“So eager to confess without being pressed?” Li Shaoyang sneered.
Ye Sen ignored him, focusing instead on appeasing Old Master Ye.
In a family like theirs, such deeds were absolutely forbidden.
By now, Old Master Ye understood everything.
His eyes were heavy with disappointment. “Ye Sen, have you forgotten our family’s principles? I’ve warned you time and again—never resort to underhanded schemes for profit.
Why would you still do this? These are human lives, not toys!”
“Grandpa… Grandpa, I didn’t do it! How can you believe an outsider over me? I swear, I’m innocent!”
“You won’t admit it until you’re cornered. Fine. Ye Sen, take a good look behind you.”
Li Qiao flicked a talisman toward him. It vanished mid-air, and Ye Sen rubbed his eyes as a cold gust swept past him.
When he turned around, two ghostly children—a boy and a girl—hovered before him, their heads bloodied, their faces deathly pale.
Ye Sen screamed, collapsing to the ground.
“Gh-ghosts! Ghosts!”
The others couldn’t see the children.
No matter how far he scrambled back, the ghosts clung to him, their hollow eyes locked onto his.
“Stay away! Get away from me!”
He grabbed a shovel and swung wildly at them.
Giggles echoed eerily through the night.
Old Master Ye and Mr. Ye could only watch as he descended into madness.
“Master, please… save my grandson,” the old man begged.
But Li Qiao refused.
“Karma has come for him. These children are vengeful spirits—they’re here to claim his life.”
“Master, Ye Sen is the last heir of the Ye family. Name your price, but you must save him!” The old man’s voice was desperate.
Li Qiao had heard from Li Shaoyang that Mr. Ye and his wife were childless. Ye Sen was their only successor.
Yet, such a person had committed unforgivable sins.
He didn’t deserve to lead the family.
Though Old Master Ye knew his grandson was guilty, he still sought to protect him.
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
Her refusal hardened the old man’s expression.
“Save me! Grandpa, Uncle, help me! I did all this for you—for the Ye family!”
Ye Sen crawled to his grandfather, finally confessing to the ritual murder.
“Ye Sen… you’ve let me down beyond words.”
“Ye Zhengfei, what right do you have to be disappointed? You’re weak! If you had any backbone, our land wouldn’t have been snatched away!”
Ye Sen’s outburst stunned everyone.
He spewed venom at Mr. Ye, airing years of resentment.
Mr. Ye stared at his nephew’s twisted face, his heart sinking.
He’d raised Ye Sen as his own son.
“Fine. If you despise me so much, consider yourself disowned.”
“Disowned? The Ye family will still be mine! I’m its future—the only one who can elevate us to greatness!”
His arrogance was boundless.
Just then, Old Wang returned with offerings. Li Qiao prepared to perform a ritual to placate the spirits—
But Old Wang had brought another feng shui master.
Ye Sen lunged toward him. “Master Yang! Save me, please!”
“Filthy creatures! How dare you haunt the living?”
Yang Mao lunged at the ghosts, his blade piercing them.
They howled in agony, glaring at him with hatred.
Suddenly, a golden flash blinded Yang Mao.
A peachwood sword pressed against his throat.
Li Qiao stood before him, her gaze icy.
“Which school do you belong to?” she demanded.
Yang Mao smirked. “I’m the one who arranged the feng shui here. You’ve got some skill, girl.”
Some skill?
She’d make him regret his arrogance soon enough.
“An ethical practitioner would never aid evil. You’ll face divine retribution.”
Yang Mao laughed. “So what? I serve those who pay me. As for retribution—I’ll handle it.”
He radiated overconfidence. The ghosts cowered behind Li Qiao.
“How disgraceful—allying with monsters!” he spat.
“The only disgrace here is you.” She had no patience for him.
This was the Ye family’s mess. Let them clean it up.
Earlier, Old Master Ye had begged Li Qiao to protect Ye Sen. Now, with Yang Mao here, he saw a new hope.
“Master Yang, 10 million to save my grandson.”
Yang Mao’s eyes gleamed. “You have my word, Old Master.”
“You’re choosing to oppose me?” Li Qiao’s voice was steel.
The universe balanced itself—in fiction or reality.
Yang Mao’s defiance was suicide.
“Just business,” he shrugged.
With that, Yang Mao escorted Old Master Ye and Ye Sen away.
The two ghostly children vanished.
“Qiaoqiao, what now?” Li Shaoyang asked.
“That’s up to Mr. Ye.”
The root of this was the Ye family’s internal strife.
Mr. Ye sighed. “Our lineage ends here. He killed children…”
His voice broke. Those children had been someone’s treasures.
How could his father still shield Ye Sen?
A foreboding weighed on him.
The once-composed CEO slumped onto a rock, lighting a cigarette.
“Don’t despair yet,” Li Qiao said. “Your destiny shows signs of change. Soon, you’ll have joyful news.”
Mr. Ye froze.
Joyful news? A child?
“Master… are you joking?”
“Do I look like I joke?”
“No,” he admitted.
A child… at his age?
He and his wife had been married 25 years without children. Now, nearing fifty, could it really happen?
Was she lying?
“Mr. Ye, for now, focus on finding the families of those two children.”
The ghosts’ disappearance meant something was amiss.
