A Confession of the Past

As expected, the moment he asked the question, the beautiful youth’s face turned deathly pale. His long, curled lashes trembled incessantly, and his pink lips pressed into a thin, tight line.

“It’s… the dolls.”

His voice was soft and shaky, filled with a palpable fear and dread. It was a stark departure from his usual haughty and willful demeanor when driving people away, making him look incredibly pitiable.

Hearing that voice, Peng Biao felt his heart melt into a puddle. He quickly spoke up: “Don’t be afraid. Take your time. What happened with the dolls?”

He knew the beautiful youth was obsessed with making dolls—dolls so lifelike in appearance and texture that they were indistinguishable from real people. Over the years, countless people had offered exorbitant prices to buy one, but the youth had refused them all without exception.

It was clear how much the youth valued them.

But now, the mere mention of the word “doll” filled his voice with terror.

Could it be, Peng Biao wondered, his heart sinking, that the ‘dirty things’ I sensed in the villa are the very dolls he created?

He didn’t even dare to follow that train of thought to its conclusion. If the dolls the boy cherished had turned into malevolent spirits… how could the boy possibly handle that reality? Even if he accepted it, would he have the heart to destroy them?

Ye Shengge didn’t know what Peng Biao was thinking. Seeing the man’s expression grow increasingly grim, he assumed the situation was too difficult to handle or that Peng Biao didn’t want to get involved.

Under normal circumstances, Ye Shengge’s pride would have made him stop talking.

But knowing that he needed Peng Biao’s help to clear this dungeon, he continued, his voice trembling: “The dolls… they came to life.”

To soften the big guy’s heart, he intentionally made his voice sound fragile—a small, helpless victim.

In reality, he didn’t need to worry at all. From the moment Peng Biao first laid eyes on him, the man was completely captivated. Forget cleaning up a mess involving doll spirits; Peng Biao would have given his life if asked.

“Don’t panic, talk slowly. How did they come to life?” Peng Biao considerately poured a glass of cool water and handed it to the youth sitting on the sofa, gesturing again for him to take his time.

After a few sips, Ye Shengge’s emotions seemed to stabilize, though a pitiable tremor remained in his voice.

“They suddenly started moving… and talking. They’re no different from real people.” As he spoke, his grip on the glass tightened until his knuckles turned white. His eyes were full of wariness. “And… they fight with each other…”

Hearing the last part, Peng Biao’s brow furrowed. “They?”

Is there more than one?

Ye Shengge hesitated for a few seconds. Afraid of ruining the plan, he decided not to hide the truth. “Yes. Two of them are like that. I ran out while they were fighting.”

This obedient, cooperative version of the youth was a far cry from the person who had previously insisted he didn’t believe in ghosts or the supernatural.

If anyone else had seen this, they might have mocked him for the sudden change of heart. But Peng Biao felt no such urge; instead, he immediately began brainstorming solutions.

“Why were they fighting?” Peng Biao asked, puzzled. Generally, spirits born in the same environment at the same time should stand together against outsiders, not kill each other.

However, upon hearing this question, the beautiful youth’s eyes darted around guiltily, refusing to meet his gaze.

One look and it was obvious: there was a problem here, and the problem centered on the boy himself.

If that were the case—if the boy was being targeted by the spirits he had a “connection” with—it explained his intense fear.

“If you want me to help you, you have to tell me everything. That’s the only way I can provide the right ‘remedy,'” Peng Biao said, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible. “If you hide things from me, I won’t be able to protect you properly.”

The logic was sound.

Yet, Ye Shengge still hesitated. Beyond the hesitation was a deep sense of shame. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Peng Biao; it was just… hard to say.

Peng Biao didn’t push. He waited with immense patience. “Don’t rush. You can tell me whenever you’re ready.”

If anyone else who had ever begged for Peng Biao’s help heard this, their jaws would have hit the floor. The cold, famous Heavenly Master was notorious for his lack of patience with people who beat around the bush. Usually, if a client hesitated, he would simply walk away with a cold remark.

But here he was, showing blatant double standards. He didn’t see a problem with it. While he was used to following his whims, he wasn’t undiscerning. Most cases he took were vetted by Wen Jishi to ensure there was no moral foul play. Usually, if the client had “asked for it” by intentionally provoking spirits, he wouldn’t interfere. He hated people who hid the truth because it usually meant they were guilty of something.

But all those rules applied to strangers. For this beautiful boy, Peng Biao was willing to risk the karmic backlash of meddling in a mess, regardless of the cause.

Because he liked him that much.

The boy, unaware of the Master’s inner devotion, grew nervous. He worried Peng Biao would lose patience or refuse to help.

“You said you’d help me before! You’re not allowed to break your word!” he blurted out. Realizing his tone was a bit too spoiled for someone asking for a favor, he immediately slumped his shoulders and said dejectedly, “I’ll tell you. But you’re not allowed to tell Wen Jishi, and you’re not allowed to… laugh at me.”

“I promise. I won’t laugh, and I won’t tell Wen Jishi.” Peng Biao ignored the bratty tone of the first sentence, focusing only on giving his assurance.

Deep down, Peng Biao knew that given his rivalry with Wen Jishi, he wouldn’t be looking for reasons to talk to the man anyway.

With that guarantee, Ye Shengge finally relaxed, though he still stared at the floor tiles, refusing to look up. He was afraid that if he met the Heavenly Master’s focused gaze, he’d be too embarrassed to speak.

“A year ago, I accidentally saw a video about making dolls and became interested in the process. Not long after… I realized I felt ‘that way’ about the dolls I made. So… I dated them for a short while.” His voice trailed off, his face burning hot and his eyes rimmed with red.

Even though these were the actions of the “dollmaker” from the plot, saying them out loud was mortifying.

Hearing that the youth had “dated” the dolls, Peng Biao’s eyebrows knit so tightly they could have crushed a fly. His first instinct wasn’t to judge the boy’s morals, but rather a surge of sour jealousy. He felt those spirits had gotten a bargain.

However, the boy’s next words instantly improved his mood.

“But I didn’t date them all at once! Every time a ‘relationship’ ended, I would lock that doll in the basement cabinet before moving on to the next one.”

While this made him sound like even more of a “scumbag” in a romantic sense, at least it cleared up the misunderstanding of being a “cheater” who juggled multiple partners simultaneously.

Hearing the fate of the “ex” dolls, Peng Biao’s frown relaxed. He cleared his throat and asked, pretending to be professional: “And then they suddenly came to life?”

Ye Shengge nodded without hesitation.

“Did anything strange happen before that?” Peng Biao asked. Spirits usually don’t reveal themselves without warning; they typically toy with their target or wait until they are close to achieving a specific goal.

The youth looked up, his eyes full of confusion and innocence, as if he didn’t understand the question.

Realizing he was being too vague, Peng Biao rephrased it into something easier to grasp.

“In other words… during this time, did any ‘strange things’ try to touch you, or say things to you that were… inappropriate?”

At these words, Ye Shengge suddenly remembered his experience in the basement. His face turned a deep, burning crimson. He bit his lip until it was swollen, and a thin veil of mist gathered in his eyes, making him look as though he had been severely bullied.

“Stop talking about it!” he snapped in a fit of embarrassed rage.

But the upright, handsome man didn’t shut up. Instead, he continued with a serious, professional tone, saying things that were utterly scandalous.

“For example,” Peng Biao pressed on, “did they kiss you? Touch you? Or…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but as an adult, the implication was clear. Dolls meant to be romantic partners were often used to satisfy certain needs—much like high-end adult products.

The mere thought of the boy doing such intimate things with those “dirty things” made Peng Biao burn with jealousy. He wanted to rush to the villa and tear those spirits to pieces.

But seeing the youth’s intensely shy reaction, he began to have his doubts.