“Must be overthinking it. How could things line up that perfectly? Hahaha.”

If every flickering bulb meant ghosts were lurking, this world’d be swarming with them—electricians would drop dead from exhaustion.

Still, Zhong Cheng unconsciously quickened his steps upstairs.

He stood before his apartment door.

Keys out, door open. Familiar home. Familiar scent.

Relief washed over him.

He sat at the entryway, slipped off his shoes, and changed into indoor slippers.

A pair of women’s shoes nearby confirmed his sister Zhong Xi was home.

TV chatter drifted from inside.

Zhong Cheng walked into the living room. A K-drama played on screen.

Slouched lazily on the sofa opposite the TV sat a girl.

She held a bag of potato chips; a bottle of cola sat on the table.

Loose pajamas, shoulder-length hair slightly messy—utterly casual.

Average height, petite and slender, small but firm chest (could probably crack a rock).

Oval face, delicate features.

Without the messy hair, lazy slouch, strong otaku vibe, and modest chest? She’d almost pass for a cute girl.

This was his sister, Zhong Xi.

“You’re back,” she muttered.

Zhong Xi shot him a fleeting glance, then returned her eyes to the drama.

Ice-cold indifference.

She knew he’d visited their grandparents—yet didn’t ask a single thing.

Unfilial granddaughter.

Next time he saw them, he’d definitely ask Grandma and Grandpa to shrink her red envelopes and boost his.

“Mm. How was your day? Fun with classmates?” Zhong Cheng asked.

“Not really,” Zhong Xi replied with a slight pout.

Clearly not a great time.

Whatever.

Zhong Cheng didn’t care. Typical sister drama anyway.

Ask too much? She’d call him annoying, “ew, brother complex.”

A cute sister who clings to you, talks sweetly, gives it all freely?

Dream on. Read too many Fushimi Tsukasa novels. Real sisters aren’t like that.

Cute sisters exist only in anime—mythical as unicorns.

Real sisters? Steal your snacks since childhood, play innocent in front of parents, tattle constantly, hoard more allowance, cry poor while squeezing you dry.

“Bro” when she needs you. Just “you” when she doesn’t.

Treats her brother like a tool.

A slightly prettier female bully who happens to be younger.

“I’m showering.”

“Go already. Don’t stink up my space.”

That disdainful tone—like he reeked. Infuriating.

Good-for-nothing little sister.

...Though yeah, he did smell a bit. Nearly ten hours of travel, sweat soaking through.

It’s *manly scent*, okay?

He grabbed fresh clothes from his room.

About to head straight to the bathroom—then remembered the wound. Tripped running down the mountain. Untreated. Soaking it could cause swelling.

Back to the living room. Opened the drawer under the TV, pulled out the first-aid kit.

Antiseptic swab first…

“You’re hurt?” Zhong Xi’s gaze dropped.

“Mm. Tripped,” Zhong Cheng said.

“Embarrassing,” she deadpanned.

Look at her. Brother injured—no hug, no comfort, no help. Just mockery.

So trashy.

So infuriating.

Such an ungrateful brat.

Zhong Cheng shot her a withering glare.

After dressing the wound, he stepped into the shower.

Hot water hit his skin. A blissful sigh escaped him—like a parched riverbed drenched by sudden rain.

Wilted spirit reviving. Skin drinking in warmth, refreshed and glowing.

He exhaled deeply.

Waterproof bandage sealed the wound safe.

Scrubbing away… washing off every trace of bad luck.

…

At Xingfu Lou Residential Complex entrance.

Uncle De sat reading the paper, relaxed.

Security here was solid—thieves rarely dared enter. Easy job.

A shadow darted past the guard booth.

Uncle De snapped alert, dropped the paper, scanned the area.

A veteran. Former scout. Sharp eyes, sharper instincts.

Yet—nothing. Silent. Normal.

“Imagined it?”

He stepped out, searched the compound. Still nothing.

Rubbed his eyes. *Going blind?*

Lately, vision felt fuzzy. Hope it’s not cataracts.

He’d get checked soon. Better safe.

Returned to his seat, reopened the paper.

Meanwhile…

Outside the Zhong apartment door.

A figure appeared.

Lips curled into a cold, sinister smile.

A pale hand reached out…

…

Zhong Cheng shivered mid-shower.

Shivering *in hot water*? Weird.

A flicker of dread—gone just as fast.

Imagination.

He’d escaped the Ghost Emperor. Flew home. Ghosts don’t board planes.

He rinsed foam from his hair. Suds swirled down the drain, lingering in a foamy clump.

Finally clean. Turned off the shower. Dried off thoroughly.

Longest, most luxurious shower of his life. Forty minutes. Wasteful? Maybe.

After cheating death, he deserved it.

“Who’s my sister talking to?”

With the water off, faint voices reached him.

Probably a friend over.

He’d avoid them. Last time he exchanged two words with her friend? Got shoved out with a glare: *“Don’t get ideas.”*

Overthinking again. Just talking! Did she think he was some player hitting on every girl?

Sure, her friends were attractive. But he wasn’t like that.

Talking won’t make them pregnant.

Since then, he’d tactfully vanish whenever her friends came—leaving their “pure” girl talk undisturbed.

Hand on his bedroom doorknob—he froze.

A voice. Familiar. *Impossible.*

His post-shower flush vanished. Face went bloodless.

Mechanically, he turned. Walked toward the living room. Heart hammering.

Clearer now. Unmistakable.

Two girls sat on the sofa.

Zhong Xi chatting brightly with a stunning woman.

Silky black hair. Porcelain skin. A face that’d eclipse any influencer.

Elegant. Aloof. A hint of allure. Mesmerizing eyes that could slay legions of otaku.

But Zhong Cheng’s blood ran cold.

*Ghost Emperor.*

A ghost who shouldn’t exist—here. Smiling. Chatting with his sister.

*What the hell.*

His heart stuttered. Breath caught.

Why? *How?*

The two turned.

Ghost Emperor’s lips curved—a knowing, seductive smile.

“Bro,” Zhong Xi puffed her cheeks slightly, tone tinged with mock disappointment, “I never knew you had it in you. Landing such a gorgeous girlfriend and not telling me? If she hadn’t said it herself, I wouldn’t have believed it…”