People are unpredictable and ghosts are cunning.

After seeing the Chen family off, Ji Ningzhao didn’t hurry upstairs. She brought in the freshly washed radishes from the garden, cut them into pieces, and added them to the pot along with the cleaned pork ribs. Only after that did she wipe her hands and head upstairs.

The second floor, apart from her own master bedroom, contained two spacious guest rooms and a study.

When Ji Ningzhao pushed open the door to the study, a tall man stood with his back to her, attentively regarding the camellia on her windowsill.

Hearing the door open, Zhong Yanbei didn’t turn his head but remarked, “You’ve taken good care of this camellia.”

“Mm,” Ji Ningzhao replied with only the faintest acknowledgment, then asked casually, “Are you staying for dinner?”

Zhong Yanbei turned, a gentle smile curving his lips. “Do you even need to eat these days?”

As he turned, the fine white gauze covering his eyes fluttered with his movement—beneath it, a fleeting golden light seemed to flash.

His appearance, eyes always veiled, was admittedly odd, but he seemed unfazed, often walking openly through the streets, indifferent to the stares. He was strikingly handsome; where some cast curious glances, most simply assumed he was ill and felt a quiet sympathy. In the city center, people sometimes speculated he was cosplaying a character.

But Ji Ningzhao was long immune to such beauty—she had seen it too many times to be moved.

“I am human,” Ji Ningzhao replied, her tone as even as ever. “Humans eat at set times. If you don’t wish to join me, you may leave. Need me to see you out?”

Though she was ageless, immortal, Ji Ningzhao still considered herself human. All these years, she had insisted on living as one.

Zhong Yanbei neither agreed nor disagreed, evidently uninterested in debating the point. Instead, he asked, “You intend to help them? That’s not like you.”

Ji Ningzhao poured herself a glass of water at the desk, then sank into the chair, its seat covered in plush fabric.

She responded with a soft grunt, then retorted coolly, “Why not? I’m not a cold-blooded creature. It’s no effort to lend a hand.”

As she mentioned “cold-blooded,” she glanced at Zhong Yanbei, the words laced with implication.

Ever since Zhong Yanbei had covered up for his distant cousin in that monumental affair years ago, he had grown used to Ji Ningzhao’s sharp tongue whenever they met.

“That’s not it,” Zhong Yanbei replied, lightly touching the ribbon over his eyes and smiling. “You’ve always been this way—unchanged for a thousand years. Only, times have changed. This is no longer the old State of Chu.”

The people and the homeland of old had long since vanished into dust. Ji Ningzhao had laid down her duties as the Grand Shaman; she was no longer bound to protect anyone.

Zhong Yanbei’s senses of hearing and smell were exceptionally keen. He could hear the bubbling of the soup pot downstairs and smell the fragrance of radish and pork rib soup permeating the house.

Perhaps it was his nature as an innate spirit, or the animalistic instincts he had never quite shed, but Zhong Yanbei could never quite understand why Ji Ningzhao, now nearly demigod and sometimes surpassing even gods themselves, persisted in living so steadfastly as a mortal.

But only Ji Ningzhao, curled in her chair and gazing at the molten gold of the sky outside, understood herself.

She cherished the warmth of the human world, remembered every act of kindness ever shown to her. She wanted this city and its people to be well.

Moreover, as she lowered her lashes, she thought—this was the very world that person had once sought to protect at all costs.

“I’ll be going,” Zhong Yanbei said at last. “I’ve renewed the lamp for you—don’t forget what I asked for.” He waved lightly, and in the blink of an eye, vanished.

After dinner, Ji Ningzhao called the Special Division and requested a pass to freely enter and exit the Kong family’s private residence, which was now under their watch.

The Special Division not only owed her a great debt but often sought her help, so they wouldn’t refuse such a request. Besides, recent investigations suggested that the Kong family’s affair was far more complicated than it appeared. No matter how the Chen family had managed to reach Ji Ningzhao, if she was willing to step in, so much the better.

When the call ended, the villa fell into utter silence, and outside, the sky was fully dark.

Ji Ningzhao didn’t bother turning on the lights; there was a small night lamp on her desk, and she took it as she made ready to return to her room.

Just as she opened the study door, a chill wind swept past her.

The lights in the villa flickered. At the same time, someone knocked at the door.

Tap, tap, tap, tap—soft and slow, rhythmic and mechanical.

Three knocks for humans, four for ghosts. There was no need to wonder what stood at her door.

Ji Ningzhao let out a soft laugh. “That was quick.”

The Chen family had just visited, Zhong Yanbei had only just left, and already something had rushed in to warn her not to meddle.

Her house held no protective charms, and she was not Zhong Yanbei, born immune to all evil. Clearly, the spirit mistook her for an easy target.

Just as Ji Ningzhao was about to see what further tricks it might have, a sudden blaze of golden light erupted from the hidden room in the corner downstairs.

A fierce, domineering, and scorching aura swept through the entire villa. In an instant, the knocking ceased, the flickering lights stilled, and peace returned.

Yet Ji Ningzhao, who had remained so calm, now began to tremble ever so slightly. For a moment, she was stunned, and without even caring that she dropped her lamp, she rushed straight downstairs.

She flung open the door to the secluded little room with such force that it crashed against the wall, the sound jarringly loud in the silent house.

But Ji Ningzhao seemed not to notice. She simply stood there, staring blankly at the empty, ordinary room.

A dark altar, tablets draped in red cloth, and the ever-burning lamp.

She didn’t know what she was hoping for. She just gripped the cold doorknob tightly, standing there unmoving.

In the pitch-black house, only a glimmer of orange light shone from that small room, making her solitary figure appear all the more lonely.

She stood until her calves went numb, then gave a bitter, self-mocking laugh and gently closed the door.

She pressed her hand over her shoulder blade, where the heat from that aura still burned.

Through endless years, she had learned the art of hopeless waiting.