Under the watchful eyes of over a dozen cultivators, a middle-aged man in a dragon robe stepped into the hall.

He was thin, his complexion pallid. Though he walked with a straight back and a stoic face, his stiff movements betrayed a deep, underlying terror.

This was the Emperor of the Great Zhou—Zhang Ju.

“Greetings to all Immortal Masters!” Zhang Ju clasped his fists, bowing deeply with an expression of utmost reverence.

Qin Lu observed the pale monarch, his tone calm. “What is your business?”

“My subordinate generals were far too insolent today, disturbing the peace of the Immortal Masters,” Zhang Ju replied, his voice trembling slightly. “I offer this humble gift in the hope that you might forgive our transgressions.”

At his signal, six servants hurried in, carrying three heavy wooden chests in pairs. They set them down and threw open the lids.

“Oho~ Gold!” Gu Can, picking his teeth with a wooden splinter, leaned over to inspect the offering.

The chests were filled to the brim with gold ingots, their yellow sheen illuminating the dim corners of the room. By a rough estimate, there were at least three hundred catties of gold.

“You’re quite generous, Emperor. Is your national treasury overflowing?” Lu Xian flashed a brilliant smile, sauntering over to pick up an ingot. He weighed it in his hand, squinting critically.

“Quality’s poor, though. Too many impurities. Refine it down, and you’d get maybe a hundred and eighty catties of true gold. Barely worth twenty Spirit Stones.”

Zhang Ju bowed lower, sweat beading on his forehead. “As long as it pleases the Immortal Masters.”

“Hehe, we accept. Consider the matter settled. You may leave.” Lu Xian waved a dismissive hand.

The cultivators had never intended to punish the mortals—ants were beneath their notice—but free gold was free gold.

However, Zhang Ju did not retreat. He maintained his bow, his knuckles white.

“I… I have one other matter to request of the Immortal Masters!”

“Oh—!”

Lu Xian drew out the syllable, glancing at Zhang Ju with a knowing smirk. “So there was an ulterior motive. No wonder you were so generous. Speak.”

Zhang Ju looked up, his face etched with sincere desperation. “To be frank, my palace and the capital have been plagued by a malicious spirit for over a month. It murders my subjects and haunts my every waking moment. I was forced to flee to this villa to escape its grasp. I beg you, Immortal Masters—please rid my Great Zhou of this fierce ghost!”

Qin Lu nodded slightly, thinking, Just as I thought.

From the moment Zhang Ju entered, Qin Lu had activated his [Heavenly Eye Technique]. The Emperor’s aura was unmistakable—faint wisps of grey, necrotic energy clung to him like a second skin.

Lu Xian laughed, pointing a finger at the Emperor. “No wonder there’s dark energy swirling around your forehead and your vital essence is nearly depleted. You’ve got a little ghost leeching off you.”

“Please, Immortal Master, save me!”

“Where did it come from? When did it start?”

“Over a month ago,” Zhang Ju recounted, his voice thick with fear. “It drifts through the capital, taking lives at will. We tried exorcisms, Taoist priests, everything… nothing worked.”

Lu Xian waved a hand carelessly. “Standard affair. A wrongful death in the capital, likely a tragedy involving deep resentment. The soul couldn’t reincarnate and twisted into a vengeful spirit.”

“Immortal Master… what should be done?”

Before Lu Xian could answer, a round figure leaped from his seat.

“Let’s go! This young hero will exorcise this evil for you!” Cao Mo shouted, striking a dramatic pose.

“I will go too!” Wu Zhengtian jumped up from the other table, his eyes shining with excitement.

The two youths rushed to Lu Xian, exchanging eager glances. They were itching for a fight, a chance to prove themselves.

The Emperor blinked, taken aback. He had expected the powerful elders to intervene, not two children.

“Hmm…” A soft noise came from beside Qin Lu.

He turned to see Feng Xi looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. Qin Lu suppressed a smile. Over the last few days, Feng Xi, Cao Mo, and Wu Zhengtian had become a tight-knit trio of troublemakers. Seeing her friends step up, she clearly didn’t want to be left behind.

“If you want to go,” Qin Lu said gently, “then go.”

“Yay!” Feng Xi cheered, throwing her arms up. “Thank you, Master!”

She bounded over to join the two boys.

“Good, good,” Lu Xian chuckled, looking at the three eager fledglings like a grandfather watching puppies play. “You three go help the little Emperor handle his ghost. Bring peace to the people.”

“Yes!” the trio chorused.

Cao Mo slung a heavy arm around the frail Emperor’s shoulders. “Come on, tell me more about how this ghost kills…”

Dragging the bewildered monarch along, the four of them marched out of the hall.

Once the children were gone, Lu Xian turned to Qin Lu. “Old Qin, had enough? Or shall we find another spot to keep drinking?”

“I’m game,” Qin Lu agreed readily.

“Count me in!” Cao Yunxi chimed in.

“No!”

Qi Xiaofeng stood up abruptly, her face twisted with worry. “Mortal ghosts are weak, I know, but this is A-Da’s first real mission. I can’t rest easy. I have to go watch over him.”

“Oh, come on,” Cao Yunxi groaned, trying to pull her back down. “How could a mortal ghost hurt a cultivator? He’ll be fine.”

“No. You guys drink. I’m going to follow them secretly.” Without waiting for a reply, she hurried out of the hall.

Cao Yunxi threw his hands up helplessly. “Sigh… that woman and her worrying.”

“Hahaha, it’s fine! Let her go. We’ll find another place to drink.”

Qin Lu laughed heartily, clapping Cao Yunxi on the shoulder. He wasn’t worried in the slightest.

For cultivators, the existence of ghosts was basic knowledge. Spirits were born from resentment—wrongful deaths or violent ends that trapped a soul in the mortal coil. When that resentment interacted with spiritual energy (Qi), the soul mutated into a ghost.

The rule was simple: the deeper the resentment, the stronger the ghost. But more importantly, ghosts needed Qi to grow.

In a Qi-barren wasteland like the Great Zhou, it was impossible for a truly powerful entity to form. The “fierce ghost” terrorizing the capital was likely nothing more than a nuisance, a perfect training dummy for three young cultivators.

Unconcerned, the adults left the hall to continue their revelry elsewhere.