Mo Lin's thoughts diverged sharply from Zhuge Mingyue's. It was not that he harbored ill will toward her—quite the contrary. He possessed the Thunder Talisman, a treasure surely coveted by the Thunder Talisman Master's sect. One wondered whether Mingyue, were she aware of this, would still maintain her present composure.
"Tell me," Mingyue pressed, "why did that specter not strike you?"
"In turn," Mo Lin countered, "explain how you wield the Thunder Talisman."
"Qimen Art," she replied without hesitation—an elementary Taoist discipline of vital energy, his paramount key to the talisman's power.
"If you teach me Qimen Art, I'll reveal why the phantom dared not harm me."
"Very well," she consented readily, for to her the art was but a rudimentary practice—meaningless without the talisman.
Mo Lin blinked in surprise—so swiftly had she agreed! He marvelled, "Is Qimen Art truly so little prized?"
"It's merely an introductory technique," she explained. "At the Jin Temple it goes by 'Qi Invocation,' identical to Qimen Art in method, if not in name. Every Taoist order knows it; there's nothing extraordinary about it."
Mo Lin's eyes gleamed. If mastery of this art indeed permitted command of the Thunder Talisman, his prospects brightened immeasurably.
"Now," Mingyue inquired expectantly, "will you speak?"
"That wraith feared me," he answered simply. She stared, incredulous—so the spectre's submission sprang not from some hidden mystery, but from dread of Mo Lin himself.
"Truly so?" She could scarcely believe its simplicity.
"Indeed," he nodded.
Mingyue studied him anew. A nightmare-class entity, cowed by Mo Lin—surely he must outstrip such fiends in prowess.
"Exchange contacts," he proposed. "I'll send you Qimen Art; you can practice it yourself."
Thus they did, and she forwarded a concise manuscript—mere hundreds of words on energy theory, paired with instructional footage.
Suddenly Mingyue's expression stiffened. She produced her drab counterfeit talisman, eyes narrowing toward the darkness on the mountain path. There emerged a figure garbed in sable, a single character—差—stenciled upon his breast, a black blade at his side.
Spirit Realm: Ghost Overseer…
Li Xue knelt before Mo Lin. "My lord, the inquiry is complete."
Mingyue's eyes widened in astonishment. A ghost overseer addressing a living man as "my lord"? What marvel was this?
Again Mo Lin astounded her—he had dispatched Li Xue to uncover who had once seized him. "They've come to Yun Chuan," Li Xue reported. "Tomorrow they will converge on the Jin Temple."
"Do we know their identities?" Mo Lin asked.
"They include two mighty spectres from the Nether Regions, allied with agents of the Ziwu Manor."
"Ziwu Manor?" Mo Lin's first hearing of the name.
Li Xue explained, "The manor is the dominion of the Spirit-Matriarch. In former days, she served our own Ye Dou—they represented the Spirit Realm upon the mortal plane."
Mingyue added, "Before spectres roamed the earth, Spirit-Matriarchs merely mediated between the living and the dead—guiding souls, communing with ancestors. But when phantoms spilt into our realm, they summoned potent spirits to serve them, forging an independent power. Each region bears its own Spirit-Matriarch, each a distinct faction; here in Yun Chuan, she commands the Ziwu Manor."
"Proceed," Mo Lin instructed Li Xue, and the overseer revealed, "She discerned my trail, then conspired with those Nether spectres to capture me."
Thus Mo Lin grasped why his pursuers always tracked the spirit overseers so swiftly—because the Spirit-Matriarch pulled their strings.
"Let us make for Ziwu Manor," he declared icily.
Mingyue's concern returned. "Ziwu Manor is fraught with peril. Are you certain?"
"Why perilous?"
"The Spirit-Matriarch communes with phantoms and nurtures them as no mortal can. At least two nightmare-class spectres serve her, alongside myriad lesser fiends. Should you venture there unprepared, you may be ensnared."
Her caution veiled the truth: a mortal could perish amid such malevolent arts. Spirit-Matriarchs had thrived long before spectres found foothold on earth; they alone mastered ghostly cultivation. Even the Thunder Talisman Master's sect would not lightly defy her.
"Curiously," Mo Lin replied, "I fear all things…except ghosts."
He was, after all, a Grand Administrator of the Spirit Realm. How could he quake before phantoms?
"Li Xue, present my robe," he commanded.
"As you wish."
Li Xue produced a scarlet official's robe, handing it to Mo Lin. The moment he donned it, his aura swelled as though the heavens had pivoted. The crimson garment gleamed amid twilight shadows, his cerulean blade at his hip lending a silent menace.
"Grand Administrator…" Mingyue murmured, awestruck. It was her first sight of the Spirit Realm's magistrate—an indelible vision. Now she understood why the spectre trembled before him: such office bore the weight of celestial mandate.
"Let us go to Ziwu Manor," Mo Lin repeated.
Mingyue trailed him eagerly to the foot of the mountain where his carriage awaited.
"By carriage?" she ventured.
"What else? Shall I walk?" he retorted with a wry smile. He was no spectre; he could not stride winds nor traverse skies.
"Indeed…" Mingyue conceded. A ten-mile trek on foot would be somewhat impractical, even for a Spirit Realm magistrate.