The residence was quiet and austere, its halls arranged with an old-fashioned elegance—lived in once, perhaps, yet long devoid of breath or warmth. The floors were almost too clean, as if soone swept them daily, yet the place remained so spotless it made one’s scalp prickle.
I crept farther inside, still thinking about that big yellow dog that had once fed .
“Hey, Dog Brother? You still around? I never thanked you for the braised pig’s trotters…”
Only the cold scent of pine and faint chill in the air replied. Not so much as a dog hair in sight.
I rounded a covered walkway—when suddenly, a sharp “Ah!” cut through the stillness.
My heart lurched. I ducked behind a column and peeked out.
From a side doorway, a woman in plain robes stepped slowly into view.
Her face was calm and clear as drawn ink—skin pale as snow, brows serene—none of the dazzling beauty of a courtesan, but a quiet, distant grace, like cold mountains seen through mist.
Even in surprise, she rely stiffened, lips pressed tight, withdrawing a single asured step. No panic, no fluster—more like a noble lady who had been taught propriety since childhood, reacting by instinct rather than fear.
At first glance, her simple clothes and shy manner made assu she was so servant of the manor, startled by a stranger’s intrusion.
But then I caught it—the flash in her eyes, gone in a heartbeat, sharp as a blade sheathed under silk.
That was no maid’s gaze.
That was the gaze of soone who had seen storms and survived them—soone who knew how to hide the knife in her hand.
I swallowed. This woman… is no ordinary person.
I hopped out from behind the pillar and raised both hands.
“Don’t be afraid, miss! I’m not a villain—I just, uh… fell in here. By accident.”
Her eyes widened, wariness sharpening.
“I swear I didn’t co on purpose.”
I dusted off my sleeve—soil and tomb grit flaking everywhere—and slapped at the dirt sared across my robe. “Look at . Gray wall, graveyard chic. I practically crawled the whole way here.”
She still looked unconvinced, edging back another step.
I panicked. “Really! I have no ill intent! I was with my friends near the western outskirts, slipped, grabbed a tombstone, and—well—the floor opened up. I just kept walking and sohow ended up here…”
She studied a long mont before quietly exhaling, though her brows never eased.
“If you are truly no threat, then leave quickly. This place… is not ant for lingering.”
“Well…” I scratched my cheek. “Going back might be a little troubleso.”
Her expression tightened. “Why?”
“The door I ca through kind of… closed on its own. And the tunnel is long. I’m afraid if I go alone I’ll fall into another hole. And no one to pull out.”
She bit her lip—troubled, hesitant.
My mind spun, a bold thought rising.
“Miss, this Qingyin Hall…”
She froze—barely a flicker, but I caught it.
“You saw the plaque,” she murmured at last, lowering her gaze. A faint smile touched her lips—cold, guarded. “Those three characters cannot be seen by anyone without fate.”
“Fate?” My brows rose—but a chill coiled quietly in my gut.
“If you call it fate,” I said slowly, “Then let ask plainly—what is this Qingyin Hall? I fell here from the Qingyin Cetery in the western outskirts. That place has been abandoned for years. And this estate lies beneath the eastern cliffs. The two sites should have no connection.”
I looked straight at her.
“But both bear the sa na—‘Qingyin.’ East and west, unconnected by land. Yet linked by one hidden passage. You call it coincidence—yet I cannot believe it.”
For a heartbeat, sothing flickered behind her eyes.
“And I’ve asked the locals,” I continued softly. “They say this area was nothing but barren hillside. No manor. No ‘Qingyin Hall.’ And yet this place—clean, orderly, silent—it’s no rustic cottage.”
My tone was gentle, but each word tested her. “Miss… what is this place?”
Her fingers tightened around her basket. She lowered her gaze—and evaded mine.
“I am only a keeper of the house. What you say of the cetery—I do not know.”
She turned away, voice drifting like a stray breeze—distant, muted.
“You should leave. Night is coming. This place… is not safe.”
But her words rang hollow—too light, too thin. Not at all what a re keeper would say.
“Miss,” I stepped forward, lowering my voice, “If there were no secrets here, why hide them? I stumbled in by accident—how am I to leave blind? Tell just enough, and I’ll speak of it to no one.”
“I truly do not know.”
This ti she retreated quickly, the first hint of panic in her movents.
“You should not have co.”
With that, she gathered her clothes and hurried away.
I watched her go, my feet shifting—but I did not follow.
“…Keeper? More like guarding a secret, not a house.”
A hundred uneasy threads tangled in my chest. I touched my robe.
“System? Any chance you’ll actually say sothing useful? What is this place?”
The system sounded like it had just been shaken awake.
【Current area marked as “special unidentified zone.” Information fragnted. Unable to trace origin.】
【Warning: This location appears tied to old secrets of Luoyan City. Advise against further exploration.】
“Completely useless,” I muttered. “Your mouth is always fog when I need clarity.”
【Not fog—prudence.】
The system’s voice was as lazy as ever, even faintly proud.
I rolled my eyes, ready to retort—when I caught sight of the woman again, peeking from the doorway. Her face was pale, her gaze unsettled—staring at as if she’d seen sothing… unclean.
“…Don’t tell she thinks I’m a ghost?” I muttered. “That look—like she walked into a haunting.”
I ran a hand over my face, glanced down at my mud-stained clothes. A sigh escaped .
“Have a few days of wind, rain, tunnels, and tomb-crawling really ruined my handso face? Surely not—right?”
The system, wholly unsentintal:
【Current appearance score has dropped by 23%. Still within human aesthetic tolerance. Please maintain dignity.】
“…Thank you. Now I really do want to walk into a wall.”
【Friendly reminder: mild aura fluctuation ahead. Unknown target approaching.】
“Again?!” I pressed myself to the wall in a flash—smooth, practiced, desperate.
“Why does everything keep coming for ? Is being too good-looking a cri now?”
【I refuse to answer that question.】
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