I’d barely sounded my “world-ending emergency alarm” when—

  nothing.

  Absolutely nothing happened in the room.

  Lian didn’t even twitch. He sat there as calm as if the sky fell twice a day, brush tapping on paper, clearly outlining some kind of clue map. Hua, meanwhile, was perched at the window peeling an orange with monk-level serenity, the peel spiraling down in one long ribbon like he was practicing some traveling-performer party trick.

  I stood up—ready to stage a full “Elder Brother Incoming, Life-or-Death Crisis” performance—yet the two of them didn’t even bother to enter the scene. The entire room radiated a distinct “you panic your panic; we mind our business” atmosphere.

  Only the Deputy Envoy reacted. His eyes brightened, and he cheerfully declared—with a dot of scallion still stuck beside his mouth, “Your brother’s coming? Then we gotta treat him to wontons! I know a good stall—I ate there this morning!” As he spoke, he patted a cloth bundle at his side, like he was smuggling a still-warm batch of those very wontons.

  I stared at him, torn between laughter and despair.

  And that’s when it hit me:

  If my brother really came… and found me living under the same roof as two Blood Lotus people—

  that scene would be worse than any nightmare dog demon could ever produce.

  I clapped my hands together solemnly. “After careful deliberation, I’ve decided it’s safer for everyone if… I temporarily move out.”

  Lian’s brush paused mid-stroke. “And you’re suddenly not afraid of dog demons and pig spirits anymore?”

  “Ahem—well—” I coughed twice, then veered the topic away. “Mainly because my brother is a very… sensitive person. If he walks in and sees me living with the two of you, he’ll ignore all demons, beasts, ghosts, and goblins and immediately assume you’re the ones luring me into heresy.”

  Truth be told, after that drunken road-trip with a dog demon, I’d mostly gotten used to the whole “fur and fangs” aesthetic. At worst, they shed a little, or growled a little. Manageable.

  But my brother?

  His existence defies the term “manageable.”

  I pictured his face—born with a “the world disappoints me” expression, eyebrows sharp enough to flay people alive. I shivered.

  If he walked in and saw me living with Blood Lotus folk… he wouldn’t ask questions.

  He’d flip the table, break three tiles, interrogate five generations of ancestors, and turn this inn into dust.

  Compared to my brother’s wrath, demon beasts were basically emotional support animals.

  Hua twirled the orange peel “The way you’re talking… should I start writing my will for tomorrow?”

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  I choked and instantly dragged the Deputy Envoy close. “Right—official business time. When you return to West Altar, assign a couple of sharp-eyed brothers to patrol the city. If they spot a tall, sharp-browed young general radiating the aura of ‘My brother disobeyed me, now I’m here to drag him home,’ notify me immediately. The sooner the better!”

  “On it!” He saluted like a proud rooster. “I’ll arrange it right now!”

  Once he dashed off, I grabbed my things, ready to find a different inn—mostly to avoid Lian’s nightly side-eye freezing me into nightmares.

  But before I could escape, Lian and Hua exchanged a glance.

  Lian finally spoke. “We confirmed something. That Wang Zhiyong did have a daughter.”

  My hands froze around my bundle.

  “They say she rarely showed herself,” said Hua. “After the Wang household fell, she vanished completely. No documents, no records, no sightings.”

  “The only one who mentioned her,” Lian continued, “is an old servant. After the family was seized, most of the household staff were sold off. But this one old man… for some reason, he remained in Luoyan City.”

  My eyes sharpened. “Where is he now?”

  “No one knows,” Lian replied. “He doesn’t stay at inns, doesn’t live with anyone. People only spot him now and then. And… they say he wanders near the west outskirts.”

  I froze. “…The west outskirts?”

  Hua gave me a look. “Qingyin Cemetery?”

  “We just went there,” I muttered. The memory of fog and gravestones seeped back into me. “Why would a half-senile old servant wander around there?”

  Lian’s tone stayed flat, but wariness flickered underneath. “Some said they’d seen him entering that area. But they also say he’s confused, forgetful, often incoherent.”

  The image of the graveyard’s caretaker surfaced in my mind.

  “…That old gravekeeper wouldn’t happen to be—”

  Hua smiled faintly. “Seems we’ll need another trip to the west outskirts.”

  “Count me in.” I slapped my thigh. “We’re not dropping this thread! Also because—if I wait too long, that dog demon or pig spirit might drag me out of bed by the ear for slacking.”

  Lian didn’t respond—just gave me a small, very faint look.

  The Deputy Envoy patted my shoulder. “Brother Nangong, when your brother arrives, I’ll definitely treat him to wontons.”

  At that moment, I began questioning who the true threat in our group actually was.

  We headed out—four people, weaving through busy streets and quiet alleys toward the western outskirts. Afternoon sunlight slanted low; shadows stretched long behind us. No one spoke, though the silence didn’t feel heavy.

  …Until I suddenly stopped.

  “Do you guys… feel like—”

  “Someone’s following us,” Lian calmly finished. Her voice was soft—but absolute.

  “My brother?” I squeaked. “He loves doing this. First scare me into a ghost, then elegantly show up behind me.”

  “Possible,” said Hua lazily. “But whoever this is, they’re not very good. Footsteps sloppy, weight too heavy, very amateur. Like a cat that stepped in mud.”

  “Then definitely not my brother,” I muttered.

  We pretended not to notice, continued walking, and just as the person shadowing us rounded the corner—

  I hissed to the Deputy Envoy, “Go! Block the other side! We’ll box him in!”

  We looped around, taking the side alley—

  “Now—when he enters, I’ll shout ‘Young General Arrives!’ and scare him out of his—”

  Soft pattering footsteps echoed.

  We braced—

  ready to jump—

  ready to interrogate—

  And…

  A large yellow dog waddled into the alley, head tilted, tail raised proudly, trotting toward us like it owned the place.

  Silence fell.

  I twitched.

  “…Not my brother.”

  The Deputy Envoy blinked. “Is it the same dog you met before?”

  I gave him a look. “How would I know? It hasn’t asked me to drink yet.”

  Lian only said, “Let’s go.”

  We dropped the ambush and continued toward the outskirts.

  The yellow dog followed behind us at a leisurely pace—stopping, sniffing, trotting—

  exactly like a scout reporting back to someone else.