"Nine-Stroke Talisman"

Chapter 3: The Soul-Guiding Charm

The next morning, Shen Moyan was woken by the phone.

He'd fallen asleep on the workbench in the shop—there was a red mark pressed into his cheek and a small puddle of drool under his face. His phone was ringing. Old Zhou.

"Xiao Shen, open up the shop for me today, will you? I'll be there in the afternoon."

"Okay." His voice came out rough, like he'd swallowed sandpaper.

He hung up and stood, every bone in his body aching. Last night came flooding back—the woman in red, the Taoist scripture, Zhu Quan, and the things that had watched him from the darkness.

He looked at his hands. The black on his fingertips was gone. Clean, like nothing had ever been there.

"Stop looking. That was just leftover spiritual energy." Zhu Quan's voice cut in, thick with morning grumpiness. "It's early. Can't you let me sleep?"

"You're sleeping in my head. You think I can't tell?"

"You can. But you can pretend you can't."

Shen Moyan went to the bathroom to wash his face. The water ran cold. He splashed it on, then looked up at the mirror—same face as always. Dark circles, greasy hair, chapped lips. But his eyes had changed.

They used to have that half-asleep look, like he hadn't quite woken up. Now they stared back unnaturally bright, like someone had stuffed two stars behind them.

"The Heavenly Eye does that when it opens," Zhu Quan explained. "Normal. You'll get used to it in a couple days."

Shen Moyan stared at himself for a long moment, then looked down and kept washing.

He didn't want to get used to it. He wanted to go back to three days ago, before he knew what the Heavenly Eye was, before he knew about nine-stroke charm heads, before he knew about bearing debts across generations. Back then he only had to worry about rent and his grad school scores.

But now he had a prince living in his head.

Old Zhou showed up at three. He glanced at Shen Moyan and did a double take. "What happened to you? Pulled an all-nighter? Your eyes are so bright."

"Nah. Maybe just overslept." Shen Moyan kept his head down, working on a book, afraid to meet his eyes.

Old Zhou wandered around the shop, stopped by the safe, and crouched to look. "That Haining County Gazetteer? Finished it?"

Shen Moyan's heart skipped. He'd been flipping through it just a few days ago. After last night... he turned to the workbench. The Haining County Gazetteer sat quietly in a corner, squeezed in with a pile of other old books.

"Finished." He walked over, picked it up, handed it over.

Old Zhou flipped through a few pages and nodded, satisfied. "Nice work. The regular's coming for it tomorrow. I'll transfer the money later."

Shen Moyan didn't answer. He stared at the cover, remembering the name handwritten on page twenty-three of the Exemplary Women section. Sun Shi. Zhu Quan's daughter.

"Sun Shi," he asked silently, "your daughter?"

"Concubine's daughter." Zhu Quan's voice was flat. "Didn't know she existed when I was alive. Her mother was a palace maid. Got pregnant, got kicked out, had her among commoners. After I died, her mother got word to my son that Zhu Quan had a daughter out there. But by then she was already dead. Threw herself down a well."

"How?"

"Read the Exemplary Women entry yourself." Zhu Quan's tone sharpened, then softened. "...Sorry. Didn't mean to snap. That entry's all lies."

"Lies?"

"Fiancé dying, her hanging herself when she heard—completely made up. She was never engaged. She died because... because of me."

Shen Moyan waited. Zhu Quan didn't go on.

Seven that evening, Shen Moyan clocked out. He walked along Chenghuang Temple Back Street. The tourists were gone, shops closing one by one. Streetlights stretched his shadow long.

Halfway down the alley, he stopped.

About ten meters ahead stood a child.

Five or six, wearing an old padded jacket, standing where the streetlight didn't reach. Face hidden, only eyes visible, fixed on him.

Shen Moyan's heart started pounding. He stepped left—the kid's head tilted left. He stepped right—the kid's head tilted right.

"Don't be scared," Zhu Quan said. "This one's not here to watch. He needs help."

"Help with what?"

"Ask him."

Shen Moyan stood there, took a breath, and spoke to the kid: "You... looking for me?"

The kid didn't answer. He raised his hand and pointed down the alley.

Shen Moyan followed his gaze—the alley dead-ended at a wall. Behind it was Chenghuang Temple's backyard.

"You want me to follow?"

The kid nodded.

Shen Moyan didn't move. Two voices fought in his head: one said "Don't go, it's dangerous," the other said "Go see, maybe he really needs help."

"Third option," Zhu Quan cut in. "Use a charm to ask."

"What charm?"

"Soul-Guiding Charm. Simplest one there is. For talking to spirits. I'll teach you."

For the next ten minutes, Shen Moyan stood in that alley, following Zhu Quan's instructions, drawing charms in the air with his finger.

"Charm head faces east. Start heavy, end light. Three Pure Ones head first, then Six Harmonies tail..."

"I don't have charm paper."

"Who said charms have to be on paper? They can be anywhere—air, water, people. You've got my spiritual energy now. Draw with your hand, lasts about ten minutes."

Shen Moyan's finger traced through the air, leaving faint golden trails. They didn't fade, just hung there, like drawings in golden ink.

"Charm head's wrong," Zhu Quan sighed. "Left, not right. Again."

He drew it seven times. On the seventh, the charm finally held complete—nine strokes, not one missing. The moment the ninth stroke landed, the charm flashed once, then slowly dissolved.

At the same time, the kid's form got clearer. Shen Moyan could see his face now—round, a little dirty, big eyes, but the irises were milky grey.

"Thank you, uncle." The kid's voice was thin, like it came from far away. "I can't find my way home."

"Where's home?"

The kid pointed again at the wall.

Shen Moyan walked over and stood before it. Old wall, grey brick, been there awhile. Moss at the base, incense ash wedged between bricks—someone had burned paper money here.

"What's behind it?"

"Chenghuang Temple's backyard," Zhu Quan said. "Thirty years ago, this was a graveyard. They leveled it, built the temple."

Shen Moyan turned back. The kid still stood there, looking up at him.

"You came from back there?"

The kid nodded.

"What's your name?"

"Xiao Man."

"Xiao Man, where's your mom and dad?"

Xiao Man looked down. Didn't speak.

Shen Moyan suddenly got it. He crouched, trying to meet the kid's eyes. "Xiao Man, do you know... you're dead?"

Xiao Man's shoulders shook. After a long time, he nodded.

"Then why do you still want to go home?"

"I miss my mom." Xiao Man looked up, and in those milky-grey eyes, something glimmered. "I know I'm dead. But my mom doesn't. She's still waiting for me."