Only a few solitary desk lamps were lit in the conference hall of the Lin Family estate. Their dim yellow light barely dispelled the darkness in the corners, but it could not drive away the heavy atmosphere hanging in the air.
The redwood table gleamed with the dark luster of accumulated years. The velvet cloth covering its surface had long since faded, its edges worn into frayed tufts that exposed the dark red lining beneath. Several ink-wash landscapes hung on the walls, their misty ink tones and chilly artistic mood utterly at odds with the oppressive atmosphere in the room.
The carved nanmu windows were tightly shut, and the heavy dark-green velvet curtains were drawn closed, sealing out the chill of the autumn night and any possible prying eyes.
The middle-aged man seated at the head of the table was around fifty. He wore a dark satin changshan beneath a black embroidered mandarin jacket. His face was lean, his gaze calm as still water. He was Lin Qihua, the current head of the Lin Family, a Hybrid clan.
Several clan elders sat around the table below him, all dressed in old-fashioned attire—some in changshans and mandarin jackets, others in old front-buttoned coats. Their graying hair was combed impeccably. Some held teacups, lightly skimming away the foam with their lids yet drinking nothing for a long while; some rested with their eyes closed, their fingers silently tapping a rhythm against their knees; others frowned deeply, worry etched across their faces.
Lin Qihua finally spoke, his low, clear voice breaking the suffocating silence:
"Elder Lin Dechang's mental state had always been stable. He had never shown any signs of degeneration. Yet last night, without any warning, he turned into a Dead Servant.
"Fortunately, he was discovered in time, and the younger members