Mo Lin hadn't lifted a finger yet, but the tide had already turned decisively.
Without contracted spirits, they were nothing more than ordinary people.
And Yuan Cao's group—right now, they were indistinguishable from mere mortals.
What could a bunch of powerless people possibly do against Mo Lin?
Casting a glance at the contracted ghosts before him, Mo Lin noted that their levels were low.
Though not of much use, they could still be taken in.
"Is there any ghost here willing to follow me?" Mo Lin asked calmly.
"My lord, I'm willing to follow you."
"My lord, I await your orders."
"My lord, I too would like to follow you."
Over a dozen ghosts scrambled forward, eager to pledge allegiance to Mo Lin.
A stable government job…
Which ghost would refuse?
Who wouldn't want security and purpose?
To these spirits, Mo Lin was that secure livelihood.
His identity as an official underworld envoy—recognized even by the Ghost Domain and the Bridge of Forgetfulness—was beyond reproach.
Mo Lin was a legitimate Yin Division emissary.
A proper, official title.
Not to mention following him—many would gladly serve as his hound, just to remain at his side.
Feng Mingyu was stunned.
These same ghosts, when facing Yuan Cao's gang, had been silent and frigid—aloof to the point of hostility, as though every word might shave years off their afterlife.
But before Mo Lin, they had transformed into fawning sycophants.
Could ghosts even lick boots like this?
Were ghosts always this chatty?
Feng Mingyu could barely watch.
They were laying it on too thick.
One word from Mo Lin, and these ghosts practically groveled to become his pets.
Utterly insane.
Unbelievable…
"Fine," Mo Lin sighed helplessly. "I'll take you all in."
Housing a few more ghosts was nothing. It just cost a little extra hell currency.
He raised his hand, revealing a black ring.
In an instant, the dozen or so ghosts were absorbed into it.
"…Why do you look so reluctant?"
Despite acquiring over a dozen new spirit followers, Mo Lin showed no sign of joy—if anything, he seemed slightly annoyed.
Disdain?
Anyone else would've been over the moon, unable to sleep from the excitement.
But Mo Lin's face was full of indifference.
Did he think they weren't good enough?
No, something clicked in Feng Mingyu's mind.
Why could Mo Lin take in so many ghosts?
The average person could only contract one—two at most.
Yet with a wave of his hand, Mo Lin had accepted over a dozen.
Wasn't that absurd?
Was this the gap between mortals and monsters?
What exactly did those ghosts see in Mo Lin?
What made them so eager to throw themselves into his embrace?
Feng Mingyu had to admit—she was jealous.
Envious of how Mo Lin could summon followers with a mere gesture.
No science could explain this. Only mysticism.
With the ghosts taken care of, it was time to get down to business.
To deal with Yuan Cao and his lackeys.
Seeing Mo Lin walking toward him, Yuan Cao went pale with fear.
He'd been arrogant a moment ago, but now he was trembling.
Mo Lin's abilities had shattered his understanding of the world.
He approached slowly, a vision of death incarnate in Yuan Cao's eyes—perhaps even worse than death itself.
"I'm sor—" Yuan Cao barely had time to utter his apology.
Smack!
Mo Lin's palm landed hard on Yuan Cao's cheek, drawing blood and knocking out a tooth.
He hadn't held back in the slightest.
For a coward who preyed on the weak, mercy was unnecessary.
And as for that apology—Mo Lin couldn't care less.
So fake.
If Yuan Cao had the upper hand, he would've killed Mo Lin without hesitation.
What use was an apology now?
The thugs Yuan Cao brought had all gone limp with fear, none daring to interfere—afraid they'd be dragged into the chaos.
Smack!
Mo Lin slapped another man in black across the face, barking, "What are you looking at?"
The man quickly averted his gaze, head lowered.
In this mood, Mo Lin would probably slap a dog just for barking.
He stepped forward and slowly untied the ropes binding Liu Feng.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure this ends today," Mo Lin said, offering comfort.
"Thank you… thank you so much." Liu Feng's gratitude came from the depths of his heart.
Without Mo Lin, he'd have died—gruesomely.
Seeing Liu Feng on the verge of collapse, Mo Lin gently reassured him again. "I'll see to it this is resolved properly."
As Yuan Cao himself had said earlier—someone had to die for this to end.
Just as Mo Lin was about to make his move, a newcomer appeared.
A young man in a short-sleeved shirt strolled over.
"Brother, maybe ease up a little," he said gently.
Yuan Cao lit up like he'd seen a lifeline, dashing to the newcomer.
"Brother Ling, help me. Please save me!"
Ling Cai gave him a look, signaling him to stay quiet.
Yuan Cao got the message, retreating behind Ling Cai without another word.
This meddler's sudden appearance deeply irritated Mo Lin.
"You've already struck him. Yuan Cao has apologized. Isn't that enough?" Ling Cai spoke again.
The words made Mo Lin's skin crawl.
Enough?
Yuan Cao had tried to kill them.
If Mo Lin hadn't been strong enough, he and Liu Feng would be corpses by now.
Letting Yuan Cao go now would be planting a time bomb—one that would keep coming back to bite them.
It would be self-inflicted misery.
"And who are you?" Mo Lin asked, clearly annoyed.
"I'm Ling Cai, a member of the Zilong Society," he said, hoping Mo Lin would show some respect for the name.
"Scram," Mo Lin said coldly.
Ling Cai froze. He hadn't expected such a blunt response.
He tried again. "Brother, surely you can be the bigger person? Isn't this a bit much?"
"What, trying to show off your intellect? Your civility? Or maybe your moral superiority?"
Mo Lin's expression darkened.
"If you want me to let him go—get on your knees, apologize, and slap yourself ten times. Then I'll consider it."
Ling Cai's expression twisted with rage. He jabbed a finger in Mo Lin's face. "You've gone too far."
"Oh? Asking you to kneel and say sorry makes you angry?"
Mo Lin sneered. "You expect me to spare him just because you asked? Who do you think you are?"
"Do you even deserve that kind of power?"
Spending someone else's goodwill like it's your own?
Trying to disgust me?
What a joke.
Sorry—not interested.
Mo Lin doesn't buy that nonsense.
Ling Cai's face flushed red with fury. "You really don't know your place."
"Get out of my sight," Mo Lin said dismissively, shoving him aside.
Fuming, Ling Cai turned to argue.
"If you dare say one more word," Mo Lin said flatly, "I'll kill you."
"You—"
Just as Ling Cai opened his mouth, he felt an icy grip tighten around his throat.
The chill spread through his entire body.
He didn't dare turn his head, but he knew—a ghost's hand was wrapped around his neck.
One wrong move, and he'd be dead.
Blood began to drip from his throat.
"I'm sorry. I'll leave now," Ling Cai said, thoroughly cowed.
He and Yuan Cao might've been close—but only just.
Not even friends.