“Because… when I died, I was stuck in the ventilation shaft… head?down…”
Its voice even carried a hint of helplessness.
Ye Lingyun: “…”
He felt his dignity as a swordsman—
and his courage as a grown man—
shatter into dust on the spot.
He even felt a little like crying.
Sunri held back a laugh, patted Ye Lingyun’s shoulder in comfort, then looked up at the half?visible ghost with gentle calm.
“Sorry. My friend is… sensitive to this kind of entrance. Do you need something from us?”
The ghost glanced at Sunri, then at Ye Lingyun—who was still taking deep breaths to steady his heart—and said slowly:
“Not… not a big deal. Just that…”
It pointed at the old sofa beside where Ye Lingyun had been standing.
“Your friend almost sat on me. I don’t really feel anything physically, but… it’s weird, you know?”
Ye Lingyun’s fear evaporated instantly, replaced by pure absurdity.
“I was standing! And you clearly dropped down from above! How is that your spot?!”
The ghost replied with full confidence:
“I live in that part of the ceiling! The space below counts as my extended territory! You all barged in without even saying hello…”
Everyone fell silent at the ghost’s logic.
Lin Che adjusted his glasses.
Despite his quickened heartbeat, his tone remained calm as he stepped forward and looked up at the ghost.
“Based on your description and current manifestation, you are a variant of a ‘bound spirit.’ However, what binds you is not a physical location, but the spatial posture cognition at the moment of your death. Your residual consciousness is anchored to the ceiling and the vertical space beneath it. This causes you to feel territorial discomfort when others enter this ‘cognitive zone,’ though the reaction is purely psychological rather than functional.”
The ghost stared blankly, its mist?like body pausing mid?float.
“Wha…? What are you talking about? What ‘variant,’ what ‘cognitive space’… my head’s spinning…”
Lin Che continued patiently—and academically:
“In simple terms, you’re not trapped by the building. You’re trapped by the position you died in. You believe you ‘belong’ to this upside?down space, so you feel uneasy when others occupy it. This is a typical post?mortem cognitive fixation phenomenon.”
The ghost blinked.
“…So?”
“So, you need cognitive restructuring,” Lin Che said with absolute seriousness.
“You must recognize that your form has changed. You no longer need to cling to your final posture in life. Try to mentally release your fixation. Imagine your consciousness spreading freely instead of hanging upside?down.”
The ghost, dazed, instinctively followed his guidance.
Its half?visible body sticking out of the ceiling began to loosen, blur, and soften.
“Huh…”
A soft sound of surprise escaped it.
“Now that you say it… I feel… less tight? A bit lighter?”
Lin Che nodded.
“Good. Continue relaxing. You are not trapped—you simply haven’t adapted to ‘leaving.’”
The ghost grew fainter and fainter until it was nearly transparent.
It looked at Lin Che with something like gratitude.
“Thank you… doctor… you’re really something…”
With that, its form dissolved completely.
The coldness lingering in the room faded noticeably.
The detective agency fell silent.
Sunri looked at Lin Che, expression complicated.
“Lin Che… did you just exorcise a ghost? In my original world, only shamans could do that.”
Lin Che and Ye Lingyun both wondered what a shaman was.
Lin Che replied matter?of?factly,
“I merely performed cognitive?behavioral correction to resolve a misaligned post?mortem self?perception. From an energy standpoint, once it relinquishes its fixation on a specific spatial form, its residual consciousness naturally dissipates or transitions.”
Ye Lingyun, still rubbing his bruised shoulder, muttered,
“Talking a ghost into doubting itself until it disappears… truly eye?opening.”
Just then, a faint hiss?pop came from the window as a shadow zipped inside.
Windbeak.
It carried several screws in its beak, landed atop a filing cabinet, and began pecking at them contentedly.
While eating, it looked down at the group—
especially at the still?pale Ye Lingyun and the academically serene Lin Che.
“Tsk tsk,” Windbeak said after swallowing a screw, its metallic beak clicking in a mocking teenage tone.
“I leave for a moment and it’s already a circus? The antique jumps like he’s tap?dancing, and the bookworm doctor talks a ghost into emotional collapse? You guys are incredible. Drama follows you everywhere.”
Ye Lingyun glared at it, face burning.
Lin Che ignored the insult and continued examining the room.
Sunri suddenly remembered the girl in the stairwell.
“You all keep investigating. I’ll step out for a moment.”
He didn’t want the girl to wait anxiously.
He returned quickly to the landing.
The school?uniform girl’s spirit was still there, quietly waiting in the shadows.
When she saw him, her eyes brightened again.
“Come. Let’s go,” Sunri said gently, extending a guiding hand—not to touch, but to lead.
She followed him obediently, drifting like soft mist down the stairs, through the lobby, and out into the alley.
The moment they stepped outside, the noise and neon from across the street sharpened—
a living world separated from the dead by only a few meters.
The girl stopped at the mouth of the alley.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
She looked toward the bright, bustling street—
her expression a mix of longing, confusion, and release.
She turned to Sunri.
Her misty eyes reflected his gentle face.
She spoke clearly, with effort:
“Thank you… kind big brother.”
Her form began to dissolve—
edges first, then the rest—
into tiny glowing motes that drifted into Hong Kong’s humid night air.
No explosion of resentment.
No violent haunting.
Just a quiet departure—
a lost soul finally finding her way.
Sunri stood silently at the alley’s edge, watching her fade.
There was comfort in helping her, and a faint melancholy too.
She was not human.
Her home might no longer exist.
But at least she would not wander that dark stairwell alone anymore.
He took a deep breath and returned to the detective agency.
Inside, Ye Lingyun had mostly regained composure (though his hand still hovered near his sword).
Lin Che was reading files.
Pardy was poking an old compass.
Windbeak groomed its feathers atop the cabinet.
Mo?Dou sat on the windowsill, watching the neon outside.
“All settled?” Lin Che asked.
Sunri nodded.
“A lost child. I sent her off.”
He noticed both Lin Che and Ye Lingyun looked… odd.
“You two… everything alright?”
Ye Lingyun’s mouth twitched.
“No problem.”
He clearly did not want to elaborate.
Lin Che was calm as ever.
“Another cognitively fixed spirit. I assisted its dissolution. The energy field here is unstable—residual spirits are concentrated.”
Just then—
The inner door of the detective agency burst open.
A middle?aged woman—curly hair, floral shirt, plastic bag of roast?meat lunch boxes in hand—stormed in.
“Aiyo! Really got people here! I heard noises when I came up—thought it was rats or… those things acting up again!”
Her voice was loud, full of streetwise energy.
Her sharp eyes swept across the group, lingering two seconds longer on Mo?Dou and Windbeak, but she didn’t seem too shocked—just raised a brow.
“I’m the owner here. Call me Auntie Fung.”
She plopped the lunch boxes onto a table, hands on hips.
“Who are you lot? Why are you in my detective agency? And those two—”
She pointed at Mo?Dou and Windbeak.
“Pets? Familiars? Why can they fly and glow?”
Her questions came like machine?gun fire.
Sunri stepped forward and explained briefly—why they were here, that they meant no harm, and apologized for intruding.
Auntie Fung listened, then eyed their mismatched outfits—
Ye Lingyun’s ancient robes, Lin Che’s white coat, Sunri’s hybrid style—
plus two obviously non?ordinary “pets.”
Her suspicion softened into curiosity… and a kind of “I’ve seen worse” acceptance.
“Fine, fine. You don’t look like bad people. Besides…”
She lowered her voice mysteriously.
“Something’s wrong with this building. And the ones next to it. Maybe you’re here for a reason.”
“Something wrong?” Sunri asked.
“Of course! You saw how dark it is! Everyone moved out months ago—said they kept seeing things they shouldn’t, couldn’t sleep, even the rent collector doesn’t dare come!”
“Why didn’t you leave?” Lin Che asked.
“Call me Auntie Fung. Me?”
She pointed at herself proudly.
“I’ve been a ‘special consultant’ for decades. Seen all kinds of stuff. This place is my family’s property—how can I just run? Besides…”
Her voice dropped, tinged with helpless humor.
“Lately the ‘good brothers’ seem to like gathering here. If I leave, who’s gonna watch the place? I only have my mouth and some old?school tricks, but calming the scene and helping lost ones ask for directions is better than nothing.”
Windbeak suddenly spoke from the cabinet top.
“Because it’s comfortable here.”
Everyone looked at him.
Windbeak flapped lazily.
“This area has heavy yin energy. This tong lau sits on a small ‘yin?pool.’ For newly detached, unstable, or confused spirits, it’s like a cozy rest stop. And with the bright yang energy across the street, this becomes a blurred yin?yang boundary—perfect for those stuck ‘in between.’”
He pointed at Auntie Fung with his beak.
“She has weak soothing energy—probably from long exposure. Spirits feel safe around her.”
Auntie Fung stared.
“This bird… talks? And talks so professionally?”
Windbeak lifted his head proudly.
“Tri?Phase Spirit?Quantum?Mechanical Symbiotic Entity. Not a bird.”
Auntie Fung blinked—then burst out laughing.
“Fine, fine, you’re amazing! Anyway, the expert bird is right.”
That’s exactly what’s going on!”
She glanced at the sky outside, then at the group before her—
a collection of clearly unusual men, women, a child,
and two absolutely?not?ordinary creatures.
With a grand sweep of her arm, she declared:
“You lot look like you’ve got nowhere to stay, right?
This whole building is empty now.
Everyone who lived on the second floor and above ran off months ago—
so scared they didn’t even bother taking their keys.
They left everything with me and said they’d come back when the place is ‘safe’ again.”
She shrugged.
“If you’re not afraid, pick any floor and stay for now!
Water and electricity still work—I manage the main switches.
Just don’t expect luxury.”
It was, undeniably, the perfect solution to their lodging problem.
Sunri looked at his companions.
Lin Che nodded casually.
Pardy leaned against his father.
Windbeak expressed that having a roof was better than sleeping on the street.
Mo?Dou gave a soft “mrrp.”
Just as everyone thought the matter was settled—
“I object!”
A firm, ringing voice cut through the room.
Everyone turned.
Ye Lingyun stood there—
still a little pale,
but eyes resolute,
hand gripping his sword,
posture straight as a spear.
He swept his gaze across the dim, chilly detective agency,
as if he could see through the walls—
the dead silence of the tong lau,
and the unseen “residents” drifting within and without.
“This place is shrouded in yin energy.
Spirits gather here.
It is not a good land!”
His tone was solemn, carrying the stern dignity of a martial warrior.
“Though each of us has our own skills,
against formless ghosts and unseen entities…
we cannot fully exert our strength.”
“To sleep in such a cursed dwelling—
restless nights are a small matter.
But if we attract further misfortune,
or if Pardy is endangered—
how could we answer for it?”
He drew a deep breath, voice firm.
“I believe we should seek another place to stay.
Even if it is simple or crude,
it is better than living here in constant fear!”
—He spoke righteously,
but the tips of his ears were slightly red.
His words were powerful,
perfectly matching his nature:
- cautious, traditional martial discipline
- emphasis on safety
- and (though he would never admit it)
a severe psychological weakness toward ghosts.
The detective agency fell silent.
Only the dim ceiling lamp swayed gently,
casting trembling shadows on the walls.
Auntie Fung raised an eyebrow,
studying the handsome swordsman who was clearly terrified
yet forcing himself to act like he was “protecting everyone.”
A knowing, mischievous smile tugged at her lips.
Windbeak let out a sharp, unrestrained snort—
echoing loudly in the quiet room.
Sunri looked at Ye Lingyun’s battle?ready stance,
then at the eerie tong lau that might hold important clues,
and finally at his companions’ varied expressions.
He knew the question of “whether to stay”
would require a bit of internal negotiation.
And this half?broken neon tong lau—
with its silent and noisy “residents,”
seen and unseen—
would become their first true foothold
and challenge
in this haunted city called Hong Kong.