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When the dead hold grudges, they refuse to enter reincarnation and linger as vengeful spirits. A millennium ago, a new faction emerged from the lineage of tomb raiders, abandoning tomb plundering to specialize in resolving feng shui disputes and subduing malevolent ghosts. This faction was known as the Yin Yang Si (Department of Yin and Yang). At its zenith, all matters related to burial rites, haunted tombs, and restless spirits fell under its jurisdiction.

Yet today, its legacy teeters on the brink of extinction. Only four core disciples remain: Qin Yichuan, Xun Yan, Yin Hongyu, and Yin Hongning.

In shadowy tunnels, vengeful spirits block their path; cursed garments, overflowing with resentment, kill without a trace. A massacre in an old mansion—was it orchestrated by human hands, or a ghostly act of revenge? Sinister bronze dolls and possessed bodies unravel decades-old secrets.

In remote villages, a relentless string of deaths and eerie midnight wails hide chilling truths.

Amidst rising mysteries and unquiet souls, follow Qin Yichuan and his allies as they uphold the duties of the Yin Yang Si, judging the dead and solving supernatural crimes.

Qin Yichuan and Xun Yan reunite to hunt ghosts and pursue justice.

Tags: Suspense & Mystery, Premium Fiction

Saga of the Tomb Raiders

Chapter 3: Trapped Souls

Yin Hongyu snorted. "Instant death would've been mercy. What's trending isn't the crash—it's the husband who fled, leaving his wife pinned in the wreck. The other driver woke from a coma and called 911, but by then…" She mimed a throat-slash. "Blood pooled. Body cold."

"And the bastard's alive?" Qin asked.

"Oh, he's breathing. Zhao Xuemao—hospitalized, internet's roasting him daily."

"Get the crash files. And quarantine that opera robe when it arrives," Qin ordered, heading out.

"Hospital. Time to chat with our cockroach."

Yin grabbed his sleeve. "Qin. Your lifespan isn't infinite. Those karmic threads—"

Her curse chased him downstairs: "See if Xun Yan doesn't skin you!"

At First People's Hospital, Qin slapped an "Inattention Talisman" on his chest—Yin Hongning's invention that made eyes slide off him like rainwater. Zhao Xuemao's private room reeked of nightmares.

Qin waited for nurses to pass, then slipped inside. The executive lay skeletal, IVs beeping a dirge. Black mist coiled around Qin's finger—then dissipated.

Instead, Qin pricked his half-healed finger. Blood dripped as he painted ghostly script midair. The sigil sank into Zhao's forehead.

Tunnel. Laughter. A sudden brake. Zhao's scream as flames ate him alive—

Qin snapped his fingers. The nightmare froze. "Encore's over."

Blue fire erupted from his palm. "Break!"

Zhao jolted awake, monitors shrieking. Qin leaned in, smile sharp as a scalpel. "Mr. Zhao. Let's discuss your wife's accidental death."

The executive paled. "You're not police."

"Better." Qin twirled a smoke tendril. "I deal in karma. And yours reeks."

Zhao's mask cracked. "Legally, I'm clean! I called for help—"

"Ghosts don't care about legal. You wished her dead. That's enough."

Qin conjured a contract—transparent parchment glowing with blood script. "Two choices: Truth, and I handle your haunting. Lies, and you rot here, nightmares gnawing your soul."

Zhao's jaw twitched. "Fine. I married her for connections. She became… inconvenient. The crash was chance, but when I saw her trapped…" A shark's grin. "I hesitated."

Qin's revulsion simmered. "Wasted her youth, then blamed her for wanting love?"

"Sentiment's for losers. I optimize."

Even Qin, veteran of a thousand horrors, recoiled. "You're a masterpiece of filth."

The contract glowed. "Last chance: Any lies?"

Qin slammed the pact onto Zhao's chest. Black ink sizzled—a name seared in karmic fire. "Break this truth, and Hell will collect interest."