The Ghost City lived its own life — dark, restless, and full of secrets. In the "Player’s Den," the usual bustle reigned that day: the clinking of coins, tense exclamations, risky bets, and rare victories. Amidst this chaos, like an invisible center of gravity, sat Hua Cheng, surrounded by crimson curtains that streamed behind his throne-like chair. His gaze, one eye concealed by a black eyepatch, keenly observed the scene, though his face retained its unruffled smile. Xie Lian, as in recent days, stayed close by, quietly watching Hua Cheng. Perhaps he could not forget the moment when Hua Cheng had shattered into a thousand silver butterflies for his sake.

Suddenly, the hall’s doors burst open, and guards entered, carefully carrying a tiny ghostly flame. Its pale-blue glow was so faint it seemed as though it might extinguish with the slightest breath of wind, yet its radiance spoke of an unusual purity.

Guard: “My lord, this soul infiltrated your armory and attempted to steal swords,” - reported one of the guards. - “What would you have us do with it?”

Before Hua Chéng could reply, Xie Lian stepped forward, reaching out to the little flame.

Xie Lian: “Let me take a look,” - he said gently. There was a note of curiosity and genuine desire to understand in his voice. At first glance, he realized this ghostly flame, this soul, belonged to a young boy.

The flame trembled in his hands, as if trying to speak. Ghostly flames could not talk, but this one seemed to put all its strength into attempting to communicate. From its chaotic flickers, Xie Lian discerned two words: Name: "Huáng" and "sister. Help."

Xie Lian: “Let’s give him a chance to explain himself,” - he suggested, turning to Hua Cheng.

Hua Cheng nodded silently, and together they followed the little flame as it led them toward the city of Yūngzhào. Its narrow streets were typical of such places — noisy, grimy, and full of hidden dangers.

Suddenly, cries rang out, followed by the sound of a blow. The flame flared brightly and darted toward the source of the noise. Xie Lian and Hua Cheng hurried after it.

What unfolded before them was a grim scene. On the ground, amidst the shattered remains of a painting, sat a girl. Her lip was split, and one lens of her glasses was cracked. Towering over her was a man with a cruel expression. When she reached for a fragment of the frame lying near his feet, he callously stepped on her hand.

Man: “Crazy witch,” - he spat disdainfully, hawked, and walked away.

The flame — or rather, Huáng — flared so fiercely it seemed ready to tear the offender apart. It was now clear what he had meant by "sister."