13: Failed Ritual

Back at the poorly soundproofed little house, Qin Yan quietly moved around the kitchen, making ginger tea.

Soon, he brought it out.

Before the tea even reached his stomach, Zhou Langxing already felt a rush of spicy heat flooding his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to pinch his nose shut, press his lips together, and clench his teeth.

“Do I really have to drink this?” He hated ginger more than anything.

“To ward off the chill,” Qin Yan replied simply. His gaze was soft as it fell on Zhou Langxing, but his tone left no room for refusal.

Zhou Langxing took the bowl, braced himself, and downed the tea in one go like ripping off a bandage—finally able to breathe again. He flipped the empty bowl upside down, signaling not a drop remained.

Qin Yan saw his puffed-out cheeks and barely held back a laugh. He gestured playfully, “Come on, swallow it.”

Zhou Langxing frowned as he forced down the yellow-brown ginger tea. The bitter, spicy, slightly sweet flavor overwhelmed him, and tears welled up in his eyes.

The amusement in Qin Yan’s eyes was impossible to hide. He conjured up a piece of rock sugar like a magician. “Here, something sweet for your mouth.”

Zhou Langxing held the sugar in his mouth, mumbling, “You’re treating me like a kid. Must be real experienced at this.”

“Of course. Two years of experience—I’m a seasoned pro.” He’d worked at a kindergarten straight out of college.

Qin Yan picked up the bowl and returned to the kitchen.

Savoring the strange bittersweet aftertaste, Zhou Langxing felt a little indignant. He couldn’t just suffer alone—he had to share the misery. He followed Qin Yan inside and, seeing him about to drop the bowl into the sink, quickly clicked his tongue. “That’s it? Aren’t you forgetting to make yourself a bowl too?”

Qin Yan turned his head. “That’s for people who got spooked—so they don’t have nightmares tonight.”

Zhou Langxing’s expression cycled through a range of emotions before he could finally spit out, “Really had to hit a sore spot like that?”

And the worst part? He couldn’t even argue. Qin Yan saw everything with his own two eyes—lying would only make it worse. What now? Act a bit more childish to match Qin Yan’s line of work?

Feeling a little sulky, he watched Qin Yan turn on the faucet to wash the pot and dishes. He squeezed him aside and muttered gruffly, “With your fingers still bandaged, why are you even touching water? You trying to make it heal slower?”

Qin Yan glanced at his side profile. The kitchen’s old-fashioned bulb had dimmed over time, softening the harsh white light. It shaved away some of Zhou Langxing’s sharp edges, revealing a side that was unexpectedly warm and reliable.

“I really feel like saying something right now.”

“What?”

“You’re actually kinda nice.”

Zhou Langxing turned to him, trying not to laugh. “Wow, so ‘You’re a good person’ is back in fashion now?”

“Giving out ‘good guy cards’ is a subtle way of turning someone down. But I didn’t mean it like that—I was complimenting you!”

“Well then, I’d rather hear someone say I’m handsome.”

Thanks to the power of money, the assistant moved quickly. Barely half an hour later, he returned with everything Qin Yan had asked for.

Qin Yan couldn’t hide his joy and thanked him sincerely.

The assistant nodded lightly, his gaze drifting between Zhou Langxing and Qin Yan, but he said nothing—especially not asking why Zhou Langxing hadn’t gone home.

Zhou Langxing stopped him. “Assistant Wang, no need to tell my dad about tonight.”

Wang was quick on the uptake. “Making money on the side behind the company’s back—I wouldn’t dream of talking. Second Young Master, I’ll take my leave.”

Zhou Langxing shut the door and turned to Qin Yan. “Why thank him? He should be thanking me for giving him a chance to earn.”

Qin Yan replied pleasantly, “Right, no need to thank him. You’re the real MVP—I should be thanking you.”

Zhou Langxing touched his earlobe and walked over to the light switches, turning on both lamps.

With a click, the living room lit up like broad daylight.

Qin Yan squinted. “So bright. I usually only turn on one lamp.”

Zhou Langxing deliberately teased him, “My brother did the same thing—and now he’s nearsighted!”

Mentioning Zhou Shurong gave Qin Yan the perfect excuse to fight back. He waved dismissively, “Turn them all off! Candles are enough. It’s Shurong’s first time being a ghost—he’s probably scared of the light!”

As he spoke, he rummaged under the TV stand and pulled out two white candles, handing one to Zhou Langxing.

Zhou Langxing froze for a second, then silently lit the candles and switched off the lights.

A few crisp clicks later—

The orange-red flames danced gently between them. With only this small glow left, the two of them watched it with rare solemnity.

Qin Yan took one of the candles. “Do it like this—tilt the candle, drip some wax on the table… There, press it down on the wax. Good, now it’s steady!”

Zhou Langxing, being a rich young master, had never actually used candles before—they’d long vanished from everyday life. The last time he saw one was at a birthday party. The cake had been several layers tall, the colorful candles more of a decoration than anything. No one even cut the cake—it was made of fondant, pretty but terrible to eat.

Clumsily, he pressed a candle sideways onto the table.

Qin Yan couldn’t take it anymore and was about to help, but stopped himself. “Leave it. As long as it doesn’t fall, it’s fine.”

Zhou Langxing looked up at him.

In the candlelight, people always look better—it’s as if everyone has their own beauty filter. Even the unremarkable seem a little more charming. And Qin Yan, who was already quite handsome, lowered his face, his hair swept to one side, revealing a neck that seemed to have been coated in a layer of honey.

Zhou Langxing sat cross-legged on the carpet, lightly tapping his fingers on the glass coffee table, enjoying the sight with an air of leisurely appreciation.

Qin Yan was struggling with the wrapping. Assistant Wang had packed the incense burner and incense sticks in a tightly sealed box, taping it down with several layers of tape.

Finally, he got everything out.

Qin Yan let out a breath, a thin layer of sweat on his neck, a few strands of hair sticking to it. He casually wiped them away, taking a dry lock and cutting it with scissors.

Zhou Langxing parted his lips, as if to say something, but then hesitated.

However, Qin Yan eagerly handed him the “recipe,” his cheeks flushed with excitement. “Since you’re staying, let’s welcome him back together!”

Zhou Langxing glanced at the paper, forcing a smile. He said “good” out loud, but in his heart, he was already preparing comforting words.

Qin Yan was bound to be disappointed.

The elderly man who had given him the “recipe” was mentally unstable, prone to rambling and doing foolish things. Since he never hurt anyone, his family had arranged for him to stay in their shop, where they kept an eye on him.

Whenever the shopkeeper was busy in the back and a customer came in, it was when the old man showed his “talent.”

Xiao Hei had investigated and found that this sort of “recipe” was one of the old man’s usual tricks. Some people had fallen for it, but when they reported it to the police, it was useless. There was no monetary exchange—only a signature to exchange for lifespan, a worthless piece of evidence.

The crazy old man only received a few harmless scoldings and gave a small amount of mental compensation.

Zhou Langxing pinched the yellowed paper, guessing that Qin Yan wouldn’t ask for any mental compensation. He was too softhearted and would surely feel too guilty to reprimand an old man who was blind and mad.

Opposite him, Qin Yan happily mixed the hair and grave soil together, lighting it with a lighter.

The hair instantly charred, curling into a ball, and the color of the grave soil subtly changed.

He was filled with anticipation as he carefully scooped the mixture of burnt hair and soil into the incense burner. He then lit three incense sticks, took a deep breath, and inserted them as part of a ritual to honor some unknown god or spirit.

He didn’t speak, but his eyes were filled with solemnity, reverence, longing, and a little unease—all swirling in his gaze.

Zhou Langxing silently watched him.

A minute passed.

Three minutes passed.

Ten minutes passed.

The incense had burned down to the end, leaving only the swirling smoke. Soon, even the smoke would vanish.

Qin Yan turned around, looking at Zhou Langxing with a pleading expression. “Did I do something wrong in the steps?”

Zhou Langxing shook his head.

“Well, I’ll try again.” He lit three more incense sticks.

Another ten minutes passed. Nothing happened. Not even a breeze stirred. The air inside the room became stifling, and sweat beads began to form on Qin Yan’s nose, threatening to drip.

And the “person” he had been hoping for never appeared.

Qin Yan didn’t give up, continuously making excuses: “Maybe I didn’t cut enough hair… Maybe the hair burned to ash didn’t mix well with the grave soil… Maybe I wasn’t devout enough…”

“The old man from Fushou Store is crazy.”

Those words hit too hard, and Qin Yan immediately withered.

He became as still as a statue, and after a long time, a few drops of water fell from his eyes.