Zhou Huan, holding one ghost with his left hand and another with his right, tethered by the newly mastered Arhat Rope, followed Long Sheng up the hillside. Upon reaching the crest, beneath two pine trees easily three to five meters in diameter, they discovered a patch of land covered in yellow blossoms. For this season, the fact that these flowers had not withered filled Zhou Huan with a strange warmth.

"Your grandfather truly knew how to pick a spot to reside. I never imagined a place like this could exist, where even in the deep cold, the water doesn't freeze and the flowers refuse to die," Zhou Huan remarked conversationally.

Long Sheng suddenly halted. "Master Zhou, my grandfather always drank here. Look, his wine gourd is still right here." As he spoke, he pointed to a particularly dazzling purple jade gourd nestled within the blooms.

At that exact moment, the female ghost restrained by Zhou Huan’s Arhat Rope cried out, "That’s my husband's gourd! How did it end up here?" Without hesitation, the female ghost lunged recklessly toward the gourd.

Zhou Huan tightened the rope slightly, pulling with a gentle tug. "Calm down. What’s yours will remain yours; what isn't won't come to you just because you ask. Settle down and stand still; I will handle the rest."

It was unclear whether the female ghost truly believed Zhou Huan, but after hearing his words, she still struggled violently. The Arhat Rope glowed with brilliant golden light, and the visible ghost was instantly marred by foul, rotting flesh caused by her own thrashing.

"Master Zhou, I’ve seen this gourd since I was a child. Why is she claiming it? This is clearly an attempt at robbery!" Long Sheng, unaware of the deeper complexities, only knew that everything left behind by his grandfather was his inheritance.

Zhou Huan waved a dismissive hand. "Long Sheng, this is not your time to speak. We will know the truth once we speak with your grandfather’s friend shortly. If I intend to summon his soul, retrieving it won't be an issue; one question will settle everything."

In truth, Zhou Huan had already considered the possibilities: if the occupant of the coffin turned out to be Old Cripple Huang, then with Zhou Huan’s abilities, recalling his soul would be no problem at all. If it wasn't him, no great loss. However, all signs suggested that Long Fan—Long Sheng's grandfather—had somehow manipulated events here, leaving behind all the treasures that Cripple Huang had favored.

Hearing that Zhou Huan intended to summon a soul, Long Sheng became reluctant. Seeing two malevolent-looking spirits was unsettling enough; facing a third, whose nature was unknown, filled him with dread. After much internal debate, he finally ventured, "Master Zhou, perhaps you should focus on summoning the soul, and I can go down to tidy up my grandfather's house? It will save us the trouble when we leave."

Zhou Huan instantly saw through the boy’s motive: he still couldn't let go of the gold inside the stone coffin. With the owner of those gold artifacts—the female ghost—standing right there, his possessiveness over the treasure seemed like an open invitation for trouble. Zhou Huan smiled wryly. "This time, you don't need to help me set up the formation; I can manage it myself. I need you to witness a new technique of mine, Zhou Huan. If you refuse to watch, I’ll summon your grandfather’s soul right now and have him explain the source of this gold. By then, I suspect you won’t get a single coin."

Long Sheng blinked repeatedly, staring blankly at Zhou Huan, unable to form a coherent response.

"Enough, all you spirits, listen up! Watch how I show no mercy while digging up someone's ancestral grave!" As he spoke, Zhou Huan pulled out his military pickaxe, swung his arm wide, and drove the tool down fiercely, embedding it deep into the earth.

Long Sheng mumbled under his breath, "Who exactly is this Zhou Huan, digging up people's graves?"

"Who I am is irrelevant. The main thing is whether I can make a lost child like you see the light and truly understand what money and treasure truly are," Zhou Huan retorted, his pickaxe never pausing as it churned the earth.

In fact, Zhou Huan had already secured the two strands of Arhat Rope tightly around the two pine trees, tying them with an Arhat Knot. Once bound this way, no matter what trick the ghosts employed, escape was impossible. Especially near the end of the knot, the rope would instantly cause the ghost to smoke and burn; failing to incinerate both souls would be an insult to the other disciples. This was why most spirits tended to give ground and steer clear of any technique bearing the name 'Arhat.'

"Clang!" Zhou Huan’s pickaxe seemed to strike something incredibly hard. He crouched down, examining the impact point, and gasped, "What extravagance! Even the coffin is made of pure gold."

This remark instantly reignited Long Sheng’s greed. He rushed forward to Zhou Huan’s side, quickly reaching out to touch the exposed surface of the coffin. He declared with unshakeable certainty, "It’s pure gold, over a thousand karats!" The previous listless expression on Long Sheng’s face instantly vanished, replaced by vibrancy. Zhou Huan wondered who this child resembled, possessing such avarice, and thought, If Long Fan were alive, would he stand by and watch his descendant accumulate such karmic debt through greed?

Zhou Huan glanced back at the female ghost and casually asked, "The gold down the mountain, and this gold here—it’s all yours, isn't it?"

"No! None of it is mine. Those things are unimportant to me. I just want my ring back," the female ghost replied, sounding momentarily like a proper spirit. However, Zhou Huan ignored her; he had received the information he needed. At least he knew the gold did not belong to the female ghost, which meant that the whereabouts of the treasure might only be known to Long Fan himself.

Zhou Huan pondered whether Long Fan had funded his recruitment efforts using that gold, or perhaps... Before he could fully formulate his thoughts, he happened to look back at the coffin, only to find that Long Sheng had already frantically cleared away all the dirt and debris from the lid.

"You impudent brat! Who told you to dig up someone’s ancestral grave like that? Do you know who is inside? He is at least of your grandfather’s generation—have some manners!" Saying this, Zhou Huan pulled three sticks of incense from his bag, lit them, and handed them to Long Sheng. "Take these, place them before the coffin, kneel down honestly, and kowtow three times. Otherwise, don't even think about walking down the mountain alive."

"Master Zhou, you’re trying to scare me! I don't believe it. Who is he? Why should I kneel to him?" Long Sheng scoffed with disdain.

This time, Zhou Huan was truly infuriated. The pickaxe flew high into the air, followed by Zhou Huan himself leaping up, driving the pickaxe downward with tremendous force while roaring, "Long Fan, are you going to let your descendant behave like this?"

As Zhou Huan’s pickaxe struck, the coffin lid began to slowly open. The exquisitely carved patterns on the coffin separated without the slightest sign of wear. These carvings were even adorned with small, flying insects—butterflies that seemed to genuinely be collecting pollen from among the flowers. The sides of the coffin were engraved with nine celestial dragons, framing a piece of crystalline Zhubi stone in the center. The Zhubi was inlaid with the finest agate, reflecting a complete scene of 'Nine Dragons Playing with a Pearl.'

The two ghosts standing nearby were stunned into silence. Workmanship of this caliber was rare even over millennia. What was this? Why would Long Fan use so many precious jewels on something like this? It was incomprehensible not just to ordinary people, but even to Zhou Huan, who was actively involved.

As the coffin lid opened, a beam of multicolored light shot out from within the crystalline interior. Strangely, a felicitous cloud slowly rose from inside the coffin. Seated firmly upon this cloud was an elder, his eyes slightly closed, his face covered in a long, flowing beard, his hair streaked with white. In his hand, he held a whisk with a golden handle.

Seeing this figure, Zhou Huan was momentarily stunned into silence: Had he actually succeeded? Had he achieved immortal ascension through cultivation? This was utterly unbelievable.

"Grandfather!" Long Sheng recognized the man rising from the coffin—the one he mentioned so often.

Zhou Huan let out an exclamation of awe, then turned to Long Fan. "You old rogue, you’re amazing! I never expected that after our last parting, you’d actually achieve fruition."

"Master Zhou, I have not achieved true fruition. I am merely presiding over the spiritual cultivation quarters in the Court of the King of Hell; I have no choice," Long Fan explained as he opened his eyes. The smiling Long Fan now bore little resemblance to his former self, possessing the bearing of an enlightened master—or perhaps, a master ghost.

A slow smile spread across Zhou Huan’s face. Finally, he had found the root of the problem. This whole affair could now be concluded. He glanced back at the female ghost, then at the avaricious soul of Long Sheng, and shook his head.