Harmonizing their incantations with deft precision, Master Wan Yu and his disciples set to their grim task. In swift choreography, they laid talismans upon the dusted floor, inscribing intricate sigils with crimson chalk. Red threads were buried beneath the earth, forming a sacred lattice no mere mortal hand could fathom. Within scarcely ten minutes, every ward and circle lay ready—an invisible trap awaiting Mo Lin's unwitting step.
Mo Lin, clutching his newly sealed Nightmare-grade spirit and flanked by Feng Mingyu, prepared to depart by carriage. Yet, before he reached the horses, a phalanx garbed in azure Taoist robes burst forth—none other than the very exorcists he had encountered at the Qi Abbey. At their head strode Wan Yu, wooden sword raised in one hand, talisman fluttering in the other, his lips whispering ageless incantations.
"Strike!" Wan Yu's snort echoed through the night air. His brothers sprang into action. Four wielded scarlet cords, weaving a square to ensnare Mo Lin; another quartet scattered powders in perfect circles, while others flung ash-like incense across the threshold. Mo Lin paused, perplexed as soot drifted onto his robes and into his hair.
"What madness is this?" he snarled at the portly disciple nearest him. The man's eyes widened in terror. "Are you… unscathed?" he stammered. Brandishing a talisman trembling in his palm, he implored, "Aren't you afraid?"
With one swift motion, Mo Lin's palm met his cheek. "Have you lost your wits?" he snapped. Cowering, the disciple whimpered, "Master Wan… that spirit was fearsome… it struck me!" Behind him, Wan Yu rattled a bell, his own forehead slick with sweat as his chant faltered.
Mo Lin's patience snapped. He rent the scarlet cords asunder, kicked the incense aside, and tore Wan Yu's talisman to shreds. "Have you all gone mad?" he demanded, stepping close enough that the exorcist felt his breath caress the talisman's remnants.
Wan Yu's tension dissolved in an instant. He blinked, astonishment giving way to relief. "W-What… You're mortal after all." The admission tumbled from his lips in disbelief. It explained why every charm, every circle of ash proved powerless: they had bound themselves in vain to nothing more than flesh and bone.
"I thought you were a spirit," Wan Yu murmured, flushing with embarrassment. Mo Lin's lips curled. "You're the fool—your lot is the very spectral kind, drenched in superstition."
Awkward apologies spilled from Wan Yu's mouth as he produced two thousand soul coins with trembling hands. "Please accept this as recompense," he offered humbly. "A dreadful misunderstanding—I meant no offense." Mo Lin pocketed the coin pouch. "Let it not happen again," he cautioned, and with Feng Mingyu dutifully in tow, strode away.
Feng Mingyu, pale and shaken, clung to Mo Lin's cloak. "Why didn't you come to my aid?" she whispered. He only chuckled. "To be fair," he replied, "I'm surprised you thought I was anything but human."
At the Qi Abbey, Wan Yu sank to the ground, exhaling with visible relief. "Master, how could we mistake him?" the portly disciple fretted. "His aura… it was beyond mortal ken!"
Wan Yu raised a weary hand. "The world is wider than our Taoist understanding. Cross him again, and someone may truly die." With that, he summoned his brothers to prepare anew—this time, not for ghosts, but for the mysterious man whose presence defied all their sacred rites.