06，it' wasn’t him

The living room was awash with swirling spiritual energy. The lamps on the altar flickered erratically, as though disturbed by the heavy aura of yin energy and magic.

Han Ling stood before the altar, his long hair lifted by the spirit wind, black eyes reflecting the faint glow of the rune array beneath him. In his hand, the spirit brush paused midair, scattering golden runes like falling fireflies. They drifted into the faint, hazy figures of An Yan's family—their souls, just summoned back, still bewildered and fragile, on the verge of dissipating again.

"Souls, return to your rightful place. Spirits, settle and find peace." Han Ling murmured the incantation, low yet laced with authority. With each word, his brush swept across the air, weaving silver-white rune chains that wrapped around the souls, binding them back to their bodies.

Threads of light quietly lit up on their foreheads, chests, and toes, as if knitting their scattered souls back into wholeness.

An Yan knelt nearby, tense and unblinking as he watched his family. His mother, Alice, still looked elegant despite her pallor. His father, An Junhui, was ashen. His brother, An Yang, bore faint traces of resentment between his brows, while his sister, Annie, trembled in fear, her face deathly pale.

Han Ling raised his hand and pressed his finger lightly against Annie's brow, infusing a trace of spiritual energy. Her expression softened, fear fading, and the icy, bone-deep chill in the room finally began to dissipate.

"Don't move." An Yan couldn't help but want to reach for his family, but Han Ling's sharp gaze stopped him.

"The souls haven't fully stabilized yet. If you break the connection now, they'll wander as lonely ghosts forever."

An Yan's fingers twitched. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the cry that nearly escaped his throat.

Just then, a cold wind blew in through the door, stirring the lamps into frantic dance. Two tall black figures appeared silently at the threshold, one after the other, clad in pitch-black robes embroidered with white soul-binding runes at the cuffs and wearing underworld badges on their chests. Their pale, ghostly eyes swept the room, then they exchanged a glance, nodded, and stepped in.

"Heaven Master," one of the emissaries cupped his hands, voice low and hoarse. "We detected a concentration of yin energy here and came to investigate… We didn't expect it to be you."

"Hm." Han Ling put away his brush and turned with an indifferent expression. "Sorry you came for nothing. These souls belong here. They're not yours to take."

"…The heavenly rules come first. We wouldn't dare." The other emissary's tone was respectful yet hesitant. "But… we still need something to report back."

Han Ling arched a brow. With a flick of his wrist, the spirit brush reappeared between his fingers. He tapped it lightly, and dark energy hissed from the tip. Runes along the shaft lit up as ghostly figures—wild, unbound spirits—shuddered into view around the brush, trapped within his array, wailing silently.

"There are a dozen stray ghosts here, steeped in malevolence. Take them." Han Ling said coolly.

The emissaries' eyes brightened with gratitude. One opened a black spirit bag, drawing in the shrieking souls one by one.

"Thank you, Heaven Master. This is more than enough." They bowed deeply.

Han Ling lazily flicked a golden rune into their palms. It glowed faintly warm to the touch.

"My sigil. If you need me, you can contact me the underworld's way. You don't want to send someone running every time I step in, do you?" He said lazily.

The emissaries looked at each other in surprise, then bowed again and carefully tucked the sigil away.

As they were leaving, one of them turned back and added, "Lately, the souls in this region have been vanishing inexplicably. The dead listed on the ledgers remain alive, while the living suddenly die and their souls can't be found. If you encounter someone who needs to be sent to the underworld… please call us."

With that, they faded into mist and slipped away through the door, taking the chill with them. The flames steadied. The room fell silent.

Han Ling put his brush away and flicked the residual yin energy from his fingers before glancing back. "It's done."

At his words, the faint souls locked to their bodies slowly opened their eyes.

The first to regain her senses was Alice. Her gaze was still dazed, but when she saw An Yan kneeling before her, tears welled up. "…Xiao Yan…?"

"Mom!" An Yan couldn't hold back anymore. Tears streamed down his face as he lunged forward, clutching her hands. "Mom… you're finally back…"

His father slowly raised his head, still weak but gripping his son's shoulder at last. An Yang let out a tired sigh, muttering, "Scared me to death… I thought I'd never see you again…"

Annie sobbed quietly, and An Yan hurriedly pulled her into his arms to comfort her.

The family huddled together at last, warmth and breath returning as tears flowed freely. In the middle of it all, An Yan choked out: "Thank you… thank you…"

Han Ling stood off to the side, watching, his long black hair slightly disheveled, a faint, indifferent smile on his lips. He lazily unwound the spiritual chains binding An Yan's soul, as if they'd never existed. He said nothing more, just flicked a bit of energy into the incense on the altar, watching the curling smoke wrap around the sobs and laughter.

After a while, he murmured under his breath: "Live well."

"You're amazing, you can even talk to underworld emissaries," Leander, who had been watching from the side, remarked admiringly.

"You can see ghosts?" Han Ling looked at him, surprised. If someone could see spirits without opening their spiritual eye, they were a heaven-sent prodigy.

"I couldn't before. But just now, standing near you… at first I only vaguely saw Aunt Alice and the others' translucent forms. But the longer I stayed by you, the clearer they became."

Leander didn't admit that he'd been unconsciously absorbing Han Ling's scent and power, only realizing afterward that it let him see ghosts more clearly.

Han Ling froze, a memory surfacing. His mother once told him, their clan could not bond lightly with anyone—they could only take their fated one, ordained by the heavens, someone who would never betray them. If one partner was not a cultivator, they'd unknowingly begin cultivating just by staying near…

Han Ling's gaze turned complicated as he looked at Leander, who only smiled back softly.

Elsewhere, however, the atmosphere was much colder.

The An family, still shaken from their ordeal, listened as An Yan explained, his voice trembling.

"…It was that sachet. The peace talisman cousin An Hong gave me last week, when I was sick… he said it was blessed and would keep me safe…"

Before he could finish, An Junhui shot to his feet, face dark with rage. He dialed a number with shaking fingers.

"Brother. Get An Hong here. Now."

On the other end came a startled voice, but An Junhui only growled, "—Now!"

He slammed the communicator down, the sound making everyone flinch.

"Dad…" An Yan bit his lip, as if wanting to speak but holding back.

Han Ling, lounging on the arm of the sofa, narrowed his eyes and glanced at the sachet. Something didn't feel right. He'd have to see the person to be sure.

Perhaps the one who cursed the sachet… wasn't An Hong.

Before long, the door swung open. An Hong shuffled in wearing pajamas, his parents following in confusion. He hadn't even had time to ask what was wrong when An Junhui lunged and slapped him across the face.

"Why?! Why would you harm us?!"

An Hong froze in shock, his cheek burning. His uncle grabbed his collar, slamming him against the wall, fists raining down.

"Stop it, Dad!" An Yang and An Yan rushed to pull him off. "You'll kill him!"

"Stop, Ah-di! Calm down!" An Hong's father tried to intervene.

"I don't think it was him…" An Yan muttered, eyes wet, stepping forward to shield his cousin.

Just as blood began to drip from An Hong's nose, Han Ling lazily waved his hand.

"Xiao Yun."

The spirit sword Xiao Yun, who had been lazily clinging to Han Ling's wrist to watch the scene unfold, was urged by his divine sense to intervene. Reluctantly, it transformed into its true form and stepped in front of An Hong, raising a hand to lightly block and firmly restrain An Junhui's wrist.

"That's enough," Han Ling said mildly. "If you really kill him, you'll regret it."

An Junhui's body trembled as he finally stopped.

An Hong's face was pale as he clung to his mother, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Uncle… I… I don't even know what's going on…"

"It was you who called my son here, and now it's you who's hitting him. Can't you at least explain what happened first?!" shouted An Junde — An Hong's father.

Just as An Junhui raised his hand to strike again, Han Ling finally spoke.

"That sachet — was it you who asked for it for An Yan? Someone tampered with it, laid a curse inside. Tonight, they almost died because of it." Han Ling stood up, gazing down at him slightly.

An Hong steadied his breath, still shaken, but hurriedly explained, "No… it wasn't me who asked for it! It was a friend of mine, An Ye, who was traveling with me. That day we visited a temple, and he said since An Yan was sick, and we still had a few days left in our trip, he wanted to ask for a talisman for safety — said he was worried about misfortune on the road — so he ran off to find a monk at the temple.

"Afterward we split up, and when I and the others finished praying and waited at the gate, he came back about ten minutes later and handed me the sachet and talisman, told me to pass it to An Yan… he even said it was personally blessed by the temple's master. It really wasn't me…"

His face was pale, his voice trembling. "How could I possibly… harm Uncle's whole family…" His parents hugged him, murmuring softly to comfort him.

Hearing this, Han Ling let out a low, knowing snort. As expected.

He said quietly, "This kind of curse backfires on anyone who's touched the sachet even briefly. After you came back from the trip… did anything strange happen to you?"

An Hong froze for a moment. Then suddenly his eyes darkened.

"That day… I almost fell down the stairs… later a few nails even appeared on the floor of my room for no reason…"

Off to the side, Alice suddenly gasped, remembering something. "Right… when I visited my brother's house that day, I also heard that An Hong had fallen…"

An Hong stumbled back a step, his face full of disbelief. An Yan, meanwhile, stared wide-eyed — he never expected this was all orchestrated by someone they barely even knew.

An Hong pulled out his communicator and, with trembling hands, dialed An Ye's number.

"The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again."

The mechanical voice sounded.

The whole family froze.

An Hong frantically tried again and again, changing numbers, even asking friends to help contact An Ye. But every reply was the same — number not in service, social accounts deleted, no trace of him anywhere.

The living room fell into a deathly silence.

Only Han Ling and Leander, standing beside him, exchanged a faintly unusual look.

While everyone's attention was elsewhere, Han Ling quietly pinched a little paper man between his fingers, a trace of spiritual light gleaming on his slender fingertips. He playfully leaned close to Leander's ear and murmured, "Don't you feel… something's off?"

The warm breath brushed past his ear, and though Leander's expression stayed calm, he gave a small nod — but the tips of his ears flushed red, the heat lingering.

Han Ling curved his lips into a faint smile, then flicked the little paper man and slipped it unnoticed into An Junhui's collar — a tracking spell he'd just discreetly cast.

At this moment, An Junhui, pale-faced, was weakly echoing the family's conversation, but no one noticed the panic lurking deep in his eyes.

Then Han Ling walked to the table, picked up the sachet, and with a flash of light at his fingertips, burned the talisman paper inside with a spark.

A foul stench burst out, making everyone gag violently.

"Ugh! So foul!"

"Open the window — quick!"

Back when he first entered the house, Han Ling had already cast a spell to block the smell. Seeing Leander frown slightly, he raised his hand and added another isolation barrier around him.

"Don't frown," Han Ling said softly, a faint smile on his lips.

Inside the sachet was a curse concocted with corpse oil from a baby and a murdered female student, sealed with a deadly incantation. Han Ling's expression grew cold. He flicked his spirit brush, chanting an ancient, obscure spell:

"— Three souls return to the void, seven spirits scattered, the transgressor… suffers backlash!"

At the instant the spiritual light flared, thousands of miles away, in a pitch-black room —

A man in black robes stood by the window, his long hair tousled by the wind. Clutching a talisman in his hand, he suddenly coughed up a mouthful of black blood, his face darkening to an extreme.

"Damn it…"

Forming a spell seal with two fingers, he forcibly erased Han Ling's tracking spell.

His lips curved into a cold sneer as he muttered, "No one… can outmatch me. Hmph."

Over there, Han Ling sensed the resistance and let out a cold snort, raising his hand to dissolve the hidden counter-tracking spell as well.

"Interesting," he said with a frosty smile. "So there are still a few proper exorcists left in this world…"

As the curse inside the sachet was broken, two vengeful spirits that had been trapped within slowly manifested.

One was a bloodied, broken-bodied female student, clutching a baby that was almost just a head.

Her face was hideously disfigured, her eyes full of venomous hatred. The baby dangled in her arms like a rag doll, its hollow eyes staring at everyone.

"Ah—!" Alice and Annie fainted on the spot from fright.

An Yan fought hard to hold down his nausea, his face ashen.

Only Han Ling remained cold and impassive.

He drew a line through the air with his spirit brush, silently calculating where the bodies of the two victims had been discarded.

"What a vicious man," he said in a low, icy voice, his gaze dark as an abyss.