"ok." Li Bingyan gave the order, and her subordinates moved swiftly to retrieve the fallen man's body. With that resolved, those who had gathered around Minghai Tower dispersed, each returning to their own affairs. Mo Lin lingered only long enough to ensure Li Bingyan would oversee the aftermath before slipping into his car and departing the scene.
Rather than return home, he steered toward the bustling expanse of Sifang Courtyard, intent upon acquiring rare materials for the forging of a new ghost–bound artifact. Ordinary specter–weapons required only crafted Nether coins, but an instrument capable of containing a spirit demanded a more specialized vessel—one imbued with correspondences beyond simple metallurgy.
Sifang Courtyard teemed with life, its stalls and workshops clustering together in a riot of sound and color, reminiscent of a vibrant bazaar. Mo Lin wandered through aisles stocked with exotic ingredients, his gaze skimming jars of enchanted salts, racks of bone–carved talismans, and shelves laden with arcane powders. Yet none of these offerings fully satisfied his requirements; the perfect medium for his forthcoming creation remained elusive.
"Mr. Mo Lin, a word?" came a courteous voice. A sharply dressed man in a jet–black suit approached, bowing slightly. "My young master requests your presence."
Mo Lin arched an eyebrow. "And who, pray tell, is your young master?"
The attendant's lips curved into a polite smile. "The entire Sifang Courtyard belongs to his purview. Please, follow me." With that, he led Mo Lin through winding corridors to the heart of the complex, where a narrow staircase ascended to a secluded chamber.
Stepping inside, Mo Lin found himself before a private alcove, its walls hung with ceremonial drapes and a low table set for tea. A young man—barely older than Mo Lin himself—sat with poised elegance, pouring fragrant steam from a porcelain pot.
"Brother, welcome," the youth greeted, rising to offer a seat. "I am Fu Wan San."
Mo Lin inclined his head. "You summoned me?"
"I seek to propose a venture," Fu Wan San replied, lifting the teapot with deliberate care. "I understand you possess ghost–grade artifacts of exceptional quality."
Mo Lin sipped the amber infusion thoughtfully. Indeed, his recent sale of superior phantom–weapons at Sifang had made quiet waves among collectors and practitioners alike. Selling such relics, however, could be arduous—even after days of negotiation, only four had changed hands.
Fu Wan San set a matching cup before him. "I am prepared to offer a substantial deposit to secure your trust." With graceful motion, he produced a sleek obsidian box from beneath the table and placed it gently before Mo Lin.
Curiosity flickered in Mo Lin's eyes as he lifted the lid. Inside lay stacks of gleaming Nether coins, their surfaces stamped with arcane sigils that shimmered faintly in the lantern light. He stared, momentarily at a loss for words.
Only then did Fu Wan San speak: "Two hundred thousand Nether coins, as earnest. For the sale of your ghost–grade artifacts, I will handle every transaction on your behalf—for a commission of twenty percent."
At this proposal, Mo Lin's interest sharpened; his own coffers were in need of replenishment. Fu Wan San continued, "Should this rate prove too steep, I can lower my cut to fifteen percent, but no further. Venue costs, upkeep, personnel, and promotion—all require remuneration."
Mo Lin weighed the offer in silence before nodding. "Very well. In a few days, I will deliver the artifacts."
"Take your time," Fu Wan San replied, reclining with a reassuring smile. "I trust you implicitly."
A thoughtful pause followed, and Fu Wan San's expression brightened. "While you are here, might you have spotted any materials of interest?"
Mo Lin shook his head. "Not yet. I seek something extraordinary—a conduit worthy of channeling a bound spirit."
"Then permit me to show you my private collection." With that, Fu Wan San rose and guided Mo Lin through a concealed doorway to a diminutive chamber scarcely ten square meters in size. The walls bore an eclectic array of curiosities: fragments of bone from unknown beasts, corroded bronze statuettes, and other oddities that whispered of ancient rites.
Mo Lin's gaze was drawn immediately to a ring displayed prominently at the room's center. Its band glowed with a translucent crimson hue, crowned by a single, blood-red gemstone. Though its luster resembled jade, the facet's depths betrayed an otherworldly essence—one faintly tinged with the scent of mortality.
Fu Wan San watched as Mo Lin reached out. "If this trinket pleases you, it is yours without cost."
Suspicion flickered in Mo Lin's mind. "What manner of gem lies within this setting? It exudes…an aura of death."
"Alas, I cannot say. I acquired it from a European tribe of cannibals—a piece of their ritual curio, splendid in its rarity." Fu Wan San's tone was matter-of-fact, betraying no particular attachment to the object.
Mo Lin weighed the ring between thumb and forefinger, the gemstone's crimson heart swirling with nascent potential. It would serve magnificently as a vessel for his new ghost apparatus. After a moment, he offered, "I will exchange one of my ghost–grade artifacts for this ring."
At this bold proposition, Fu Wan San's eyes widened in genuine surprise. Such an item—so singular in provenance and power—hardly seemed commensurate with a mere spirit–weapon. Yet within Mo Lin's calm assurance lay the unspoken promise of an artifact yet unseen, the true value of which only Mo Lin could comprehend.
Thus, in the hushed intimacy of Sifang Courtyard's hidden chamber, two masters of arcane commerce sealed a pact: a ring of crimson omen for a blade that rendered shadows powerless. And as Mo Lin departed with the ring safe upon his finger, the courtyard's lanterns flickered as though in silent benediction, heralding a forging yet to begin.