The subway station buzzed with the clamor of voices, and the roar of an incoming train mixed with a gust of wind pressure swept over the platform. The crowd instinctively stepped back a few paces.

At that moment, a beautiful girl in a high school uniform with a long ponytail stumbled out of the throng and, without warning, lunged toward the edge of the tracks.

Screams erupted instantly, people around her covered their mouths in horror, and the piercing screech of the train’s brakes tore through the air.

Sparks flew as the wheels scraped against the rails, accompanied by a shrill “screeeeech.” The train decelerated sharply, but its momentum was too great. The front car overshot the edge of the tracks, grazing the platform’s rim as it slid forward several meters before coming to a complete stop, well past the point of the incident.

Some in the crowd clutched their chests, gasping for breath, while others stood frozen, staring at the scene. The air seemed to solidify, broken only by faint gasps from somewhere in the corner.

At the platform’s edge, the girl in the school uniform collapsed, her legs giving out beneath her. The hem of her skirt lifted slightly in the wind, revealing trembling calves.

She propped herself up with both hands, her knuckles white from the effort, her chest heaving violently—like a fish pulled from the water, gulping for air.

Her ponytail had come loose, a few strands sticking to her sweat-dampened forehead. Her wide eyes brimmed with terror and bewilderment.

Behind her, a slender hand slowly released its grip on the collar of her uniform.

Youyu stood there, a thin sheen of sweat on her own forehead.

That was too close!

She took a deep breath, suppressing the pounding in her chest, then crouched down and patted the girl’s shoulder, speaking softly to calm her. “Relax, you’re not dead yet.”

Her voice was deliberately gentle, an attempt to soothe, but her palm clenched unconsciously, fingers still stiff from the forceful tug moments ago. She shook them twice and brushed it off as nothing.

The girl slowly lifted her head, her eyes meeting Youyu’s, but her pupils were unfocused, as if her soul had been snatched away.

Her lips trembled slightly, as though she wanted to speak, but before she could, her eyelids drooped, and her body slumped softly to the ground, unconscious.

Startled, Youyu reached out to catch her, but the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted her.

Several subway staff in uniforms rushed over. One shouted, “Move aside! Move aside! Is she okay?”

Another pulled out a walkie-talkie, quietly calling for medical assistance.

The crowd began to stir, a wave of murmurs swelling like a tide.

Youyu stood and stepped back.

Just then, an inexplicable chill crept up the back of her neck. She snapped her head up, her gaze locking onto the front of the train.

There, beneath dim lighting, a white fox crouched at the edge of the train’s roof, its pale fur glowing faintly in the darkness.

It stared at her silently, its amber eyes narrowed into cold, vertical silver slits.

When it noticed Youyu’s gaze, it paused briefly before turning and leaping gracefully onto the tracks. With a few bounds, it vanished into the tunnel’s dark depths.

Youyu narrowed her eyes, staring into that darkness for a moment. Then she glanced down at the girl, now surrounded by staff, confirming she’d only fainted. She let out a long breath.

No one died, so it wasn’t really her problem.

The commotion on the platform gradually subsided, and a mechanical voice crackled over the loudspeaker:

“Due to an unexpected incident, this train will undergo a brief adjustment. Passengers, please wait in an orderly manner.”

Soon, another train rumbled into the station. The doors opened, and the crowd resumed its usual bustle, as if the life-and-death moment had been a mere interruption.

Youyu blended into the crowd, boarded the train, and as it accelerated, the roar drowned out the surrounding whispers. The bright, steady lights of the carriage made everything seem back on track.

No sooner had Youyu squeezed out of the subway car and steadied her footing than her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced down—three characters flashed on the screen: “Mo Wentian.”

Frowning, she answered, but before she could speak, a loud voice boomed through. “Youyu! Where are you? We’re running out of time—hurry up!”

“Just got off the subway. What’s the rush?” Youyu rubbed her ear and sighed. “It’s not exactly close. What, you want me to fly there?”

“No rush, no rush! Take your time!” Mo Wentian lowered his voice, but his excitement was palpable.

Youyu rolled her eyes, hung up, and broke into a jog toward the station exit.

The spring breeze still carried a chill, and running made her forehead faintly sweaty, her black hair fluttering messily over her shoulders.

Ten-odd minutes later, she arrived at the hotel entrance, panting.

The building was pitch-black, studded with mirrored glass that reflected the sunset’s mottled gold and red hues, like a massive obsidian gem towering over the city center.

At the entrance, Mo Wentian paced restlessly, his lanky frame wrapped in a rumpled black coat. His eyes lit up when he spotted Youyu, and he rushed over, shouting, “Finally!”

Youyu and Mo Wentian entered the hotel and headed straight for the elevators.

Mo Wentian pressed the button for the 32nd floor. As the doors slid shut, the cramped space held just the two of them.

He glanced at Youyu and whispered conspiratorially, “This job’s no small fry. It’s a celebrity—Ange. Lately, she’s been acting like she’s possessed, restless and in terrible shape. Her manager’s been scrambling for help, and I barely managed to get us in.”

Youyu leaned against the elevator wall, arms crossed, and gave a lukewarm “Oh,” her gaze lazily tracking the rising floor numbers, uninterested.

But Mo Wentian rubbed his hands together, his enthusiasm undampened. “This is a big one! She’s got money and connections. If we pull this off, we’re set for another payout.”

Youyu shot him a sidelong glance, her lips curling slightly. “You say that every time, and we still end up in the red.”

Mo Wentian choked on his words, about to retort, when the elevator dinged at the 32nd floor, and the doors slid open.

He pursed his lips and muttered, “We’re in the red because of you.”

Youyu and Mo Wentian were a solid team, working the gray area between the living and the dead—one handling the heavy lifting, the other sweet-talking clients.

But neither had much sense for money, especially Youyu. She tended to go overboard, heedless of her surroundings, smashing small objects as a matter of course. If she got really into it, she’d practically tear down a house, so even when they got paid, it often went straight to covering damages.

They walked down the corridor to a door marked “3208.” Mo Wentian rang the bell, its crisp chime sounding twice before the door swung open.

A middle-aged woman in a business suit poked her head out—likely Ange’s manager.

She sized them up, her brow furrowing slightly, but stepped aside. “You must be Mr. Mo and Master You. Come in, please.”

They entered, and the manager shut the door, rubbing her hands anxiously. “Thank goodness you’re here. Ange has been in a terrible state these past few days—can’t eat, can’t sleep, like her soul’s been drained. We were desperate and thought a master might help. Please, you have to save her!”

The room was dim, heavy curtains drawn tight, with only a floor lamp casting faint light.

On the sofa, a figure huddled under a blanket—Ange, the celebrity.

Her head hung low, her gaunt, almost unrecognizable face buried in shadow. Her lips were pale as if dusted with frost, and her whole body shivered, as though fighting an invisible chill.

Youyu stepped closer and crouched to meet Ange’s eyes.

The lamplight softened the contours of her face, but her gaze was calm and piercing, as if assessing something.

Ange slowly raised her head, revealing lifeless eyes heavy with exhaustion.

She forced a weak smile, her voice fragile and faltering. “Master… I don’t feel right. If there’s a way to help me, please do it.”

Youyu didn’t reply immediately, narrowing her eyes to study her for a moment.

A faint black aura seemed to cling to Ange—not pronounced, but oppressive.

She frowned, pulling a coin from her pocket.

She dangled it lightly in front of Ange, then flipped her wrist, pressing it to Ange’s forehead.

“Ah—” Ange let out a small cry, her body jolting as if stung.

But then her tense shoulders relaxed, a hint of color returned to her pallid cheeks, and her trembling frame seemed infused with warmth, steadying.

Youyu withdrew her hand, spinning the coin between her fingers before slipping it back into her pocket.

Standing, she said flatly, “It’s suppressed for now. Should hold for a few days.”

Ange blinked, dazed, then looked down at her hands as if testing something.

She snapped her head up, her eyes brighter, and exclaimed in delight, “It’s true… I feel better! My body’s warm, and the heaviness is gone!”

In her excitement, she reached for Youyu’s hand, but Youyu sidestepped subtly, leaving Ange’s hand hanging awkwardly in midair.

Mo Wentian chuckled from the side, chiming in, “Told you—we’re the real deal!”

Ange pulled her hand back, unbothered, and looked at Youyu eagerly. “Master, what’s wrong with me? Will it come back? I’ve got a new drama shoot in a week, and I can’t afford to be off. Could you… stay with me for a bit? I’m terrified it’ll happen again.”

Youyu glanced at Mo Wentian, who was winking at her furiously.

She paused for effect, then said calmly, “There’s definitely something dirty on you, but it’s not deep. What I just did should last a few days. As for staying, talk price with Mo Wentian.”

Ange’s eyes sparkled, and she nodded vigorously, clinging to hope.

The manager exhaled in relief, chiming in, “Great, great! Thank you, Master You! Mr. Mo, shall we discuss details?” She turned to Mo Wentian, brimming with anticipation.

Mo Wentian grinned, rubbing his hands as he stepped forward. “No problem, no problem! Let’s hash it out!”

He and the manager moved to a corner of the room, speaking in hushed tones.

Youyu stayed put, hands in her pockets, lazily watching Ange without another word.

Ange, wrapped in her blanket, smiled gratefully at her and murmured, “Master, thank you for helping.”

Just then, the doorbell rang, its crisp “ding-dong” cutting through the room’s atmosphere.

Youyu raised an eyebrow. Mo Wentian and the manager stopped talking, both turning to the door.

The manager froze, then smacked her forehead, muttering awkwardly, “Oh no, I forgot about this…” She hurried to the door and opened it.

A young woman with thick bangs stood outside, her long hair obscuring half her face. Her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, with faint, long scars on her cheeks—perhaps from stitches.

Her large eyes dominated her face, the whites stark and unsettling, her three-quarter pupils dulled with a lifeless sheen.

She wore a loose black linen dress that reached her ankles, exuding a heavy, mournful air that seemed to dim the light around her.

Looking up at the manager, she spoke in a low, slow voice, as if dragged from her throat. “Hello, I’m Zhai Yingyue from Chaos Consulting… You contacted me earlier.”

The manager flinched at her appearance, taking half a second to recover before forcing a laugh and ushering her in. “Oh, Miss Zhai, perfect timing… Come in, come in!”

She stole a glance at Youyu, her tone thick with embarrassment. “Uh… Ange’s condition was so bad, I reached out to a few places. Don’t mind it, please.”

Zhai Yingyue stepped in slowly, her footsteps almost silent.

She lifted her head, her gaze sweeping the room before settling on Ange.

Her deadened eyes fixed on her as she spoke in a flat, emotionless tone. “Since you’ve already hired someone, I won’t interfere.”

The words lacked inflection, making the room’s vibe even stranger.

The manager rubbed her hands, her smile more pained than cheerful. “Haha, yes, Master You just helped Ange, and it’s working well. Miss Zhai, you came all this way, I’m so sorry…”

Her voice trailed off, shrinking under Zhai Yingyue’s oppressive aura.

Zhai Yingyue replied woodenly, “It’s no trouble. Our office is on the top floor.”

Mo Wentian, standing aside, scratched his nose and tried to lighten the mood. “Ahem, well, we’re all in the same trade—more hands, more help, right?”

But the words felt too chipper in Zhai Yingyue’s presence, and he quickly shut up.

Youyu stood with her hands in her pockets, watching Zhai Yingyue with curiosity.

Zhai Yingyue seemed oblivious to the awkwardness, turning slowly and saying in her same low, flat voice, “Miss Yao should be fine now. I’ll go.”

Ange, bundled in her blanket, stared at Zhai Yingyue, stunned by her somber demeanor, and nodded absently.

The manager rushed to see her out, apologetic. “So sorry, Miss Zhai. This was our mix-up. Next time, I’ll coordinate better!”

Zhai Yingyue didn’t look back, just waved faintly and drifted out like a ghost.

The moment the door closed, everyone in the room exhaled in unison.

The manager turned back, her face flushed with embarrassment as she looked at Youyu and Mo Wentian. “Uh… sorry you had to see that. I was so frantic, I caused this mess.”

Mo Wentian laughed it off, waving a hand. “No worries, no worries! We get it!”

A while later, Mo Wentian and the manager finalized the details.

He flashed a broad grin and an “OK” gesture, clearly pleased with the deal.

The manager relaxed, thanking them profusely. “Then it’s settled—Master You, Mr. Mo, we’re counting on you moving forward!”

Mo Wentian clapped his hands and winked at Youyu. “Sis, it’s done. Let’s go—don’t keep them up.”

He turned to the manager and Ange, smiling. “We’ll head out then. Call us anytime!”

The manager smiled back. “Sure, take care on your way!”

Youyu and Mo Wentian didn’t linger, heading for the door.

As it opened, corridor light spilled in, dispelling the room’s heaviness. They stepped out, the door clicking shut behind them, the manager’s figure vanishing through the crack.

The hallway echoed with their footsteps. Mo Wentian muttered as they walked, “With Ange’s status, if we nail this, we might land even bigger gigs!”

He rubbed his hands, still buzzing with excitement.

Youyu stretched and sighed deeply. “Ugh, more work. So tiring!”

They exited the hotel lobby as the sun fully set, the sky darkening.

The hotel’s mirrored glass reflected the city’s neon glow, like a flowing painting.