That voice—Mo Lin recognized it immediately.
It was the same woman who had stormed into the village earlier that day, leading a large group. Her tone now, however, lacked the cold sharpness it had held then.
"My name is Mo Lin," he replied politely, his voice calm yet steady.
"I'm the Vice President of the Ghost Control Bureau, Yunchuan City Branch."
Mo Lin recalled Qian Yun telling him about the Ghost Control Bureau—it was a national organization, with branches established across the country to deal with supernatural threats.
"Do you need something from me?" Mo Lin asked, his expression tinged with curiosity.
"I would like to formally invite you to join the Bureau," Li Bingyan said without preamble. She was straightforward, not one to beat around the bush.
She had been deeply impressed by Mo Lin's strength—enough to seek him out and try to bring him under their wing.
"I don't like being restrained," Mo Lin replied flatly.
"We don't intend to bind you," she assured him. "You'll retain complete freedom to do as you please. Only when we encounter matters that we cannot resolve on our own might we seek your assistance. You won't be doing grunt work—we will compensate you handsomely for any help you offer."
She understood all too well that the truly powerful individuals detested being shackled. They craved liberty, and she respected that.
"The Ghost Control Bureau has the most comprehensive intelligence network in the country. When it comes to the supernatural, we are far more informed than any lesser organization. If you ever need to find a person—or a ghost—I can get you the information you need."
Li Bingyan was not boasting. The Bureau had deep roots and an expansive network that spanned the entire nation. Their information was naturally second to none.
"If you find yourself in trouble, we can also provide support from our end—resources, connections, protection."
"I'll think about it," Mo Lin said. He hadn't made up his mind yet.
"I'll be waiting for your reply." With that, Li Bingyan nodded courteously and turned to leave.
Once outside the hotel, the man who had been trailing behind her frowned and muttered in dissatisfaction.
"Sister Li, he's just a ghost-handler. Was it really necessary to humble yourself so much just to get him to join?"
There were countless people clamoring to enter the Ghost Control Bureau. He couldn't understand why Li Bingyan had to lower herself for this particular man.
Li Bingyan came to a halt. Her voice turned stern and cold. "He captured a terror-class ghost."
The man fell silent immediately, a chill crawling down his spine. Instinctively, he tried to refute her. "Didn't Elder Yun say he just repelled one? Are you suggesting… Elder Yun lied?"
There was a world of difference between repelling and capturing a terror-class ghost.
To repel one, you could rely on ghost artifacts or Daoist tools—external sources of power.
But to capture one, you needed overwhelming strength of your own.
To subdue such a ghost implied that the man possessed the power of a fourth-rank ghost-handler—and what's more, he had a powerful contracted ghost.
In the entirety of Yunchuan City, fourth-rank ghost-handlers were extremely rare.
More importantly, if this man had already captured one terror-class ghost, it meant he either had—or was close to having—a second.
Terror-class ghosts were also called fourth-rank ghosts.
Possessing even one made you a fourth-rank ghost-handler.
To have two? That would place him among the elite, even within the fourth rank.
Realizing this, the man drew in a sharp breath, finally understanding why Li Bingyan had shown such deference.
"Do you have anything else to say?" she asked, her voice reverting to its usual frosty calm.
"No, Sister Li. I think you made the right choice. We must bring someone like him into the Bureau."
The two climbed into a black off-road vehicle and disappeared into the night.
Mo Lin lounged on the sofa, sipping soda, munching on snacks, and flipping through TV channels.
He was savoring the feeling of being back—of regaining a life once lost.
The shows on television were uninspired—mostly footage of ghost-handlers performing their duties.
Mo Lin retrieved a golden scroll from within his jacket.
This was the scroll King Yan had handed him when he left the underworld.
Unfurling it, he read the words inscribed within—a short but urgent message.
"The Ghost Cavern and the Bridge of Forgetfulness have both established powerful factions in the world of the living. Their influence is rapidly growing. Our Yekou lineage has no such foundation in this realm. You must proceed with caution. If you encounter agents of the Ghost Cavern, avoid them at all costs…
Zishang Qingrou is being hunted. If you can, help her escape…"
The message was clearly rushed—King Yan had likely wanted to say much more, but time had been too short.
The Ghost Cavern and the Bridge of Forgetfulness were bitter enemies of the Yekou line. From the message, it was clear they were thriving in the human world.
Only Yekou was struggling—no, failing miserably.
Zishang Qingrou was Mo Lin's senior.
When he had served as a ghost-officer, she had been his teammate—kind, powerful, and always looking out for him. Among all their peers, her strength had been unmatched.
King Yan had spent an enormous sum of underworld currency to send her to the mortal world years ago to establish a foothold.
By now, she had been in the living realm for three years. But judging by King Yan's message, she had failed to carve out a domain of her own—and was now being hunted.
Mo Lin thought long and hard. Eventually, he decided to join the Ghost Control Bureau.
Perhaps, through their intelligence network, he could find his senior.
Even if he couldn't, it wouldn't be a loss—better to lean against a great tree for shelter.
There was no downside.
Mo Lin tucked away the scroll and lay down on the wide two-meter bed, drifting into sleep.
It felt good to be back in the land of the living.
The next morning.
Mo Lin had just opened the door when he found a group waiting outside.
Two familiar faces immediately stood out.
Qian Yun seemed to have dressed up deliberately—she wore a pale grey cheongsam, her hair neatly coiled, light makeup on her face, and even a hint of perfume clinging to her.
Yesterday, the gloomy weather had obscured her features.
Now, up close, she was strikingly attractive.
As expected of a lady from a noble family—her skin was porcelain-smooth, soft as silken tofu.
A goddess-like beauty.
She gave a light hum of disapproval toward Li Bingyan beside her—clearly, some spat had occurred between them.
Li Bingyan wore a simple black leather jacket over a white top, her hair loose around her shoulders.
With her smoky eye makeup and aloof expression, she exuded the aura of a cool and distant goddess.
"Brother Mo, it's time for breakfast," Qian Yun said sweetly.
Behind her, someone entered the room carrying breakfast.
It was a simple meal: millet porridge and a few vegetarian side dishes.
Mo Lin sat down and began eating heartily.
He didn't recognize the vegetables, but they were tasty enough.
Li Bingyan ignored Qian Yun's attempts to charm and walked directly over to Mo Lin.
"Have you decided whether you'll join the Ghost Control Bureau?" she asked.
"I have. I'm willing to join," Mo Lin replied without hesitation.
For the first time, a faint smile touched Li Bingyan's usually expressionless face.
"From this moment on, you are one of us."
She handed him a phone.
"This is for you. My number's saved in it—call me if anything comes up. If you run into trouble, I'll help however I can."
"Our Ghost Control Bureau holds considerable sway in Yunchuan—more so than a certain young lady's family," she added, casting a side glance at Qian Yun.
"And just who are you referring to?" Qian Yun snapped, her displeasure evident.
Li Bingyan ignored her, instead pulling a card from her pocket and handing it to Mo Lin.
"This is a temporary ID. Your permanent one is being processed—I'll deliver it to you in a few days."
"If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave now."
She made a phone gesture with her hand toward Mo Lin, then turned to go.
As Vice President of the Bureau, her schedule was packed.
It had already been a feat for her to carve out an entire morning just to speak with him.