Chapter 66: The Spirit-Calibrating Ruler

Chapter 66: The Spirit-Calibrating Ruler

I followed the fat boss out of the casino onto a bustling street outside the gambling district. We stopped before a wine house facing the road.

From a distance, it looked like the bathhouse from Spirited Away—wooden, five stories, irregular and layered. Red lanterns hung from the eaves and corner towers. Against the red-yellow lantern glow and street fluorescence, it radiated eerie atmosphere.

“You built this place like a haunted house on purpose, didn’t you? Ghostdark City’s the perfect setting for people like you.”

“You don’t get it. Most people wandering Ghostdark City have darker minds, heavier tempers. Think about it—what normal person wants to live somewhere this gloomy every day? Only extremists, people with warped thinking. So be careful here. Trash people everywhere, none of them easy. Know what ‘the happy should give way’ means? Here, you step aside for everyone. Especially us business owners—we’re polite to every piece of trash we meet.”

“No wonder that fight hall owner was so courteous. Afraid of provoking someone, getting his place smashed.”

“Exactly. Oh—don’t cause trouble here either. I don’t want to lose money.”

Something occurred to me. “When I settled up, the owner gave me 610 points. The contract said five percent commission. Does that mean one match pulled in 12,200 points? That much? A whole sect with a thousand people doesn’t make that. How?”

“Ghostdark City gamblers are extreme, obsessive maniacs. They come for massive bets. Win and life’s golden. Lose and you’re bankrupt. Sex, gambling, drugs—human vices that hook hardest. That’s why they bet big here. Casino owners? Sure, they make money. Otherwise, what normal person would risk business in a place like this? But most of it goes to the Shadow Pavilion. One match, they actually pocket about what you got.”

“I was startled. Huh? Isn’t that basically working for the Shadow Pavilion?”

“Not quite. They run many matches daily—it adds up. Just high-risk. Plenty of desperate lunatics snap when they lose. Without Shadow Pavilion backing, no business survives. It’s precisely because the Pavilion’s power exists that gamblers don’t dare overstep. Whoever causes trouble dies. Dies on the spot. So no matter how much rage someone carries, here they show the Pavilion nothing but respect. Twisted people are cruel, not stupid.”

Now I understood. The casino owner heard “mind arts” and thought Pu Liuqian. Mention Pu Liuqian, instant deference.

Cause trouble, die on the spot—was the Shadow Pavilion everywhere?

I looked up.

The moment I did, I got another big scare.

In a shabby second-floor window of the bathhouse-style building, a pale woman in red flashed into view.

I pointed. “You—you keep a female ghost in red here?”

The fat boss burst out laughing, called out, and a red-clad woman floated down from the window, nestling into his arms.

One glance told me she wasn’t human. No human scent. Even with penetrating waves, I couldn’t see a human shape.

“Her name’s Xiaoyou. A pet I picked up. Original body was a pure white cat, nearly dead. I nursed her back, had her manifest as an adorable ghost—for heavy-taste customers to pet like a cat. Interested? Come on, pet her a couple of times.”

I pushed her aside. “Stop. Yuan Lingliang pressed against me and I could barely stand it. You turned a cat into human form. If some pervert did that with her… crap, don’t tell me that actually happens.”

He stroked the cat-turned-ghost. “I think your mind’s the abnormal one. Young Miss Yuan Lingliang’s a proper lady from a good family, beautiful and intelligent, threw herself at you and you still rejected her. Are you sick?”

“I have a girlfriend. More than one, actually. Proof enough?”

“Really? Where? What do they look like?”

“None of your business.”

We bantered all the way to a third-floor private room. The fat boss ordered food, then said, “Around here, I’m Fatty Huang. My full name’s meaningless—all fake anyway. Just call me…