I am also a ghost.

Yan Shidong nodded, indicating that he understood.

In their eyes, even if they utterly despised Old Feng’s son as a person, they still had to address him as “Young Master Feng.” As for Old Feng himself, who could influence the promotion of senior police officers—allowing them to bypass the ten-year experience required at the intermediate level—he was someone they absolutely could not afford to offend.

Even if, in private, they had cursed him as a fool more than once.

However, whether it was “Young Master Feng” or “Old Feng,” to this “Ling Tianquan, Young Master Ling,” neither was worth mentioning; in fact, they were almost the same to him.

The only difference was that one was a little pest, the other an old one.

That little pest was even his dog—just the sort he kept on a whim…

This sudden decision to deal with “A-Chen” most likely stemmed from an old grudge his “dog” had, which crossed his mind after arriving in Upper Sanjiang City, thus making him want to help his “dog” get revenge on a whim.

Yan Shidong was not surprised by this behavior. He had heard tales of it many times before; he just hadn’t expected that this time, it would happen to a former close friend.

“A-Chen, oh A-Chen, if only you had died that night, or gone to Skull Monastery and never returned—not only would you have been spared this present agony, you would have done me a favor. That would have been worthy of the friendship we forged together back in our school days,” Yan Shidong sighed silently in his heart.

In his view, falling into the hands of “Young Master Ling” promised a fate far worse than being killed by some supernatural horror.

Even though “A-Chen” had not yet been caught, the bounty and wanted notice had already gone out. At this point, it was practically inevitable.

In this world, no one can refuse money and profit.

If, one day, the person who once saved your life is wanted and there’s a bounty for them, and that benefactor just happens to show up at your house, most people in this world would only be grateful that their savior still thought of them at such a time.

Hesitation would be out of the question.

So Yan Shidong believed that capturing his former close friend “A-Chen” was only a matter of time.

He glanced upward, signaling with his eyes. “Uncle, should we go and apologize to Young Master Ling?”

“I’ve already gone before, but you haven’t. Once we find out who sold the firearms, you should go. You know what to say, don’t you?”

“Of course, Uncle,” Yan Shidong replied with a nod. After all these years by his uncle’s side, he certainly knew how to speak the right official words.

He didn’t have long to wait. The source of the firearms, an arms dealer, was apprehended in less than half an hour.

The Police Department tolerated these arms dealers only because all their guns and ammunition were registered with the authorities. All it took was to pick up a few shell casings, check the serial numbers, and trace them back.

This particular arms dealer was a local in Upper Sanjiang, known in the underworld as “Hotwire Qiang.” He was a figure with some clout among the street toughs. But now, all his swagger as a gang leader had vanished.

He looked utterly wretched—and deeply aggrieved.

After all, who could believe that after a ghost stole the guns he meant to sell, it would go on to shoot up the police chief’s villa?

He had no way to defend himself. In the end, Yan Shidong dragged him, along with his men, all the way to the door of Ling Tianquan’s resting room. But before Yan Shidong could even speak, “Hotwire Qiang’s” pleas for mercy drew a curt and familiar greeting from “Young Master Ling” himself—

“Get out!”

Yan Shidong hurriedly complied, fleeing with his men in terror.

He couldn’t understand it—he had spoken the most appropriate official words. Why, then, had he been met with such a response?

This “Young Master Ling’s” imposing manner stemmed not only from his background, but from his character as well.

Though overbearing, he was overbearing in a way that left people speechless, even awed. Unlike other scions who hid behind the law as a fig leaf, this one would openly tell ordinary people that, from birth, he had never lacked for money—had never even imagined what it would be like to go without.

He openly admitted that everything he had was thanks to his family background.

Whatever business he ventured into, people scrambled to partner with him, practically handing him money at a loss.

If someone with no sense offended him elsewhere, he wouldn’t even need to say a word—sometimes wouldn’t even know about it—before someone handled it for him. And as for how they handled it? If you had no sense, then you didn’t need your eyes.

So, reviewing “Young Master Ling’s” ways, Yan Shidong simply couldn’t fathom why, at this moment, he would shout in anger, “Get out!”

…

Inside the room, Ling Tianquan wore an expression of fury, but his eyes betrayed an unmistakable terror.

It was a complex look, one that could not appear on a normal person’s face—unless they had suffered a most unusual ordeal.

And right now, Ling Tianquan had suffered exactly that: all of his hair was gone.

Every strand, uprooted as if by some instantaneous force.

To have all his hair vanish without him noticing, was that not proof that whoever did it could just as easily kill him?

The thought made Ling Tianquan shudder.

How many years had it been since he last felt fear like this?

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he stood and walked over to a specially arranged altar.

On that altar sat only a peculiar bronze incense burner.

“Shenjiao,” Ling Tianquan called softly.

But the incense burner gave no reply. A shadow of pain crossed Ling Tianquan’s face, quickly suppressed.

“Three living people who meet your requirements,” he said.

No sooner had the words left his lips than a faint black mist drifted out of the bronze burner.

The black mist spread, shrouding the room in a gray haze, as if it were veiled by a curtain of rain.

Out of this mist, a seductive figure appeared—a young girl clad in red, her allure made all the more bewitching by her attire.

She twisted her slender waist, swaying gracefully toward Ling Tianquan, and said with a coquettish laugh, “My good brother, you said it yourself! It’s not as though your little sister went out eating people at random—it was you who insisted I do it!”

Her voice was gentle, yet her eyes glowed with a harsh green light—the sign of malevolence gathering.

In an instant, the room’s temperature dropped by several degrees, and a chill spread outward.

This was a vengeful spirit.

Ling Tianquan gazed at the girl who had once been his sister, an unreadable look in his eyes, though his expression remained unchanged.

“Shenjiao, do you know who plucked out my hair?”

“Of course I do! I saw the whole thing,” the girl replied without hesitation, leaving Ling Tianquan briefly stunned.

“Then why didn’t you stop it?”

Ling Tianquan could hardly believe it—he had assumed “Shenjiao” was still recovering from devouring those three people, too weak to notice what had happened to him.

“Why would I stop it? Brother, did you forget? I’m a ghost too!” She giggled, as if she’d just heard a most amusing joke.