When Director Zhao Quanshu of the SEIU learned that a significant number of classified spiritual items had leaked from the vault, his expression darkened like storm clouds over the ocean. Without hesitation, he issued a full-scale investigation order.
The SEIU headquarters maintained meticulous purchase logs from every regional branch. Each transaction was traceable. Any member who had ever acquired a restricted spiritual item, especially those categorized as high-risk, was now under strict scrutiny. No exceptions.
To test whether Feng Jinwen and the others were still secretly aligned with the SEIU, Song Miaozhu had made a calculated move—placing a phone call within their line of sight, right there in the courtyard, her tone intentionally firm and official.
Feng Jinwen had lowered his gaze, his expression unreadable beneath his fringe. But a few of the others... their reactions unsettled her. Sideways glances, faint smirks, even a glint of amusement in their eyes.
Why? Why would they look pleased?
A sinking feeling gripped her chest.
Before she could make sense of it, a searing line of fire erupted along the courtyard's edge.
A violent pulse of heat surged outward. Then came the roar—a chain of explosions so loud they seemed to tear the very sky apart. The shockwaves rippled through the compound, blasting apart tiles and timber. Several of the intruders, garbed in black, had apparently been carrying bombs. Those too went off in the ensuing chaos.
Far from the mountain, Zhao Huoyan and his team were still driving along the winding outskirts of Yuanshan Town when the ground trembled beneath them.
"That was an explosion!" one of them shouted. "It came from Xiaozhu Mountain!"
The driver slammed the accelerator. No one needed to be told twice.
Even from the base of the mountain, they could already see smoke and fire rising like a wounded beast clawing at the heavens. The courtyard was a blazing ruin.
Zhao Huoyan tried again and again to contact Song Miaozhu, but there was no answer. Each failed attempt chipped away at his composure. His hands tightened on his knees, knuckles white.
"Master Song, please be safe…"
But atop Xiaozhu Mountain, Song Miaozhu was already standing, unharmed.
The instant the first explosion went off, her spiritual armor—Grade-Four Yang Paper Clothes—reacted with perfect timing. The robes, infused with years of cultivation and reinforced with layers of talismanic arraywork, flared with light and absorbed the worst of the blast. In that precious second of cover, she had activated the embedded spiritual barrier.
Her fingers moved in practiced rhythm, summoning a group of paper soldiers to her side. A flare of white light burst from her sleeve. With a flick of her wrist, she activated a pre-prepared substitute paper body. The teleportation array pulsed, and her form vanished just as the second wave of explosions erupted behind her.
She reappeared high on the mountain slope, breathless but alive. It had worked. Her worst-case plan—an emergency contingency she had spent weeks refining—had worked.
Not everything had been saved, of course. But thanks to her foresight, she had stationed little paper servants at all key locations within the compound. Their role was simple: evacuate high-value items the moment danger struck.
She immediately summoned her connection to the Ghost Warehouse.
The spiritual imprint shimmered in her mind. Good. Most of the important materials were there.
The attic's bamboo strips, the cursed paper dolls, the spirit-gathering dolls from the basement—all accounted for. Her paper servants had been swift and decisive.
Even her three cats, Little Coal, Little Snowball, and Little Goldie, had been safely evacuated. Images flickered in her mind's eye: tiny paper servants clinging to the cats' backs as they galloped out of the courtyard like tiny warhorses on a mission. The team had rehearsed this exact emergency multiple times.
They had barely cleared the perimeter when the bombs went off.
Only after confirming, one by one, that the paper soldiers, paper servants, and animals were unharmed did she allow her shoulders to relax slightly.
The only thing they hadn't recovered in time was the set of spirit-gathering dolls left in her study. The black-clad intruders had been too fast. However, once the paper soldiers had subdued the remaining attackers and tossed their bodies outside the blast zone, the servants had doubled back to retrieve the dolls.
All told, her real losses were few: the courtyard itself, reduced to rubble... and the phone she had tossed aside just before teleporting.
That phone had to be left behind. Anything capable of revealing her new location was a liability during a retreat.
But the courtyard...
She turned her gaze toward the blackened mountain slope. The old house had stood for generations, built by her grandfather's hands and painstakingly restored under her own. It had not just been a place of residence—it was history, bloodline, legacy.
And the old locust tree...
A flicker of sorrow passed through her eyes. That tree had been planted the year her mother was born. Song Miaozhu clenched her fists.
When had they planted the bombs?
After the rainstorm, the courtyard should have been clear. Her paper servants had resumed patrols immediately. There had been no signs of intruders.
So, the only window of opportunity had been during the downpour itself.
But if that was the case, what explained those strange reactions from Feng Jinwen's group when she mentioned the SEIU?
Why would they look satisfied?
Why did some of them self-destruct?
Unless…
Unless the detonation hadn't come from them.
Could someone else have triggered the bombs?
A third party?
Song Miaozhu's instincts jolted to life. She snapped her fingers. Her personal guard of paper soldiers surged to her side in tight formation.
Wait—wasn't there still one little paper servant unaccounted for?
She focused her awareness. Yes. There it was. The connection was faint but intact.
It was the one she had attached to Feng Jinwen.
The view was dim, but stable.
She recalled vividly—at the exact moment of the explosion, Feng Jinwen had thrown himself down, almost mechanically.
Would that have been enough to shield himself? Wouldn't the servant have been incinerated too?
Unless his body had protected it... and he had survived.
"I can still hear his heartbeat. It's steady. But he's unconscious," the paper servant whispered through their link.
Taking advantage of Feng Jinwen's immobility, the servant peeked out from beneath his robes.
"His entire body is glowing faintly. But the light's fading. There's a burning locust branch resting on his chest. If he doesn't move soon, the fire will reach him."
He was alive.
Barely.
"Check his body," Song Miaozhu commanded. "Look for any spiritual item. Anything that saved him."
All known items had been confiscated. If he had something hidden, it would've been missed in the chaos. The servant crawled down the inside of his robes. Then—"Found something!"
On Feng Jinwen's thigh was a black scar, completely devoid of skin. A glowing ink character pulsed faintly on the exposed muscle.
The character was: "Life."
That was the source of the aura.
He had carved a calligraphy talisman directly onto his body.
Not written. Not tattooed.
Carved.
The ink had been embedded beneath the flesh, directly into the muscle. It was the only way such a character could have endured the explosion.
Savage. Brilliant. Insane.
He must have poured every last drop of his spiritual energy into that single word.
And now, it was burning out.
Song Miaozhu's eyes widened in realization.
She remembered. She had seen that exact "Life" character before.
It matched the one on the confiscated calligraphy scroll—the one that read "Life and Death."
He had cultivated that piece into a body-bound spiritual item. She bit her lip, suddenly regretting that she hadn't used the Spirit-Mirror Bronze to study it more carefully.
Just then, she felt a shift in the Ghost Warehouse.
Zero was moving.
She looked. On the floor, where the paper soldiers had gathered, was a new pile—familiar items, some of which had been recovered from the black-clad attackers.
"Did you bring those in just now?" she asked through the link.
Zero nodded.
A spiritual soldier had taken the initiative... to collect the enemy's belongings?
Loot?
"War trophies," Zero replied without hesitation.
Song Miaozhu stared for a moment.
"…Well done," she finally said.
They were evolving. Her paper soldiers were learning, growing sharper.
Zero had always been different. The first one she had ever created with a spirit-infused core. The prototype.
And now, still the best.
That could only be a good thing.