This place—what's strange is, unlike the rest of Jialan City, I don't sense that supernatural guidance, that mysterious force that usually steers my ghostly soul.
I don't feel it at all. Puzzled, I walked over to the window and looked down. Below, ghosts came and went—some with terrifying faces, some appearing ordinary. Most of the ghosts here were searching for someone or something.
Allen Zhang sat quietly to the side, rummaging through drawers and cabinets for a bit of liquor, which he began to drink. It seemed like he often came here—he looked very familiar with the place.
"You know, Ethan Zhang? Most of the ghosts here are searching for someone."
I murmured in confusion as I watched the ghosts moving in and out below. Just then, the sound of footsteps coming downstairs echoed, and I quickly turned my head.
"Allen, hmph, stealing my liquor again."
"Oh come on, Scarlet Howe, it's just a little booze."
I immediately walked over. Scarlet Howe gulped down several mouthfuls of liquor, then blew out smoke rings one by one, shaking her head.
"It's true—we had someone secretly come here for intelligence once, and we know exactly where they went. But that intel is dead."
I understood what Scarlet Howe meant: she couldn't tell us.
"What would it take for you to tell me?"
Scarlet Howe lay on her side, stretching out, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
"Please go."
I wanted to say something more, but Allen Zhang quickly pulled me aside and led me downstairs. I’d found another way: Allen Zhang explained that the only way to reach the upper Jialan Lotus Platform was to wait for one of the Ghostworm Monk’s eight disciples to descend and preach—when that happened, a passage would open. If you seized the moment, you could go up, but ascending meant war.
For now, we could only keep investigating. I was especially concerned about Mu Wanqing. We left the western district and planned to head straight back to the courtyard where Quinn Lee was staying.
Just as we left the western street, I saw rows of ghost monks chanting Buddhist scriptures on the upper level, marching down the street in formation. Many ghosts nearby had devout expressions, which struck me as odd.
"So this is what Buddhist dharma means—equality among all beings, even ghosts. Strange, isn't it, seeing these ghosts chanting here?"
Allen Zhang spoke, and I nodded. For reasons I couldn’t explain, watching those ghost monks march and chant was disturbingly surreal, as if the world itself was off-kilter. Every so often, I’d see a ghost slip into their ranks and quietly join the procession.
As they gradually disappeared into the distance, the devout ghosts nearby seemed to relax, their faces breaking into bright, almost jubilant smiles.
Eventually, we made it back to the north side. I found the small courtyard, and from inside came a furious roar, followed by the relentless crash of things being smashed.