Chapter 7Daoist Master Wang
1007 Words
After Xiang Li left, I felt a lingering frustration. Ning Yu and I had gone to help her, but I ended up losing five months’ rent.
Now, only Ning Yu and I remained at home. When Xiang Li left, the ghost had already vacated her body. In other words, the ghost was still hiding somewhere in my house. The thought made me glance at Ning Yu, who met my gaze with equal unease.
Before I could speak, Ning Yu said, “Li Yi, let’s not wait here. It’s too creepy. We’ll go out and wait. The Daoist master will call us when he arrives.”
I nodded and followed him outside.
We grabbed a quick meal and strolled along Minxin River for hours, killing time. Along the way, a few fortune-tellers offered to read my palm. Instead, I gave them free readings, leaving them speechless.
Afterward, I felt much better. Ning Yu kept pestering me, “Li Yi, you sounded like an expert back there. Tell me the truth—what’s your actual skill level? Those fortune-tellers slinked away like beaten dogs!”
Truthfully, I didn’t know.
According to my late grandmother, our lineage of physiognomists was divided into four tiers: Celestial, Mysterious, Earth, and Yellow. Each tier wore distinct robes. Yellow-tier adepts wore pale yellow robes, similar to Daoist attire. Earth-tier wore golden-yellow robes, also resembling Daoist garb. The Celestial and Mysterious tiers wore entirely different styles and colors, though Grandma never elaborated.
Lost in thought, I forgot to answer Ning Yu. He nudged me, and I muttered, “I was thinking about my grandmother…”
Before I could finish, Ning Yu’s phone rang. He hushed me excitedly. “It’s Daoist Master Wang!”
I motioned for him to answer.
Ning Yu put the call on speaker. “Daoist Master Wang, are you here?”
A booming voice replied, “Yes, but the door is locked. You’re not home?”
I snatched the phone. “We’ll head back right now. Wait for us at the entrance!”
Daoist Master Wang grunted and hung up.
Ning Yu and I sprinted back to my closed funeral supply shop. At the door stood a man in black casualwear, holding an outdated brown briefcase that clashed with his outfit. Even from behind, his imposing aura was unmistakable—this had to be Daoist Master Wang.
“Daoist Master Wang?” I tentatively called out.
The man turned, scrutinized Ning Yu and me, then nodded. “That’s me. Which of you is the client?”
“I am. This is my home,” I said, stepping forward.
He shook my hand. “I’m Wang Junhui, the Daoist master you contacted. Call me Daoist Master Wang. I’ve already checked the area—the ghost is inside. It’s quiet, likely not malevolent.”
I introduced myself and Ning Yu while studying his face. His features were symmetrical, with a solitary sibling line in his “brother palace.” His “mountain forest” zones—the areas flanking his forehead—glowed faintly, a sign of impending fortune. Based on his age (late twenties to early thirties), his luck would peak over the next two years.
Ning Yu interrupted my analysis. “Daoist Master Wang, what should we do? How long until you exorcise it?”
Instead of answering, Wang Junhui fixed his gaze on me. “You observe people like a seasoned physiognomist. Do you read faces?”
His authoritative tone made me cautious. “A little. My grandmother taught me.”
He didn’t press further, turning to Ning Yu. “You asked what to do? Find the ghost’s family. The desk you mentioned—you bought it for your friend, right? Track down its original owners. Bring them here.”
Ning Yu looked bewildered. I shrugged. “Just do it.”
“But it’s almost dark,” Ning Yu protested. “Will they even come?”
Remembering Grandma’s teachings, I improvised, “Tell them their ancestor’s unrest is ruining their family’s luck. If they want to fix it, they must appease the spirit. Otherwise, the misfortune will continue.”
Wang Junhui raised an eyebrow. “You know about ancestral disturbances?”
“A bit,” I said. “From my grandmother.”
After Ning Yu left, Wang Junhui lingered outside with me, asking about my grandmother. I replied vaguely, implying she’d passed away. He shifted topics to my skills. “What did you see in my face earlier?”
I recounted my observations. He nodded. “Accurate. My luck’s been strong this year—cases resolved smoothly, income steady.”
As dusk fell, I asked about the ghost. “It’s lingering due to unfinished business,” he explained. “Once the family addresses its wishes, it’ll move on.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I spoke to it earlier. It wouldn’t say much, but experience fills in the gaps.”
When Ning Yu called to report the family was missing, I had an idea. “Daoist Master Wang, let me communicate with the ghost. I need its energy to trace the family’s location.”
He frowned. “Using a ghost’s energy to track the living?”
Grandma once said a deceased person’s fate lingers in their corpse, soul, or ghost. These energies remain tied to their living connections. I didn’t elaborate, simply stating, “I have my methods.”
Wang Junhui agreed but warned, “Follow my instructions. Don’t startle it—low-tier ghosts flee when threatened.”
He chanted an incantation, swiped his fingers before my eyes, and commanded, “By the power of the Dao—open!”
“What was that?” I asked.
“I opened your spiritual sight. Without it, you wouldn’t see the ghost today.”
Grandma had mentioned that only high-level Daoists could open spiritual eyes without tools. My respect for Wang Junhui deepened.
“Hurry,” he urged. “The sight lasts fifteen minutes. Prolonged use drains your yang energy, inviting illness.”
I rushed to unlock the door.
- Writer
