Chapter 8 : Money Can Reach the Ghosts
Chapter 8: Money Can Reach the Ghosts
“Xiao Qiu?”
Jiang Xinyue called out, her voice trembling.
“Hm?”
Xiao Qiu responded blankly, looking up to see her mother’s trembling lips and tear-filled eyes fixed on her.
She suddenly reacted and ran forward, but forgot there was a table in front of her. She stumbled and fell backward.
Fortunately, Shen Qingzhou reached out in time and supported her little head.
“Slow down. Watch where you’re going,” Shen Qingzhou said calmly.
It was not really her fault. After becoming a ghost, her soul body had become ethereal, able to pass through objects. Once she got used to it, she subconsciously ignored obstacles like the table.
“Xiao Qiu.”
Seeing her daughter fall, Jiang Xinyue’s heart clenched. She hurried around the table, crouched down, and pulled her daughter into her arms.
“Xiao Qiu, my baby, where did you go? Mommy has been looking for you so hard…”
Jiang Xinyue hugged her tightly, kissing her again and again, as if she could never love her enough. Tears blurred her vision.
“Wuwu~, Mommy, I’m sorry… waaa…”
The little one wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and burst into loud sobs.
Shen Qingzhou stood up, rubbed his brow, and stepped away from his seat, giving space to the mother and daughter.
After crying together for a while, Jiang Xinyue instinctively lifted her daughter—but stumbled, nearly falling.
It was not because her daughter was too heavy, but because she was too light—so light that she could barely feel any weight, causing her to use too much force.
This also made Jiang Xinyue calm down slightly. Thinking back on everything Shen Qingzhou had done, she began to form a vague guess.
She gently placed her daughter on the table, cupped her small face, and carefully examined her.
Seeing her daughter’s tearful eyes and pitiful expression, she felt her heart shatter into pieces like glass.
“Xiao Qiu~”
Jiang Xinyue choked as she called out again, as if confirming that the person before her was truly her daughter.
“Mommy~”
Xiao Qiu’s soft, tender voice carried a trace of grievance.
Her daughter before her was so real, the voice so familiar—if this were a dream, she wished it would never end.
“Have some water.”
At that moment, Shen Qingzhou placed a cup of water beside them.
That single sentence snapped Jiang Xinyue fully back to reality.
“Mr. Shen, this… what exactly is going on? My daughter, she…”
Her eyes were dazed, tinged with sorrow.
“You already have the answer in your heart, don’t you?” Shen Qingzhou interrupted her.
Then he pointed at the incense stick on the table, its smoke curling upward.
“Are you sure you want me to explain now? You only have the time of one incense stick,” Shen Qingzhou said.
“Then… after this incense burns out, where will she go? Will she go to the underworld?” Jiang Xinyue hurriedly asked.
“That depends on her. If she is willing to leave, she will return to the underworld and enter reincarnation again. If she is unwilling, she will wander in this world as a lonely soul…”
Jiang Xinyue wanted to ask more, but Shen Qingzhou raised an eyebrow.
She immediately came back to her senses. Now was not the time for questions—the incense had already burned nearly halfway.
She quickly withdrew her gaze and looked at her daughter.
Taking a deep breath, she suppressed the turmoil in her heart.
“Xiao Qiu, tell Mommy—after you got lost that day, where did you go?”
---
Shen Qingzhou ignored the mother and daughter and went straight into the second bedroom.
There was no bed in the room, only an altar table. But what it enshrined was not a deity, but a memorial tablet.
On the tablet were not names of gods or ancestors, but rows of tadpole-like symbols, densely packed, resembling a cascading stream of code.
In front of the tablet was an incense burner, plain and simple, with several burnt-out incense sticks inside. On either side were a few offerings of fruit.
On the ground before the altar were a brazier and a prayer cushion.
The entire room was empty, containing only these items.
Shen Qingzhou walked to the incense burner, lit three sticks of incense, then picked up one of the offerings and began to eat it, casually sitting down on the cushion.
He then took a stack of yellow paper beside the brazier and set it on fire.
As the flames grew stronger, smoke filled the room.
The smoke was not choking at all; instead, it carried a faint herbal fragrance.
“Woof! Woof!”
Suddenly, barking echoed through the room.
At some point, six or seven dogs had silently appeared inside.
Most of them were small pet dogs, along with two native dogs with rough fur and sturdy builds. But one among them stood out distinctly.
Its body was tall and slender, deep-chested with a narrow waist, abdomen slightly tucked, limbs slim yet muscular. Every inch of it radiated the agility and explosive strength of a hunting dog.
Its short black coat gleamed, tightly clinging to its skin. Its head was long and wedge-shaped, ears alert, and its amber eyes shone brightly, with narrow pupils full of vigilance and intelligence unique to hunting dogs.
It was a purebred sighthound, a natural hunter, with keen senses and lightning speed—clearly the unquestioned leader among the dogs.
The sighthound stepped forward first, its movements light as it approached Shen Qingzhou, gently rubbing its head against his pant leg in an affectionate gesture.
Shen Qingzhou raised his hand and lightly stroked along its smooth back. The dog let out a low whine, as if acting spoiled.
It had a fitting name—Wu Ying.
Shen Qingzhou patted its head, and it slowly walked to the brazier, lowering its body slightly. Then it took a deep breath, and the rising smoke from the brazier was drawn into its body as if pulled by an invisible force.
As the smoke entered, its black fur began to glow with a lustrous sheen, becoming even darker than before.
It lowered its head and gave a low bark toward the brazier. Only then did the other dogs dare to gather around, stretching their necks to inhale the smoke greedily, letting out satisfied murmurs.
Shen Qingzhou chewed on the fruit, then reached into his pocket and tossed a tissue into the brazier.
This was the same tissue used earlier at Old Zhong’s house to wrap that strand of curly hair.
The tissue ignited instantly upon contact with fire, and the hair inside curled and released a burnt smell.
The dogs, who had been eagerly inhaling, all recoiled as if burned.
“Remember this scent. Help me find him.”
“Woof~”
Wu Ying barked once. The dogs quickly returned to the brazier, sniffing and inhaling the remaining traces of smoke, memorizing the scent.
When the yellow paper had burned completely and the last wisp of smoke dissipated, the dogs circled around Shen Qingzhou, barked a few times, and then transformed into a gust of cold wind, vanishing from the room.
“What are you looking for? Why not ask me for help instead of using a few dogs?”
A faint sigh came from the corner.
“Because your price is too high. Dogs are cheaper—just a few offerings of incense are enough.”
Shen Qingzhou turned toward the corner.
At some point, a middle-aged man with handsome features had appeared there.
He had well-defined features, graying temples, and an excellent demeanor—clearly someone who had lived a life of comfort and status.
“I can be cheaper too,” the man quickly said.
This refined middle-aged man was Zhao Xuliang, who had been a senior executive at an investment company when he was alive.
Shen Qingzhou tossed the fruit core in his hand into the brazier and said directly, “Fine. I happen to have something for you to handle.”
“Please tell me,” Zhao Xuliang said respectfully.
So Shen Qingzhou recounted the throat-slitting case in full detail, including the clues he had obtained from the old ghost woman.
After understanding everything, Zhao Xuliang immediately patted his chest and assured, “Leave this matter to me. I will definitely help you catch the culprit.”
Shen Qingzhou nodded. This was not their first cooperation, and he trusted him.
“And the payment?”
Zhao Xuliang asked with a fawning smile, looking extremely mercenary.
“As usual. I’ll transfer it to your daughter’s account on time.”
“Thank you, thank you…”
Zhao Xuliang repeatedly expressed his gratitude.
“Logically speaking, two thousand a month should be enough for your daughter’s living expenses. Why are you still in such a hurry to make money?”
“Well, she’s a girl. She needs to dress up—buy a dress, a lipstick… all of that costs money.”
When speaking of his daughter, Zhao Xuliang’s previously calculating expression softened into pure gentleness.
Knock knock knock~
“Mr. Shen, are you inside? Mr. Shen…”
Jiang Xinyue’s urgent knocking came from outside. It seemed the incense had finished burning.
“You can go now. I’ll wait for good news,” Shen Qingzhou waved his hand.
Zhao Xuliang bowed deeply, his figure fading away into the corner.
“Come in~”