George Miller finally caught his breath and nervously followed closely behind William Clark. They didn’t walk side by side with Henry Baker, keeping a few steps’ distance, but headed in the same direction.

George Miller asked, “Mr. Clark, what exactly is this place?”

William Clark: “This is called a cage.”

“Cage?” George Miller seemed to have heard this term before.

He thought for a long time before finally remembering—it was something he’d heard from Charles Sullivan.

Charles Sullivan had said: In this world, everyone has regrets, everyone has knots in their hearts, some big, some small. Some are resolved quickly, but some can never be let go, and over time, they bind a person. The deepest and heaviest resentments and attachments in the spiritual aspect all come from this.

When a person suddenly faces serious illness, disaster, or the end of their life, their spiritual state becomes unstable, and those resentments and attachments take over, forming a situation—this is the cage.

If an unlucky person happens to pass by, it’s easy to get dragged into the cage.

For ordinary people, accidentally entering someone else’s cage is like seeing a ghost in broad daylight.

But for a judge, it means it’s time to work—clearing filth, resolving karma, settling disputes, waking up the cage’s owner, and then sending them out clean and free.

“Th-then where are we going now?” George Miller asked again.

William Clark said, “To find the heart of the cage.”

“What’s the heart of the cage? What does it look like?”

William Clark, orienting himself, said, “Usually it’s a building.”

As they spoke, Henry Baker suddenly raised his hand and pointed to a low hill not far away, saying, “I see it. There’s a house behind the hill.”

He was clearly familiar with this, obviously not his first time doing such a thing. William Clark was a bit surprised, but quickly remembered that although Henry Baker’s name had been crossed off the name chart, he was still better than George Miller.

…Though his skills probably weren’t that great.

William Clark and George Miller quickened their pace. Henry Baker was still the same as always, unhurried. So, from being a few steps ahead, he gradually fell behind, not seeming to care about catching up.

William Clark soon rounded the low hill and arrived in front of the house.

It was a self-built house from the 1990s, two stories, with a bluestone wall in front enclosing a small yard, and two trees poking out from inside the wall.

“This house…” George Miller looked it over and muttered, “When I was a kid, the old district was full of houses like this.”

“The old district?”

“Yeah.” George Miller nodded. “We used to live there, but now all those houses are gone, all demolished.”

This house had appeared out of nowhere, standing abruptly and alone in the mountain hollow, with a light rain and mist swirling around it.

“This is the heart of the cage? And then?” George Miller was a bit scared; these old houses always gave off an inexplicable sense of deathly stillness, and he didn’t want to get too close.

…

But he couldn’t resist his brother’s wishes.

“And then?” William Clark said, “Then of course we go in.”

George Miller swallowed hard, thinking to himself, you must want me dead.

“Will there be anyone inside?” George Miller asked again.

This time, it wasn’t William Clark who answered, but Henry Baker: “Do you think what’s inside would be a person?”

William Clark: “……”

This guy was clearly nuts—at a time like this, he still had the mood to joke.

George Miller was so scared by the joke that he burst into tears on the spot, and asked William Clark, “Do we really have to go in?”

Just as William Clark opened his mouth, Henry Baker smiled and said, “We could just go in, and you can wait outside.”

“???”

George Miller cried even harder.

William Clark had a headache.

George Miller hesitated for two seconds, deciding that staying outside alone was even scarier. So he asked William Clark, “Then how do we get in? Just push the door?”

Henry Baker: “Good idea, you go try pushing it.”

William Clark: “……”

He couldn’t take it anymore, pointed at Henry Baker and said, “Shut up.” Then, forcing himself to be patient, he explained to George Miller, “You can’t just push the door. The quieter, the better. It’s best not to disturb whatever’s inside the house.”

“How could we not disturb it?” George Miller was already imagining them sneaking into the house, then turning around and coming face to face with a pale ghostly face.

“You just can.” William Clark was out of patience and really didn’t want to explain.

But seeing George Miller’s miserable look, he added, “Find a way to attach yourself to something else.”

When judges enter a cage, sometimes it’s passive, sometimes active, but what they do inside is pretty much the same. They use certain objects to quietly and silently get to the heart of the cage.

Most choose things like hanging paintings, photos, or mirrors—objects that can connect with people, making it easier to attach and observe what’s happening in the house.

Once they figure out who the cage owner is and what their knot is, they’ll step in to help.

George Miller looked terrified. “Attach? How can a living person attach to something else?”

Henry Baker turned his head and whispered, “Who told you we’re people right now?”

“????”

George Miller inhaled sharply and couldn’t breathe out.

When living people enter a cage, they’re just a projection. If they get frightened, they’ll often fall seriously ill in reality. George Miller probably wasn’t going to escape that fate.

William Clark patted his pocket, a bit annoyed.

Usually, whenever he went out, he’d always bring something with him—like incense ash, wax, cotton thread, or yellow talisman paper. But this morning, after being rattled by Henry Baker, he’d forgotten everything and only had a lighter on him.