“Eh? That’s odd—there’s a piece of paper stuck on this nail.” As Nathaniel Sullivan got up, he caught a glimpse of the ground where the nail had pricked his hand, and immediately noticed something unusual.

Gavin Clark, hearing this, frowned, lifted his monk’s robe, and squatted down.

There, on the small patch of floor revealed after the chest of drawers was pushed aside, a sharp corner was sticking up. Gavin Clark tore off a corner of his monk’s robe, and with his fingers wrapped in the white hemp cloth, rubbed the sharp tip a couple of times. Once the layer of old dirt was cleared away, the sharp tip took shape—

Judging by the oily yellow color, it was a copper nail, with three vertical ridges along its side.

Since it was wrapped in such a thick layer of old dirt, this copper nail must have been here for at least two or three years, yet it hadn’t rusted at all and was still shiny, clearly not an ordinary object.

Most importantly, it was pinning down a piece of paper whose original appearance was unrecognizable.

Gavin Clark lowered his gaze, using the white hemp cloth to sweep away the thick layer of dust on the paper—

Sure enough, it was a piece of yellow paper, with intricate patterns drawn in cinnabar on its surface.

Even without understanding the content, it was clear what this thing was. Nathaniel Sullivan was stunned at first, then simply pushed the chest of drawers further aside, exposing more of the floor.

On the floor that had been blocked by the chest, there were three copper nails pinning down yellow talismans, each pointing toward the southwest, northeast, and northwest directions.

“What… kind of talisman is this? For longevity and good health?” Nathaniel Sullivan stood by the paper talismans for a while, inexplicably feeling a bit feverish.

That was strange, since ever since he’d become a wandering ghost, he hadn’t felt “heat” at all. He was always shrouded in a wintry chill, long used to the cold. Suddenly feeling hot like this made him uncomfortable.

So, feeling uneasy, he shuffled two steps to the side.

Henry Grant, who usually liked to tease him, had his mouth covered and couldn’t speak even if he wanted to.

So when Nathaniel Sullivan asked this question, no one answered for a long time, making things awkward.

It wasn’t until Gavin Clark finished reading the contents of the three talismans that he replied coolly, “A feng shui formation.”

Henry Grant: “……” What a useless answer.

The commotion in the room made Mr. Foster, who was waiting outside, restless. He glanced at the door and walls a couple of times, finally unable to resist walking to the doorway and calling inside, “Master, did you bump into something just now? Was it my foolish son causing trouble?”

He seemed to particularly dislike this room, looking as if he’d rather die than step inside. Even as he stood at the doorway, he cast a particularly disdainful glance at the pile of paper ingots inside.

Gavin Clark stood up at the sound, stepped over the threshold, and walked outside, asking Mr. Foster, “Who lives in the room on the northwest side?”

Mr. Foster looked confused and glanced toward the northeast corner: “That’s my room.”

Gavin Clark gave him a look, then said, “Northeast.”

Mr. Foster: “Huh? Northeast? The northeast room is where my son Jack Foster lives—the younger one who accidentally fell into the well this morning. Master, why do you ask? Is there something wrong with those two rooms?”

Gavin Clark didn’t answer immediately, pausing for a moment before saying, “Have you ever heard of the ‘drawing the river into the sea’ formation?”

His face betrayed no emotion, still cold and expressionless, as if he were asking about something as ordinary as eating or drinking. However, Mr. Foster’s face instantly turned pale.

He stood frozen outside the door for a long time, finally moving his eyes to glance at the chest of drawers inside. Seeing that it had been moved, his face grew even more troubled: “Th-this… to tell you the truth, Master, these past two years my health has been rather poor, so, so—”

While Mr. Foster stammered outside, Nathaniel Sullivan was no longer in his original spot inside. When Mr. Foster poked his head in to ask questions, Nathaniel Sullivan had already retreated two steps further inside, just out of Mr. Foster’s line of sight. First, as someone who had died, suddenly appearing in front of someone he knew could cause trouble. Second… every time he saw Mr. Foster, his resentment surged uncontrollably.

He couldn’t help but clench his back teeth, remembering the suffering his parents endured while alive.

As he stood by the wall, suppressing his resentment, Charles Foster, who was sorting paper ingots, belatedly noticed the paper talismans on the floor.

A fool’s attention is always easily diverted. He stared at the yellow talismans for a while, then dropped the paper ingots in his hands and shuffled over to squat in front of the talismans.

A young child, when seeing something new, doesn’t care whether it’s clean or dirty, safe or dangerous—they always want to touch it. The simple-minded Charles Foster was still at that innocent age. He stared at the three copper nails for a while, then couldn’t help but reach out and touch the tip of one.

The shiny copper nail was still extremely sharp at the top, as if it had just been polished. It could easily cut a hair, let alone Charles Foster’s thin skin.

So, the fool ended up with a handful of blood.

“Hey—don’t touch that!” By the time Nathaniel Sullivan reacted and tried to stop him, it was already too late.

Beads of blood slid down the copper nail, seeping into the yellow paper.

Charles Foster was startled by his shout and looked up in confusion.

For a moment, Nathaniel Sullivan felt the entire old house become eerily silent, as if even the cold wind battering the walls outside had suddenly stopped.