"What's the matter?" Qian Yun asked in confusion, her eyes settling on Mo Lin's unmoved figure.
"There," Mo Lin murmured, lifting a hand to point at the wooden cage dangling from Wang Bing's right hand.
Within that unassuming cage, Mo Lin had sensed the unmistakable aura of a Yin Attendant.
Wang Bing immediately grew alert, clutching the cage tighter and instinctively taking a step back, placing distance between himself and Mo Lin. His body tensed, retreating with caution. Standing before him, shielding him protectively, was the middle-aged man who had accompanied him — a silent barrier between Wang Bing and the looming threat.
"I'm the eldest son of the Wang family," Wang Bing declared in a deliberate tone, hoping the weight of his status might give Mo Lin pause.
But Mo Lin didn't so much as flinch. His expression remained as still and impassive as ever.
"What do you mean by standing in my way, brother?" Wang Bing asked cautiously, suspicion already budding in his chest. He could sense the tension thickening around them, the air growing taut like a string pulled too tight.
"That cage…" Mo Lin's gaze didn't waver. "Inside—there's a Yin Attendant, isn't there?"
Wang Bing's expression darkened, confirming Mo Lin's suspicion. So, this was the reason he had intervened.
"Brother, that Yin Attendant cost me twenty thousand nether coins. If you want it, give me the same price, and it's yours," Wang Bing replied, his tone guarded.
Twenty thousand nether coins—an astronomical sum. Mo Lin didn't possess that amount. All the wealth he had accumulated barely amounted to four thousand.
Though his Ghost-Suppressing Tome could generate nether coins daily, it currently contained only two suppressed spirits, and the amount it could produce was pitifully meager.
"Can I offer something else in exchange?" Mo Lin asked calmly. "I may not have the coins, but I may be able to provide something of equal value."
"No." Wang Bing rejected the proposal without hesitation. He had expected this—expected Mo Lin to lack the funds. That was precisely why he had named such a steep price, hoping Mo Lin would simply give up.
After all, in Yunchuan City, the number of people who could produce twenty thousand nether coins could be counted on one hand.
"If you have a different proposal, speak it. Perhaps I can accommodate you," Mo Lin offered, trying one last time to reason with him.
"My only condition is twenty thousand nether coins," Wang Bing replied firmly. "There's nothing else to discuss."
It was clear he never intended to part with the Yin Attendant.
Mo Lin stood tall and unwavering, his figure like an immovable mountain. For Wang Bing, the ghost servant was a mere stepping stone to power. But to Mo Lin, it was of utmost importance.
"Step aside."
The middle-aged man, Wang Bing's bodyguard, stepped forward and snapped with a scowl, his patience fraying.
Qian Yun leaned toward Mo Lin and whispered urgently, "That's Yang Xu, a second-rank spirit controller—one of the Wang family's guards."
And in the next instant—
Boom!
A sudden explosion ripped through the air, though the surroundings showed no visible change. There was only a curl of black smoke wafting from Mo Lin's crimson official robes.
Yang Xu's eyes widened in shock. He had launched a ghostly technique against Mo Lin, yet the man had emerged completely unscathed.
Yang Xu was no novice—he was a third-rank spirit controller, and his techniques were purely offensive. For an average controller without defenses, a strike like that would have been crippling.
But Mo Lin's robe was no ordinary garment. It was a Yin artifact—so potent that even a fearsome-level ghost would struggle to leave a mark on it.
"Soul Chain," Mo Lin intoned.
He raised his hand, and a dark, spectral chain sprang forth, flying directly toward Yang Xu.
The man barely had time to react before the chain coiled around his throat. His body stiffened, paralyzed. His limbs refused to obey. Only his eyes could move, wide with panic, as his mind remained fully conscious—locked in the helpless terror of sleep paralysis.
"We've got ourselves a real monster here…" Wang Bing muttered under his breath.
The red-clad stranger before him radiated strength—strength that far surpassed Yang Xu.
The contrast between the two was stark: Yang Xu's techniques were invisible to the naked eye. Mo Lin's? Tangible. Manifest.
The difference was immense—and it didn't stop at their techniques. Even their contracted ghosts must be leagues apart.
The soul chain tightened, its spectral form shimmering as it began to sink into Yang Xu's throat. A translucent shadow rose—his soul, beginning to separate from his body under the chain's crushing grip.
Wang Bing's face paled in horror.
"Brother—wait! Let's talk! There's no need for this to get violent!" he cried, desperate to save his guard.
Half the Wang family's influence in Yunchuan relied on Yang Xu. Regardless of whether the soul chain would truly destroy him, Wang Bing couldn't afford to find out.
"Let's negotiate! I'm open to a deal!" Wang Bing pleaded, voice rising in panic.
If Yang Xu died, or even suffered permanent damage, it would be a catastrophic blow to the family.
Mo Lin relented. With a faint motion of his hand, the soul chain vanished into the air.
Yang Xu collapsed to the ground, gasping in ragged, terrified breaths. He didn't dare to rise. He didn't even dare to look at Mo Lin. All courage had left him.
When had such a terrifying man appeared in Yunchuan?
"I'm not trying to take your possession without compensation," Mo Lin said, his voice calm but authoritative. "Give me the Yin Attendant, and I'll provide something of equal worth."
His earlier display had been no more than a warning. Mo Lin had no intention of seizing the ghost by force. That wasn't his way.
He was no common thug. He was an emissary of the Underworld.
Wang Bing hesitated. "I bought this ghost to elevate my contracted spirit to the Fearsome class. You can't help me achieve that, can you?"
"If you give me the Yin Attendant, let it be as a gesture of goodwill—as a beginning of friendship," he said, though each word felt like a knife to his own heart. The loss of twenty thousand nether coins was like bleeding gold.
"I can help you," Mo Lin said quietly.
Wang Bing's eyes snapped to his face.
"What… what did you say?"
"I said—I can help you elevate your spirit."
Wang Bing was stunned. "What? No… That can't be right. I said I wanted to elevate my contracted ghost to the Fearsome level. Do you understand what that means?"
"I do. And I can help you do it."
Wang Bing blinked, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.
This man—this terrifying man—had the ability to elevate a contracted spirit to the Fearsome rank? In a backwater city like Yunchuan?
"Brother, come on. There's no need for lies. You don't need to trick me. I'm already giving you the ghost," Wang Bing said, shaking his head, clearly unconvinced.
But Mo Lin said nothing more. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, then pointed to a secluded courtyard in the distance. "Come with me."
Wang Bing followed warily, led into a dim, shadow-laced chamber.
"Brother… you're not thinking of using nether coins to empower my spirit, are you? Don't waste your time. My ghost is heavily wounded. It can't absorb nether coins."
That was, in fact, why Wang Bing had turned to absorbing another ghost to boost its rank.
Mo Lin ignored him.
Instead, his voice echoed coldly through the dark room: "Come out."
"Ah?"
Wang Bing glanced left, then right. There was no one else present.
"Didn't you hear me?" Mo Lin snapped. "I said, come out."
Wang Bing recoiled, a chill crawling down his spine.
Who was he talking to?
The empty air?
Was he mad?
A sick feeling twisted in Wang Bing's stomach.