True Tycoon Her Empire, Her Rules

Chapter 137

Winnie had always considered herself a mere acquaintance to Gwyn, nothing more. But clearly. Gwyn didn’t share that sentiment, especially since Winnie had managed to procure for her a grand mansion that seemed to settle an unspoken obsession.

Looking at the spectral Gwyn before her, Winnie thought of the man in the photograph, whose features hinted at a tangled web of romantic debts.

Sighing, Winnie decided to compromise.

“Your ex-husband’s demise was an accident. He fell into the water after a nightmare you caused, but it wasn’t your doing. You aren't responsible for his death,” Winnie explained. “For a spirit who hasn’t accrued a murder and insists on lingering in the mortal realm, you might want to consider being a ghost cultivator to avoid the ire of the Mystical Sects.”

“Ghost cultivator?” Gwyn looked at her, puzzled. Wasn’t she already on that path? With fifty years under her belt, Gwyn was stronger than any common specter.

This was why the exorcists hired by Quincy and even the Breeze Monastery couldn't handle her. “| thought | was already a ghost cultivator.”

“You're what we call an unrecognized ghost cultivator,” Winnie said with a sidelong glance. “To be recognized officially, you need to get registered.”

Gwyn, always holed up in the Henderson family’s mansion, was out of the loop on underworld news. She asked earnestly, “How do | get officially registered?”

Winnie pulled out her smartphone and opened Ghostly app... $ “Just sign up here.” she taught Gwyn..

Gwyn knew modern folks used these devices for everything and had seen Winnie fiddle with such apps, but it never occurred to her that even a ghost could register.

“Could you... help me sign up?” Gwyn asked, her voice tinged with hope.

Winnie paused, then, in a bout of generosity, placed an order on the Ghostly Express. Soon after, a courier dressed in black delivered a package to her.

Gwyn, watching, noticed a faint ghostly aura about the courier and her eyes widened. “Excuse me, sir, are you also a ghost cultivator?” The black—clad courier lifted his head, a smile touching his eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “Since Ghostly opened a direct line to the underworld, we've recruited many workers of ghost cultivator from the mortal realm. If you’re interested, you could submit a resume through Ghostly app.”

10:26 1 Chatter 137 Gwyn was taken aback.

Winnie unwrapped the package to reveal a brand-new smartphone. She opened the registration. page and handed it to Gwyn to fill out, while explaining to the courier, “She’s not officially a ghost cultivator yet. Once she’s registered, perhaps you could verify her ghostly aura.”

The courier nodded, showing no rush to leave.

Gwyn, an old ghost, had watched the mansion’s residents use their phones and had even secretly played with them. She filled out the registration quickly, and the courier used the phone’s camera to record her ghostly aura, validating her as a pure ghost cultivator.

With official recognition, Gwyn would no longer be a target of the Mystical Sects and could find work through Ghostly app, much like the delivery man.

But it also meant she’d be bound by rules, prohibited from harming the living or increasing her power through dark arts, lest official ghosts send an alert and lock her soul.

Intrigued by the platform, Gwyn momentarily considered joining the Ghostly Express but quickly dismissed the idea. She had her mansion without the need for the grind of mortal work. She’d rather help others like her.

“Master Bryant, thank you. I'll find a way to repay you for the phone,” Gwyn said sincerely. touched by the unexpected gift. Gwyn thought she was here to ask for an idea, but Master Bryant even gave her a mobile phone.

God knew how much she wanted to have her own mobile phone.

Winnie waved it off. She had gotten the phone with r

from Ghostly app. Once Gwyn left, Winnie, true to her principle of never leaving loose ends, turned her attention to the Ghost Baby nestled on her shoulder.

“Let's weigh the little one while we’re at it,” she said to the courier. The scale read 10 grams, a meager one-gram gain from the last time. “Not enough for the underworld to take notice,” the courier stated calmly.

So Winnie was stuck with the Ghost Baby for a while longer.

After the courier left, Winnie took one last task upon herself and read the man’s face in the photograph for Gwyn.

“With a flat nose and a dull complexion, he’s no villain but certainly wrapped up in a web of romantic debts. You might have meant well by helping that deceived girl, but as a ghost cultivator, you must never harm the living or incur a death. Remember that.” Winnie's tone was grave, befitting her role as a guide to ethereal beings.

Gwyn nodded earnestly and took her leave, vanishing from the mansion’s grounds. Winnie watched her go, then turned with Ghost Baby in tow to return to the Bryant family.

On the other side of town. Gwyn was on the move. With her new credentials as a ghost cultivator, she followed the ethereal trail from an old photograph straight to the man pictured within it. As fate would have it, she arrived just as he was wrapping up a date.

But he wasn’t alone. A girl accompanied him home, barely eighteen or nineteen, with an innocence that clung to her like morning dew. She stood awkwardly at the door, one hand clutching the torn fabric of her dress, clearly out of her element.

“Luna, why don’t you come in? I'll grab you something to change into. You can’t go home looking like that,” the man coaxed her in a voice as smooth as velvet, reaching out to pull her

inside.

To their surprise, Gwyn stood within the house, her eyes casting dark shadows as they fixed on the man who wore gentleness like a mask.

Gwyn remembered the words of a girl who had come to her for help, recounting a hauntingly similar story. She had been sweet- talked into his home after a date, only to end up trapped in a deceit.

First, he had charmed his way into her heart, and then, with honeyed lies, he swindled her trust, coaxing her into loans and debts...

Acold smile touched Gwyn’s lips.

Indeed, throughout the ages, the playbook of a scoundrel remained unchanged. Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.