Chapter 116

Until the old lady, in a fit of tears, spoke of the sinister “Fortune Pillar” that her family had unwittingly embraced, only then did the townsfolk grasp the grim secret lurking behind the walls of the old estate.

What good was a fortune if it left you with no kin to share it with?

Somehow along the way, Newman had started to buy into the so–called “influence” of this Fortune Pillar, his heart heavy with sorrow. As soon as he caught himself slipping into superstitious thinking, he shook his head vigorously, attempting to free his mind from the shackles of such archaic beliefs.

“So, the child in the casket… his own father ended his life.”

No matter what drove the killer, the police had a duty to bring the culprit to justice.

Superstitions could be deadly, and surely Mr. Eaton had plenty of time in his cell to ponder that.

Winnie didn’t care much for how the police handled the arrest. She watched the elderly woman, who was sobbing on the floor, and said, “The Fortune Pillar, though meant to attract wealth, was in essence a dark charm to end a family line. Even among the Mystical Sects, few truly understand how to cast it. The person who planted this curse upon the Smith estate likely intended to end their lineage.”

Hearing this, the old lady’s gaze became fierce; she reached out with her wrinkled, branch–like hand and clutched the hem of Winnie’s dress. Her grip was shaky, yet determined, “My dear, can you find the person… find that fiend for me. My grandson… my son… they’ve been taken from me! I don’t want money, I want my children back…” The old lady’s cries grew louder, her form seemingly aging another decade in moments.

Winnie did not promise to find the person responsible. Anyone capable of casting such a vile spell against a family was sure to bear deep–seated malice toward the Smith family or Eaton. She had no desire to entangle herself in such karmic affairs. Nor was there any need.

By having the child’s remains exhumed today, she had effectively broken the curse, and the caster would surely suffer the backlash.

Even if she did nothing, that person would pay for their deeds. And just as Winnie had surmised…

In a small rented room on the other side of Silverpine, a middle–aged man sat alone in front of his computer. The screen still displayed the message of a closed live stream.

He didn’t move from the page, his eyes fixed on the screen, his expression grave.

After a while, he stood up, intending to approach a small shrine in the room. But before he could reach it, his body convulsed violently, and blood sprayed from his mouth.

10.52 He collapsed with a thud. Before his eyes closed for the final time, they were fixed on the shrine holding two urns of ashes, both large and small.

His gaze swept over the urns, filled with loss and a sense of release, before spitting out blood once more.

His vision turned a stark red, reminiscent of the day his wife and child were taken from him.

It was as if the redness stung his eyes, and eventually, he closed them slowly…

Winnie, sensing something, glanced at the bones now carefully wrapped by the officers. She approached, slipped a folded paper charm into the bag with the remains.

Newman noticed her actions and strode over, grabbing her wrist, “What did you just put in there?”

Before Winnie could respond, Baily rushed over, “Hey,sir, easy. Master Bryant is just a kid…”

He peeled Newman’s hand away as he spoke.

Newman was speechless. Do you even hear what you’re saying?

Though he was internally baffled, Newman had acted impulsively and, seeing the intervention, naturally let go, then apologized to Winnie in a low voice.

Winnie wasn’t upset and simply looked up at him, noticing a faint golden glow emanating from the palm of his hand.

It was weak, but it was there, nothing compared to the gold aura that surrounded Drake. If she hadn’t been looking closely, she might have missed it.

This confirmed to her that this officer must have saved many lives.

Winnie was always more lenient with such people.

She didn’t hold a grudge for her wrist being grabbed and even offered him a bit of advice.

“Officer Newman, you have a noble brow and a straight nose, surrounded by a strong aura of righteousness. You’re a man of great fortune. If you feel anything amiss lately, remember to turn right.”

Newman didn’t know what to say. “Is this girl really reading fortunes for me?” he thought. He really didn’t understand the interests of kids these days.

“Thanks, but even if you say that, you still need to come down to the station to give a statement.”

The case of the Fortune Pillar was still open, as well as the Naylor case, so they needed to record statements together.

Winnie pursed her lips; while she didn’t mind visiting places like the police station, giving a statement was indeed a waste of time.

10:52 But as a citizen, such duties were unavoidable.

She was about to nod in agreement when Newman’s phone rang from his pocket.

He gestured for her to wait and stepped aside to answer the call.

“This is Newman.”

The voice on the other end appeared to be a superior from the police department, and Newman’s expression turned serious, his posture straightening.

Whatever was being said, confusion creased his brow, and he involuntarily glanced towards Winnie. Soon, he hung up and walked back to her, his eyes showing a trace of bewilderment.

“Seems someone up high vouched for you. You don’t have to come with me to give a statement after all.”

Moreover, the Fortune Pillar case got some specialized attention.

Newman was in the dark, but it appeared to be folks from the National Security Agency. They even hinted, in no uncertain terms, that he ought to be nice to Winnie…

Winnie seemed taken aback, but didn’t press the matter, just nodded in acknowledgment. Before long, Newman and the police squad wrapped things up with Naylor and left the scene, not before he double–checked the bag meant for collecting remains, ensuring it contained nothing but a bit of black ash. Satisfied, they departed.

Once again, the production crew was left alone in the mansion, with a scattering of onlookers still gathered around the perimeter.

Bagot sat slumped on the floor, his head a jumbled mess, the expression on his face screaming ‘life’s lost its meaning.’

Baily went over to him, “Come on, Bagot, what are you doing? Let’s pack up and get out of here. You’re not seriously considering spending the night, are you?”

At those words, Bagot shot up from the floor like a jack–in–the–box.

Knowing the mansion’s history and having seen the bones emerge from the ground, even a daredevil like Bagot couldn’t help but feel a little superstitious.

But soon, the threat of the show getting axed reclaimed his entire focus.

“Man… I guess some things are better left alone,” he sighed.

Baily felt a twinge of sympathy and wanted to offer some comfort but couldn’t find the right words. Just then, his phone rang.

He answered the call, and whatever was said on the other end gradually transformed his somber expression into one of brightness. By the time he hung up, he was practically vibrating with excitement.

10 52 He grabbed Bagot by the shoulders and shook him, barely containing his thrill, “Dudet The show’s not dead! The bigwigs have spoken our show’s back on the air!”