Although he didn’t really understand what Lu Congxing was saying, Chen He instinctively showed a jealous and resentful expression at the mention of Wen Yi’s name.
“Who does she think she is? Always laughing and chatting with Film Emperor Gu like they’re best friends. Everyone on set seems to like her too. I bet she’s having an affair with the director—how else do you explain him constantly praising her ‘natural talent’? She probably badmouthed me to him!”
He began to wallow in self-pity, convinced that everyone around him was out to get him.
Unlike the scandal-ridden path Wen Yi’s shady company had arranged for her, Chen He’s agency had crafted him a persona of a polite, well-loved group favorite. But once the marketing faded and filming actually began, people on set clearly preferred the lively and cheerful Wen Yi. Toward Chen He, their attitude was lukewarm at best—and some even voiced frustration that his poor acting was slowing down the production.
The contrast stung, and Chen He had come to see Wen Yi as a thorn in his side. But the two played a couple in the drama, which only made it harder for him to get into character.
A vicious cycle.
Lu Congxing raised an eyebrow and brushed past the topic. “What wish did you make to the little ghost?”
Chen He laughed bitterly. “Obviously—I wished to become famous.”
Unfortunately, he was cursed by the ghost before his wish could come true. Now, he was determined to drag everyone down to hell with him.
Lu Congxing said, “Your birth chart is heavily yin—it’s not suited for dealing with these things, let alone raising a little ghost yourself. No wonder you couldn’t control it.”
And those half-baked celebrity wannabes who dragged him into it clearly hadn’t considered that. They just wanted to pull more people down into their own mess.
Chen He was clearly delirious, but Lu Congxing could tell he wasn’t lying—meaning someone else was the one who had actually planted the voodoo doll.
Seeing there was nothing more he could get out of him, Lu Congxing turned to leave. But just as he did, something shiny caught his eye—a polished vase to his left.
In its reflection, a shadow darted behind him.
In the very next second, he swiftly twisted his body to dodge, though the thing still managed to graze him.
The little ghost, unwilling to give up, clung to the corner of the wall, staring at him with greedy eyes. It hadn’t succeeded, but it hadn’t failed without gain.
Where it grazed him, there were signs of corrosion—not in the physical sense, but rather, his spiritual energy was being eroded.
Because his body had been protected by Bai Ze’s powerful spiritual energy, the ghost’s touch effectively wiped that away.
Lu Congxing’s eyes narrowed. “You’re looking to die.”
“Ji ji ji ji!!!” The little ghost clung to the wall like a twisted spider, letting out an ear-piercing screech.
Its mouth opened, revealing rows upon rows of jagged shark-like teeth.
All the horrific wounds on Chen He’s body had come from that very mouth.
The ghost’s eyes locked solely onto Lu Congxing. Pure spiritual bodies were fatally tempting to things like it. It was even willing to leave Chen He behind to go after him—a move Lu Congxing hadn’t expected, which was why he’d almost gotten hit.
After being under Bai Ze’s protection for so long, he’d nearly forgotten just how cursed his own constitution was.
A small smirk tugged at Lu Congxing’s lips, though his eyes remained cold. Slowly, he raised his hand, releasing a surge of ghostly flames.
Bathed in the eerie glow, he looked like a soul-reaping envoy straight out of hell.
The temperature in the entire ward instantly spiked.
Chen He passed out.
Just as Lu Congxing’s gaze turned even colder, a soft whining noise suddenly came from his wrist.
More precisely—from the small bell tied around his wrist.
Yingying, who had been sealed inside the bell, sensed a malevolent energy threatening its master and immediately erupted—alternating between wailing and swearing.
Seeing that Bai Ze wasn’t in the room, it didn’t hesitate to burst out of the bell on its own.
Yingying had a small mirror hanging around its neck, carrying the gloomy mirror ghost along with it.
Thanks to their contract, Yingying wasn’t affected at all by the raging ghostly fire.
Yingying still appeared as a little girl in red, though dark shadows billowed endlessly from behind it.
Yingying stared at the little ghost, its hollow black eyes glinting with the cruelty of a high-ranking malevolent ghost.
“Just a puny ghost, and you dare lay a finger on my master?”
Weakened by the searing flames engulfing the room, the little ghost had no chance to escape—it was instantly seized by Yingying.
Yingying opened its mouth wide, and the shadow behind it expanded into a monstrous maw that swallowed the little ghost whole.
The very next second, Yingying transformed back into it “innocent little girl” self and skipped over to Lu Congxing, whining, “Yingyingying! That was so scary! Master, are you okay?”
Lu Congxing paused. “I’m fine, but—”
Before he could finish, he suddenly poofed into a ball of fluffy fur and flopped onto the floor.
With Bai Ze’s spiritual energy gone, the unstable period hit instantly.
A tiny black-and-white fuzzball sat on the floor, looking up with wide, dazed eyes.
Yingying blinked. “Ying—Master, you’re so cute!”
Lu Congxing wanted to tell it to shut up, but when he opened his mouth, the only sound that came out was somehow even cuter than its.
“Nng nng?”
Regret hit him hard. He quickly covered his mouth with his tiny paws, his little black ears drooping in shame.
Why does a panda sound like it’s whining “ying ying ying” too?!
It’s still a panda, after all! Shouldn’t it be making some kind of fierce roar?
Lu Congxing was so frustrated he tried to stand up—only to trip over some junk on the floor and fall flat on his face.
He never imagined he’d turn into a national treasure—a panda. If he had become a little bird or a kitten, sneaking out of the hospital would’ve been way easier. But like this? How was he supposed to escape now?
By tomorrow, he’d be all over the headlines: “Panda Cub Discovered in Local Hospital!”
He lifted his stubby little legs and fell deep into thought. Do normal pandas cub have legs this short?
Trying to sneak out of a hospital full of people with legs like these, like some kind of spy, was completely unrealistic. And even if he made it out, things would only get harder.
Thankfully, Chen He had just fainted, and Lu Congxing had temporarily disabled the security cameras. But who knew when someone would come by to change his bandages? This room wasn’t safe to stay in for long.
He pulled out his phone, planning to send a quick message to his guardian demon. Maybe he’d caught some of that panda laziness—he was slowly pawing at the phone while sprawling out on the ground like an overstuffed sesame rice ball. Luckily, pandas have a special sixth “thumb” that helped him grip the phone.
After struggling with it for a while, he finally managed to send a simple message: [I’m heading back first.]
Then, after thinking for a bit, he added a sticker of a cute little dumpling trying to act adorable.
The dumpling on the screen looked just as silly as the black-and-white dumpling holding the phone.
Feeling sulky, Lu Congxing tried to pat his little ears, only to realize his arms were too short—he couldn’t even reach them.
A completely useless panda.jpg
Yingying, who was standing nearby, was blunt as ever. “I don’t think Bai Ze is gonna buy that.”
Panda—Xing—Cub: “Nng nng nng!”
Of course I know that. But first, I’ve got to find an excuse to send him away, or at least hide in a spot where no one will find me.
Then I can wait for this unstable period to pass.
If Bai Ze gets impatient and storms in while I’m like this, I’ll be totally exposed.
Sending a message buys me a little time. Even if he suspects something, he’ll assume I ran off somewhere—not that I’m still hiding in this hospital room.
In the end, faced with the choice between calling in powerful demons from the Bureau or asking Yingying for help, Lu Congxing chose the latter.
Why? Because Yingying was staring at him with those eager eyes, like if he didn’t let him help, he’d be the biggest heartless jerk in the world.
The mirror ghost couldn’t help but snap coldly, “You idiot. Try not to fall on him.”
Yingying pretended not to hear. Ever since he found out the mirror ghost hadn’t even signed a contract with Lu Congxing, he’d been acting like he was the superior one.
It wore a bright red hood that covered most of its face, then handed Lu Congxing a large fruit basket.
The panda cub tried to waddle over on his stubby legs, but he could only flap helplessly in midair.
Half of his body ended up hanging on the edge of the basket, looking like some kind of deluxe fuzzy keychain. Even his little white tail was straining with effort.
In the end, it was Yingying who stepped in to give him a boost, letting him finally tumble into the basket.
Yingying looked absolutely smitten. “So soft, so rua-able!”
It proudly waved its physical hands in front of the small mirror on its chest.
The mirror ghost let out a cold, sour snort and, feeling dejected over his still-intangible hands, slinked away into the shadows.
Lu Congxing didn’t notice the petty rivalry or the passive-aggressive bickering between the two ghosts. He curled himself up tightly like a fluffy little ball and obediently tucked a piece of cloth over his head, hiding just right inside the fruit basket.
Yingying, feeling full of confidence, picked up the basket and headed out. To avoid alarming passersby with the sight of a floating basket, it had no choice but to reveal its true form.
“What a cute kid!” a kind passerby offered to help them take the elevator.
Yingying could only shake its head and bolt in the opposite direction—they had to take the safer, deserted stairwell.
Lu Congxing had assumed that the message he sent would be enough to stall He Zhouyan for a while. What he didn’t account for… was just how much the man actually cared about him.
After getting no reply to his texts and calls, He Zhouyan left the hospital room with a face like a thundercloud.
He used his spiritual energy to track the cub’s presence—only to find that there was no trace of it anywhere near the hospital.
It was like the cub had vanished into thin air.
If it weren’t for that single message, he would’ve already lost control, shifted into his true form, and turned the entire city upside down in his search.
So when Yingying reached the basement, thinking they were totally in the clear… it ran straight into the stone-faced man himself.
Panic hit instantly.
Yingying clutched the basket tight and turned its back to him, as if that could somehow make everything go away.
Lu Congxing instantly regretted his earlier decision.
Maybe he should’ve just asked the Director of the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs to come pick him up in the first place.
He clearly knew that he had this problem during his unstable period.
Now he was stuck, held hostage by a pig teammate, silently praying that He Zhouyan still didn’t remember who Yingying was.
After all, he had completely forgotten about Yingying before. When it came to people he didn’t care about, He Zhouyan had a remarkable talent for completely ignoring them.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans. He Zhouyan paused briefly—then walked straight toward them.
Panda—Xing—Cub: I’m doomed.
Yingying: Ying.
In truth, He Zhouyan still hadn’t recognized Yingying. What he felt… was a strange sense of connection.
Faced with the presence of a divine beast naturally gifted in dispelling evil, Yingying’s legs were trembling. Even if he wanted to run, he physically couldn’t.
With just a few long strides, He Zhouyan was right behind him. His thin lips parted slightly.
“What are you holding in your arms?”
Author’s note:
Next chapter: identity exposed!