The first light of dawn was painting the sky above Yunjing City in pale pink and ash gray when Chen Fan walked out of Ancient Yun Manor, the wooden sword tucked securely into the inside of his frayed delivery jacket, the compass still thrumming with a warm, steady pulse against his throat, the silver locket heavy and cold in the pocket of his jeans. The man in the tailored suit was long gone, his guttural screams fading into the mist-shrouded woods beyond the manor's iron gate, but Chen Fan could still feel the faint, sickly tang of rot clinging to the morning air—a lingering reminder that the owner, the shadowy figure pulling the strings behind the manor's blood-soaked history, was far from done with him yet. Xia Wanxing followed him out, her sleek black dress torn at the hem and smudged with dust and stone grit, her bare feet crunching on the gravel drive, small cuts already blooming on the soles where the sharp stones bit into her skin. She didn't say anything at first, just walked silently beside him, her eyes fixed on the faint golden glow of the compass peeking out from under Chen Fan's shirt, the glamour of the A-list movie star he'd met at the manor's door completely stripped away, replaced by something sharper, harder, something that looked a lot like unshakable resolve.
They stopped at Chen Fan's beat-up scooter, its rusted metal frame glinting in the soft dawn light, its tires half-flat from the long ride out to the manor the night before. Chen Fan swung a leg over the seat, his calloused fingers brushing the cool hilt of the wooden sword, his muscles tensing at the faint hum of power that surged through the relic at his touch. But before he could kick the scooter to life, Xia Wanxing stepped in front of him, blocking his path, her chin tilted up, her eyes blazing with a fire that had nothing to do with the fear he'd seen in her just hours earlier. "You're not just going to ride off and leave me," she said, her voice steady, unwavering, no trace of doubt or hesitation in it. It wasn't a question. It was a statement, a declaration, a line in the sand that she had no intention of backing down from.
Chen Fan raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp and assessing, his thumb still resting on the sword's hilt. "I don't need a sidekick," he said flatly, the words rough and blunt, the same way he'd spoken to the ghost hunters who'd tried to muscle in on his territory back when he'd first started using the compass to see the things that others couldn't. "Hunting's not a game. It's not a movie set where you can yell cut and walk away unscathed. It's dangerous. It's messy. You could get killed. And fast." Xia Wanxing laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that cut through the quiet of the morning like a knife through silk, the sound echoing off the manor's crumbling stone walls. "Killed?" she repeated, her voice dripping with dark humor, her eyes flashing as she thought back to the wraith's black hole gaze, to the cold press of the gun against her temple. "I already stared down a wraith that's been haunting a manor for centuries, a thing that feeds on fear and death and the souls of anyone stupid enough to step foot in its lair. I already had a gun pressed to my head by a man who oozes black mist like it's blood, a man who works for a monster that wants to tear this city apart just to get his hands on a couple of old trinkets. I think I can handle a little danger. Besides"—she leaned in, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper, her eyes locking onto his, intense and unyielding—"I owe you. You saved my life. Twice. Once from the wraith, once from that suit-wearing freak. And I want to know the truth. About your parents. About the compass and the sword, about why they're not just pieces of metal and wood but something that glows and hums and fights. About the owner, about what he wants with the manor, about what he means when he talks about breaking seals and setting things free. I don't just want to sit on the sidelines and wait for the next ghost to come for me. I want to help you take him down."
Chen Fan studied her, his gaze sweeping over her face, searching for any hint of doubt, any flicker of the fear that had made her whimper when the gun was pressed to her head. But there was none—just fire, just hunger, just the same unquenchable curiosity that had made her text him that night, the same curiosity that had driven her to step into the manor's basement alone. He thought of his parents, of the way they'd hunted alone, of the way their loneliness had made them reckless, had made them make a mistake that had cost them their lives. He thought of the owner's army, of the men in tailored suits who oozed black mist, of the rot that was spreading through Yunjing City like a disease, infecting the living and the dead alike. He thought of the ghosts—weak, scared, angry—clinging to the dark corners of the city, to the alleyways and the abandoned buildings, waiting for someone to set them free, someone to listen to their stories instead of just swinging a sword and turning them to ash. Maybe he didn't have to be alone. Maybe two hunters were better than one. Maybe having someone at his back, someone who wasn't afraid to stare down a wraith or a gun-wielding monster, was exactly what he needed to stop the owner before it was too late.
He nodded, a short, sharp movement, his jaw tight with resolve. "Fine," he said, his voice rough but not unkind. "But you listen to me. No questions when we're in the field. No running off when things get scary, no screaming when a ghost jumps out at you. No using your star power, no calling your agent or your bodyguards to get us out of trouble. When we're hunting, you're not Xia Wanxing, movie star. You're just a hunter. Nothing more. Nothing less." Xia Wanxing smiled, a bright, fierce thing that made her look alive for the first time since he'd met her, a smile that had nothing to do with the red-carpet grins she gave the paparazzi. She held out a hand, her palm calloused from years of holding camera equipment, from running through the manor's halls, from fighting for her life. "Deal," she said, the word ringing with promise. Chen Fan shook it, his hand rough and scarred from years of delivery runs, from holding the sword, from fighting ghosts that most people didn't even believe existed. The compass hummed, a soft, steady warmth against his throat, the golden glow flaring just a little brighter, like it was approving of the pact they'd just made.
They rode back to the city on Chen Fan's scooter, the wind whipping through their hair, the dawn light painting the sky in brilliant oranges and deep purples, the world around them looking fresh and new, like it had been washed clean by the night's rain. Xia Wanxing sat behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her head resting on his shoulder, her body warm against his back. For a moment, just a brief, fleeting moment, there was no wraith, no owner, no rot, no ghosts clinging to the shadows. There was just the quiet hum of the scooter's engine, the warm sun on their faces, the wind in their hair, the promise of something new, something that wasn't just about surviving, but about fighting back. But the peace didn't last. It never did.
They pulled into the narrow alley behind Chen Fan's attic room just as a sleek black car glided to a silent stop at the end of the street— a luxury vehicle, the kind that cost more than Chen Fan would make in a lifetime of delivery runs, the kind of car that belonged to a real estate tycoon who thought he could buy anything, even the souls of the dead. The windows were tinted black, so dark that Chen Fan couldn't see who was inside, but he could feel the eyes on him, cold and calculating, like the owner was watching through the glass, like he knew exactly where they'd be, exactly when they'd arrive. The compass burned, a sudden, scorching heat against his throat, the needle spinning wildly, faster and faster, before locking onto the car, then snapping to the left, onto the roof of the brick building across the street—where a figure stood, hidden in the shadows of the fire escape, a camera lens glinting in the dawn light, the metal barrel catching the sun like a tiny knife. He's been watching us, Chen Fan thought, his jaw tightening, his hand closing around the sword's hilt, the golden light flaring to life, casting a warm glow over the alley's cracked concrete. He's been following us since the manor. Every step of the way.
The car's window rolled down slowly, the sound of the motor soft and silent, and a man's voice drifted out—smooth, cold, familiar, the kind of voice that sounded like polished stone, like it belonged to someone who was used to getting what he wanted, no matter the cost. It was the owner. Chen Fan had never met him, had never even seen a photograph of his face, but he knew the voice— the same voice that had echoed in the suit-wearing man's snarl, the same voice that oozed rot and power, the same voice that had haunted his parents' final days. "Chen Fan," the voice said, the words dripping like honeyed poison, sweet and sickly, the sound making Chen Fan's skin crawl. "I know who you are. I know what you are. I know about the compass, about the sword, about the legacy that runs in your blood. I know about your parents, about the mistake they made in the manor's basement, about the way they thought they could bury the truth forever. I've been waiting for you, Chen Fan. Waiting for a hunter strong enough to break the seal that my family and yours put in place centuries ago. Strong enough to set it free."
Chen Fan tensed, his muscles coiled like a spring, his hand tightening around the sword's hilt, the golden light flaring brighter, cutting through the morning mist like a knife. "Set what free?" he said, his voice low and dangerous, the words rough with anger, with the fear that he'd been trying to bury since the wraith had told him the truth about his parents. The owner laughed, a cold, hollow sound that made the hair on the back of Chen Fan's neck stand on end, a sound that had nothing to do with humor, nothing to do with joy. "Oh, you'll see, Chen Fan," the voice purred, the words floating on the morning breeze. "Soon enough. But first— I have a proposition for you. Join me. Help me break the seal. Help me set it free. And I'll give you everything you've ever wanted. Money. Power. The truth about your parents, about what really happened to them in the manor's basement. Or"—the voice dropped, sharp as a knife, cold as death—"you can die. Like your parents did. Like the wraith did. Like everyone who gets in my way does. The choice is yours, Chen Fan. But choose wisely. Time is running out."
The car's engine revved softly, the sound a low, threatening growl, like a beast waking from its slumber. The figure on the roof shifted, the camera lens glinting brighter, the metal barrel of the gun hidden beneath the camera peeking out for just a split second, a flash of silver in the dawn light. The rot in the air thickened, sickly and sweet, the tang of death and decay making Chen Fan's throat burn, making him want to gag. Xia Wanxing leaned forward, her mouth close to his ear, her voice a fierce whisper, her breath warm against his skin. "Don't listen to him," she said, her words sharp and determined, her hand closing around his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. "He's lying. He's just using you, using your parents' memory, using the legacy that you've been trying to protect. He doesn't care about the truth. He cares about power. We can take him down, Chen Fan. Together."
Chen Fan looked at her, at the fire in her eyes, at the way she held her head high, even when the owner's voice was promising death, even when the car's engine was growling like a beast, even when the figure on the roof was pointing a gun at them. He looked at the compass, at the golden light glowing bright against his throat, at the way it pulsed in time with his heart, a steady, warm beat that reminded him of his parents, of the way they'd held him when he was a child, of the way they'd told him to protect the relics, no matter what. He looked at the locket in his pocket, at the photograph of the young woman smiling, at the way it reminded him that some ghosts deserved to be set free, not hunted, that some truths deserved to be told, not buried. He thought of his parents, of the mistake they'd made, of the way they'd hunted alone, of the way their loneliness had cost them their lives. He thought of Xia Wanxing, of the way she'd stood beside him, of the way she'd refused to back down, of the way she'd looked a wraith in the eye and not flinched. He thought of the owner, of the rot that was spreading through the city, of the ghosts that were crying out for help, of the way the world was teetering on the edge of a knife, between light and dark, between life and death.
He smiled, a sharp, cold curve of his lips, a smile that had nothing to do with joy, nothing to do with hope. He tightened his grip on the sword's hilt, the golden light flaring so bright it painted the alley in a warm, golden glow, the light casting long shadows across the cracked concrete. He yelled, his voice loud and clear and unyielding, the sound echoing off the brick buildings, the sound carrying across the street, the sound making the figure on the roof flinch, making the car's engine stall for just a split second. "Come and get me," he roared, the words rough and fierce, the words of a hunter who was done running, done hiding, done letting the shadows control his life.
The owner's laughter echoed through the alley, cold and cruel, the sound making Chen Fan's blood boil. The car's engine roared to life, the sound a deafening growl, the tires screeching on the asphalt as the vehicle surged forward, speeding toward them, the metal frame glinting in the dawn light, the car a beast, a monster, a weapon. The figure on the roof jumped, the camera falling from his hands, the metal barrel of the gun flashing in the sun, the man's body twisting in the air, his suit jacket flapping like a pair of broken wings. But as he hit the ground, as his body should have crumpled against the concrete, he dissolved into a cloud of black mist, the rot thick and sickly, the mist curling around the alley's walls before vanishing into the shadows, leaving nothing but a faint, sickly tang in the air. The car surged forward, faster and faster, the metal frame gleaming, the windows tinted black, the vehicle a symbol of the owner's power, of his arrogance, of his belief that he could buy anything, even the souls of the dead. But Chen Fan didn't flinch. He didn't run. He just stood there, the sword in his hand, the compass around his neck, Xia Wanxing at his side, his muscles coiled like a spring, his mind clear, his heart steady. For the first time in his life, he wasn't just a delivery boy. He wasn't just a hunter. He was a survivor. And he was ready to fight.
Xia Wanxing grabbed a rusted metal pipe from the ground, her knuckles white with the force of her grip, her eyes blazing with fire, her body tensed, ready to strike. Chen Fan raised the sword, the golden light flaring brighter, the relic humming with power, the red veins on the blade pulsing like a heartbeat. The car surged forward, the tires screeching, the engine roaring, the vehicle a monster, a weapon, a symbol of everything that Chen Fan was fighting against. The first fight was over. The war was just beginning.
As they turned and ran, as they fled down the alley, as they left the car behind, as they vanished into the shadows, Chen Fan pulled the locket from his pocket, his fingers brushing the cool metal, his thumb tracing the edge of the photograph inside. And as he looked at it, as he saw the young woman smiling back at him, he noticed something he hadn't seen before—something etched into the back of the locket, something small and faint, something that made his blood run cold. It was a symbol, a swirling, jagged mark, a mark that was identical to the symbols carved into the manor's basement walls, identical to the symbols that the owner had been talking about, identical to the symbols that held the seal, the seal that could destroy everything, if it was broken. The compass hummed, a soft, steady warmth against his throat, the golden light flaring brighter, the needle spinning wildly, the relic a beacon, a warning, a promise. The hunt was just beginning. The truth was just waiting to be found. The war was just starting. And Chen Fan and Xia Wanxing were ready to fight.
Teaser for Chapter 6
The locket's symbol is a map to the ancient seal the owner craves—and the key to unlocking it lies with a ghost Chen Fan never expected to face: his father. Trapped between loyalty to his blood and saving Yunjing City, Chen Fan and Xia Wanxing must race the owner to the seal's hidden vault, or watch the world burn.