“Look, the lady is just sitting there perfectly fine,” one of them scoffed. “Where’s the ghost? Where did you see it?”
Zhao Xing took one glance back into the room—and immediately recoiled in fear.
His finger shook as he pointed directly at Hong Ning.
“It’s her! She’s the ghost!”
The flickering candlelight cast a soft glow over her face, highlighting the elegant curve of her forehead, nose, lips, and chin.
She sat there composed and indifferent, her posture calm and poised, her expression carrying a hint of cool detachment.
There was nothing about her that resembled the terrifying ghosts of folklore.
The men studied her closely for a while, then began losing patience.
One of them muttered in irritation, “Zhao, you must be seeing things.”
Zhao Xing was on the verge of panic.
He had only wanted to take advantage of a lonely woman in the dead of night—who could have predicted that right as he was about to embrace her, she would transform into a monstrous figure?
Her beautiful face had vanished, replaced by a hideous specter—her skin swollen and purple, her eyes bulging, her tongue hanging long from her mouth.
He had nearly died of fright!
And yet now, they were calling him crazy?
Frustrated, Zhao Xing thumped his chest and swore loudly,
“I saw it with my own eyes! She transformed right in front of me! When have I ever had bad eyesight?! She’s the ghost—she’s the one haunting this place!”
His voice was so loud that even Hong Ning, sitting inside, couldn’t possibly not hear it.
Calling someone a ghost to their face was going too far—even for someone as shameless as him.
A few of the men looked awkwardly at each other, clearly uncomfortable.
Someone cleared his throat and chuckled under his breath.
“Strange, we couldn’t find you earlier. Turns out you were in the lady’s room.”
His tone was mocking.
“And weren’t you supposed to be catching a ghost for us? But instead, you came running out screaming—and now you’re saying the young lady’s the ghost? You didn’t even piss yourself first?”
The rest of the men grinned knowingly.
They had all figured out what happened.
Zhao Xing had tried to get fresh, and instead of getting what he wanted, he got the fright of his life.
Served him right.
Zhao Xing’s face flushed red with anger.
“You tell me—what kind of respectable young lady would come to the wilderness alone and live in a place like this?”
He swept a hand toward the house.
“This place was abandoned because everyone here died, yet she’s alive and well—doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously at Hong Ning.
“She looks delicate and dainty, but if she’s not a ghost, then she must be some kind of demon, using sorcery to harm others. Why not seize her and interrogate her properly?”
The girl inside the room looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, yet her demeanor was nothing like an ordinary young maiden’s.
Not only did she dare to stay alone in a haunted house, but even with all the commotion outside, she remained perfectly calm.
That kind of composure was unnatural—something no ordinary person could manage.
The group began to waver.
Some nodded in agreement, others shook their heads, and a few exchanged uneasy whispers.
No one dared to act recklessly.
Then—
“Master.”
The crowd parted as someone stepped back.
* * *
Inside the house, Yang Zhen had already been disturbed by the noise.
By the time he emerged, he had changed into a pale moon-white robe, its fabric and embroidery exquisitely tailored.
Even in a place like this, his every movement still exuded an air of nobility—a stark contrast to the chaotic scene before him.
His gaze swept over the group.
“What is all this noise?”
“Master, that girl—”
Zhao Xing rushed forward, eager to explain.
But halfway through his words, he suddenly remembered that Yang Zhen did not believe in ghosts—so he swallowed the word and stammered instead,
“She… she knows sorcery. There’s something suspicious about her.”
Yang Zhen’s expression darkened.
“What happened?”
His tone was serious, but his eyes never left Hong Ning.
Her delicate features carried an undeniable sharpness, a quiet strength that set her apart from other women.
She was not soft-spoken, nor did she carry an air of fragile innocence.
He had found her disagreeable from the very start.
And now, with all this trouble, it only confirmed his belief—she was the problem.
Yet, inside the room, by the candlelight, Hong Ning remained focused on her book, completely ignoring them.
One of the men hurried forward and summarized the events.
Yang Zhen knew exactly what kind of man Zhao Xing was—he had no illusions about his subordinate’s character.
But for a grown man to be frightened so badly by a young girl—that was highly unusual.
Yang Zhen did not believe in ghosts, nor did he think Zhao Xing had hallucinated.
With a furrowed brow, he asked,
“Why did you trick him?”
At last, Hong Ning lifted her gaze, glancing at him briefly before replying coolly,
“He is the one making a scene, disturbing my peace.”
She closed her book and leaned back slightly.
“Young Master Yang, shouldn’t you question your own men first before blaming me?”
Yang Zhen’s expression remained cold.
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