei sighed. "And what place would that be?"

Xinyi turned a page. Her fingers stilled.

A list of old properties. Some long-sold. Others destroyed.

But one—one still in his name.

Her lips pressed together. A warehouse.

Untouched for years. Left behind when he lost everything.

Mei caught the change in her expression. "What is it?"

Xinyi shut the file, slipping it under her arm.

"Cancel my afternoon meetings," she said, already walking away.

Mei blinked. "Wait, where are we going?"

Xinyi's heels clicked against the marble floor. 

"To see what my father left behind."

..

Flashback: The Night Her Father Stopped Fighting

Xinyi was sixteen when she realized her father had already lost.

The room smelled of stale liquor and burnt incense, remnants of offerings he had made in secret. He wasn't a religious man, but that year, she had caught him lighting candles to ancestors he once scoffed at.

Desperation made believers out of men who had run out of options.

She had stood in the doorway of his study, watching as he poured over ancient texts and scattered blueprints, maps of things that no longer existed.

"Father."

He didn't look up.

His hands shook as he ran them over faded ink, as if hoping the words might change if he pressed hard enough.

"Xinyi," he said, voice raspy, worn. "Do you ever think about what comes after all of this?"

She frowned. "After what?"

He exhaled slowly. "After us."

His gaze finally met hers, and for the first time in her life, she saw a man drowning in his own failures.

He gestured to the papers before him. "Our wealth, our power—none of it matters if we don't break this cycle." His fingers curled into a fist. "We're running out of time."

Xinyi had wanted to believe him.

But she was sixteen. And sixteen-year-olds didn't believe in curses.

Only in the consequences of mistakes.

"You're wasting your time," she had said, arms crossing over her chest. "The board has already decided. They're stripping you of everything. You should be fighting them, not chasing ghosts."

Her father's lips quirked, something sad in the gesture.

"The board can have my title. My money. My influence." He tapped the paper in front of him. "But they can't take the truth."

She had turned away then, too frustrated to listen.

She never saw the envelope he tucked into the pages of his journal.

Never noticed the way his gaze lingered on the blueprint of a warehouse.

The same one she was going to visit now.

...

Wei: A Man Who Studies the Dead

Dr. Elias Qiao's office wasn't in a sleek medical building or a research facility.

It was in a quiet, unassuming space—the kind of place people didn't visit unless they had nowhere else to turn.

Wei stepped inside, Feng close behind, eyes flicking over the meticulous organization of the room. Medical books, framed credentials, a clean but almost sterile air.

Nothing unnecessary. Nothing out of place.

Dr. Qiao sat behind a polished desk, his hands folded neatly. Sharp suit. Colder eyes.

"You're earlier than expected," he said, his voice smooth but detached.

Wei took a seat without responding.

Dr. Qiao studied him for a moment, then exhaled, sliding a folder across the table.

"The preliminary findings."

Wei opened it, scanning the pages.

The collapsed workers had no obvious signs of poisoning. No structural damage. No neurological explanation.

Except for one thing. Wei's gaze narrowed.

"The REM cycle is unusually prolonged in one of them."

Dr. Qiao tapped the file. "It's as if he's in a deep dream state. But medically, there's no reason for it."

Wei's fingers drummed against the table. Another puzzle piece.

"Does that mean he can wake up?"

Dr. Qiao leaned back slightly. "In theory, yes. But it's as if… something is keeping him there."

Wei didn't like that answer.

He shut the file. "And the factory environment?"

Dr. Qiao hesitated, then reached for another paper.

"This is where things get odd."

He slid a second document toward Wei.

"The air quality, the chemical exposure—nothing is out of standard limits. But there was one anomaly."

Wei waited.

"Electromagnetic readings. They spike in certain areas."

Silence.

Feng exhaled. "You mean interference?"

"Not quite," Dr. Qiao mused. "More like an unusual presence of fluctuating fields. Nothing dangerous—just… strange."

Wei's grip on the file tightened slightly.

Fluctuations.

Like something invisible but lingering.

He didn't believe in ghosts.

But something about this felt unnervingly close.

Dr. Qiao steepled his fingers. "Whatever is happening in your factories, CEO Zhang… It's not something that can be explained by science alone."

Wei met his gaze. "That just means we aren't looking in the right places yet."

Dr. Qiao smiled slightly. "Then I suppose you'll be needing my services a little longer."

Wei didn't answer.

But he didn't deny it either.