I had no idea where John Chou intended to go. It had been over ten hours since we left Mount Immeasurable, and he’d been flying south with me the whole time. Eventually, we landed in Easton, a small city with a low population density.
The morning sunlight was a bit harsh. I looked up at the sun—though it posed no threat to me now, I still hated it deep down. Maybe that’s a side effect of being a ghost.
John Chou was grim the whole way, not saying a word to me. Now, we stood atop a tall building. He gazed into the distance, his expression finally relaxing a little.
"Can you tell me now? What exactly are you here to do?"
Then John Chou’s appearance shifted: sunhat, plaid shirt, brown cropped pants, and a pair of sandals. I blinked—he looked every bit the tourist, even sporting a red men’s shoulder bag.
"Follow me. Look human."
I gave a noncommittal grunt, not sure what to wear. I randomly changed into a black tracksuit and followed John Chou down to the ground floor. He led me onto a pedestrian street. My face was full of questions—what exactly was he here to do?
The street was plastered with signs about historical sites. Promotional posters crowded the area, and there were tourists everywhere. The whole street was lined with snacks and local trinkets. Vendors kept trying to sell things—most of it fake antiques. John Chou smiled and kept politely refusing.
This mountain-ringed city mostly sold ceramics. As we walked, I saw plenty of ceramic goods. John Chou seemed to be in a good mood, leading me along as the crowd on the street grew dense and chaotic.
Then the flow of people stopped completely. Ahead, a long line had formed. People kept saying that each group of guests could only enter the grand mansion for thirty minutes—three hundred people at a time. There were constant announcements about rules inside. John Chou went to buy tickets; I saw him swipe a few hundred yuan from someone.
"This is a mansion with two thousand years of history, dating back to the Warring States period. Visitors, please be careful not to damage anything inside."
My confusion grew. I tiptoed and craned my neck to look. In the distance, there was a restored plaque with two golden characters engraved on it.
I only recognized the second character—it looked like 'manor.'
"It's in seal script."
John Chou turned and said this. I looked at him, puzzled.
"Two thousand years ago, this was the residence of a prominent family—the Henderson Family. Several generations of Hendersons held official positions in the court, serving as..."
I stared at John Chou in disbelief, my eyes wide.
"This is your family’s place?"
"What’s so strange about me coming home, brother?"
After a while, it was finally our turn to enter. The tall entrance was flanked by yellowish walls—mud and stone mixed together, with some straw added as a binder. This really was an ancient mansion.
As soon as we entered, we saw a road paved with cobblestones—the stones were worn almost smooth. Someone began to guide us: to the left was a courtyard full of flowers and plants, to the right a large yard with neat rows of quaint little houses and a well in the center.
Directly ahead stood a long, spacious house with sliding doors and paper windows. The doors were open, and rows of low tables filled the main hall, each with straw mats behind them. Ceramic props were placed on the tables. I saw John Chou looking around, nostalgia written all over his face.
We followed the crowd past the main house, arriving at a cluster of buildings that felt like a small street. On the left was a three-story octagonal tower. It looked exactly like the one Isabelle Frost had materialized with ghost energy. Sure enough, on the third floor, I saw a guzheng and a lot of books.
On the right was a grand courtyard, lavishly decorated—clearly where the main branch of the Henderson Family lived. Further back were smaller courtyards, each with its own character. I could imagine thousands living here. As the eldest son, John Chou was naturally the star of this manor. I saw a shed that looked like a classroom. John Chou walked over, knelt at the front desk, rested his chin on his hand, and smiled.
It was rare to see John Chou so relaxed and smiling, but soon a staff member came over to stop him. I was annoyed—this was his family’s place! I considered knocking everyone out so John Chou and I could wander freely and let him reminisce about the past.
But then I felt John Chou’s gaze—he signaled me not to do anything.
After walking through the vast complex, I noticed many places sealed off with tape—off-limits to visitors. We arrived at the rear right of the manor, where there was a larger room. Inside a glass cabinet were many carved Buddha statues.
I stared in shock, eyes wide.
"Were these carved by Lord Shenyan?"
But among the Buddha statues was a stone figure—no idea who carved it, but it looked ugly.
John Chou stood in front of the stone sculpture, his eyes full of nostalgia.
"You carved this?"
John Chou nodded helplessly.
"It’s so ugly."
Compared to the statues carved by John Chou and Lord Shenyan, the difference was night and day.
"I thought you were a genius who could do anything!"
But why did we come to John Chou’s family home? I still had no idea. He’d already asked Vivian Maple to pass the word, telling Lord Shenyan to wait a day for him. I didn’t know why.
Just then, a child fell to the ground and burst into tears. A middle-aged man rushed over, picked him up, and brushed off the dust. I noticed John Chou’s gaze—it was full of nostalgia and sadness as he quietly watched the pair.
"Thinking about the old days with Uncle Zhuang?"
"Something like that."
John Chou told me this was where Uncle Zhuang had lived. As the steward of Henderson Manor, he spent nearly thirty years here.
A small gate led out to a lush hillside, dotted with buildings, pavilions, and lakes. In ancient times, this was truly the estate of a powerful family. From Past Ethan Justice’s memories, I knew the Hendersons had ties to many rulers—no wonder they never lacked money. The Hendersons were less a wealthy clan than spies living here.
Then I saw a beautifully decorated room—I recognized it instantly as John Chou’s mother’s. Years ago, John Chou and Isabelle Frost were split apart here by the power of Xi Shi. Back then, John Chou was born no bigger than a palm, yet managed to survive.
Though Old Wu Zheng played a part, I couldn’t help but marvel—John Chou had been fighting since birth. That was the one thing he had in common with Human Soul: resistance from the very start.
After the tour, John Chou and I found a nice restaurant on the street, ordered some snacks and wine, and started eating.
It was dusk now, and the street was noisy, packed with diners.
"Can you tell me now? Why did you bring me to your family home?"
"My origin. I’m here to reclaim my origin."
I swallowed hard, eyes wide. Origin is crucial for both humans and ghosts. Human Soul had long forgotten his own origin, unlike me and Heavenly Soul—we remembered from the start. That’s why he’s still so weak, even after regaining his origin. Deep down, he’s still questioning it, maybe even doubting it.
"After my Bloodbane power was sealed by the Sanzu Seal Relics, I had Uncle Zhuang bring my origin here for safekeeping. For anyone, their origin can only be fully preserved in the place where they lived longest—otherwise, it’ll be lost for all sorts of reasons."
"Why didn’t you say so earlier?"
I sighed helplessly.
No wonder—even though I know my origin, my power still feels a bit lost. When I get the chance, I need to return to the lake where we were born. You know where it is, right? I can’t remember.
John Chou smiled, resting his chin on his hand.
"Of course."
At midnight, we returned to Henderson Manor. I followed John Chou as he continued to look around.
"Hurry up."
John Chou said with a smile.
"The timing has to be right. I was born during the third watch, so we have to wait until then."
I sighed helplessly.
"That’ll be around three or four in the morning."
John Chou floated up to the octagonal tower and sat in front of the guzheng.
"You can play that?"
I watched in surprise as John Chou placed his fingers on the guzheng. I’d heard him play the flute before.
A melodious tune drifted from the guzheng. I sat at the edge of the tower.
"You’re messing with Isabelle Frost’s room—won’t she be mad?"
"That silly little sister won’t be back for a while—she’s already gone into the Unreal. Ha!"