Chapter 84: Echoes That Resonate

“Sit down and have something to eat,” Jiang Lan gestured toward the Eight Immortals table where some pastries were laid out. “They're a bit too sweet—I’m not sure if you’ll like them, Master Xie.”

Xie Muyun stroked his beard, eyeing the man seated on the couch. Even clad in dark night attire, Xie recognized him as the infamous spirit-seeing “Grand Master” who had stirred up a storm in the prison these past days. Rumor had it he was an idle, ignorant heir from a powerful family, revered like an ancestor by everyone in the cell.

Now, whether his family was truly influential, Xie couldn’t say, but the man’s airs were certainly impressive, his presence striking. Still, the offerings on the table were decent—just decent, hmm. Old Master Xie kept his chin held high, but his hands moved swiftly.

Jiang Lan watched as the old man, eyebrows and mustache raised in delight, devoured the pastries. “As expected, Tu Tu was right—he’s got a sweet tooth.”

“I heard you’re looking for someone trustworthy to handle these treasures?” Jiang Lan rose and sat beside the Eight Immortals table, motioning for Xie Muyun to sit. “Don’t be so formal, Master Xie. Judging by your face, I’d say your time in the living world is running short. Why not work with me? Let me help you finish your book, and I’ll ensure you stay here for decades yet. Enough time to see how your work fares.”

Jiang Lan’s offer was tempting—there were plenty who passed through the yamen over the years, surely someone suitable could be found. Tu Tu claimed Master Xie was too picky, but Jiang Lan saw more: the old man wasn’t just sharp-eyed; he trusted no one but himself. If he couldn’t witness his life’s work reborn, he’d sooner die than enter the cycle of reincarnation again.

“You brat, don’t talk big. Can you really take me out of here?” Old Master Xie savored the gentle fragrance lingering on his tongue—these pastries were indeed excellent.

Jiang Lan nodded sincerely under Xie Muyun’s skeptical gaze. “It’s simple. I can take you out shortly.”

Jiang Lan’s ease betrayed no hint of difficulty. “Everything in this world revolves around profit. So, what do you need me to do? But let’s be clear: I won’t commit evil or become anyone’s servant. The third thing…” Old Master Xie picked up the plate of pastries in front of Jiang Lan. “You’ll need to provide room and board.”

Seeing Jiang Lan’s mysterious face, Old Master Xie felt uneasy. “You’re not planning to have me do anything immoral, are you? I’d rather die than do that—no amount of pastries could persuade me!”

“No, Master Xie. You won’t need to do anything like that. All I need is for you to keep an eye on someone.”

“Who?”

“Gu Chengwu.”

Carrying a basket and gathering the pastries, Old Master Xie felt puzzled—how had he agreed to this? He comforted himself, thinking he was simply eager to meet the legendary Gu Chengwu.

Jiang Lan attached half of Xie Muyun’s soul to the spirit pouch, much like Chifeng, though with a difference—Xie retained some freedom.

Guided by the faint candlelight flickering between the prison cells, Jiang Lan strolled leisurely toward the darkest chamber. The further in they went, the dimmer the lights grew. It wasn’t a matter of fewer oil lamps, but rather the dense evil spirits swirling in the air—no warmth or light could survive there.

Old Master Xie followed dutifully behind, ignoring the sharp-fanged ghosts who threatened, “Hey, old man, I’ll snap your arm!”

He paid them no mind, trailing after Jiang Lan. Deeper inside, the evil spirits grew more vicious and brazen. One even stepped forward, blocking Xie’s path, slapping its meaty arm. “So, you want to get through?”

Xie Muyun took a step back, tiptoeing to peer at Jiang Lan’s figure, already several steps ahead. He hesitated, torn between asking for help or swallowing his pride.

The evil spirit burst into laughter, twisting the corridor. Objects flew in the air and slammed to the ground behind him.

Xie Muyun hurriedly clung to a nearby pillar, forced to shut his eyes against the wind. The mocking voices of the spirits filled his ears.

He felt Jiang Lan moving further and further away. The corridor seemed to expand, dizzying him, the sensation overwhelming even with his eyes shut, as if every sense was magnified.

Just as he wrestled with his pride, a fierce gust swept through. When he opened his eyes, the arrogant spirit and the wild wind had vanished.

At the corridor’s end, something unidentifiable was plastered to the wall, seeming to be the spirit that had blocked his path, beaten into a paper-thin ghost.

The rows of evil spirits knelt in supplication, their pleas echoing through the hall.

Old Master Xie pointed at the figure stuck to the wall and asked Jiang Lan, “Did you do that?”

He received no answer, but he knew well enough. A wastrel is a wastrel—good for nothing but fighting. Yet this one fought so fiercely, even ghosts weren’t spared.

Still, he acted in time and wasn’t wholly bad—there was hope for him yet.

Xie Muyun was renowned in his youth; many noble disciples had studied under him, even the Crown Prince. He knew well: if these privileged heirs could be reformed, their contributions to Da Chen would be immeasurable.

He walked over to Jiang Lan, careful to avoid the spirit pouch shifting on her back.

“Well, since you’ve invited me, I ought to live up to your price. One sheep or two, it’s all the same—doesn’t cost me much effort. I’ll take care of you reluctantly, but double the food, no less. Fair trade. What do you say?”

The pouch behind him was well-made, and Jiang Lan was busy dealing with it. She reached back and punched the bag, muttering threats, “Quiet down, or I’ll blow you up!”

The commotion inside grew louder—roaring and howling, wave after wave.

Jiang Lan let go, dropping the pouch to the floor. A muffled groan of pain followed.

“If you’ve got guts, let me out and face me one-on-one!”

Old Master Xie stood frozen, curiosity piqued—what was inside that bag? He hadn’t seen Jiang Lan carrying it before.

Jiang Lan stepped forward, legs apart, grabbed the bag’s seal, and swung it rhythmically to the ground—left, right, with practiced ease.

From inside the bag:

“Ah!”

“Ouch, you rascal, go easy!”

“Ah!”

Each cry louder than the last, wave upon wave.