Fang Xue sat to the side, watching the father and daughter, her face deathly pale. “Zhengming, Xiao Xing,” she began in a small, quavering voice, “don’t you think Chu Mian’s ghost is haunting us? We set up the ritual at home—how could so many reporters suddenly show up? We certainly didn’t leak it ourselves. Why don’t we... burn some joss paper for her? Ask her to leave us in peace?” “I’m not burn