Chapter 15 – Business

“Brother Yang!” Seeing Wei Yang’s figure, Sun Muhua scurried out, “You’re out of the hospital so early? You should rest a bit more, there’s nothing urgent at the shop anyway…”

“With that attitude of yours, how could Uncle Sun ever feel at ease leaving you alone at home?” Wei Yang greeted the otaku with a smile and casually gestured to the person beside him, “Here, this is the Celestial Master from Longhu Mountain we’ve been talking about. He’ll be working with me for a while, just call him Brother Qi.”

“Brother Qi, hello!” Sun Muhua’s eyes instantly lit up as he bowed deeply, his flattery so excessive it was almost unbearable. Zhang Xiuqi gave him a brief glance, not even pausing for half a second before turning his attention to the room’s furnishings.

Wei Yang grabbed the otaku, who was eager to fawn over Zhang Xiuqi, and pulled him back, “Don’t waste your energy. Our Little Celestial Master here is unshakable. If you keep bothering him, he might just cut you down.”

“Brother Yang, Brother Yang, is this Master Zhang really as amazing as my dad said? Damn, look at that aura, so cool! Can he draw talismans and summon lightning? Why isn’t he carrying a peach wood sword? Should we go buy some Taoist robes, cinnabar, glutinous rice, and black donkey hooves for equipment…” Sun Muhua clearly fell into some delusional state, chattering excitedly in Wei Yang’s ear like a die-hard fan, his enthusiasm overflowing.

“Cut it out, this isn’t a movie! We’re environmental consultants, don’t mix up the roles!” Wei Yang was used to this guy’s antics and tilted his chin up, “Since Sister Feng isn’t here, go make us some tea. Also, bring over any cases or materials you’ve heard about but didn’t dare touch. The shop can’t just sit idle.”

With the spotlight gone, Jiang Xiaofeng had naturally gone to the hospital to spend time with the old swindler, leaving only Sun Muhua to assist at the shop. Wei Yang didn’t hesitate to boss him around. Though the otaku had a new idol, the old one’s words were still gospel. Sun Muhua didn’t resist, giving Zhang Xiuqi a few more longing glances before scurrying off to raid his father’s good tea leaves.

This idiot, Wei Yang chuckled to himself, then turned to the ice block beside him, “So, what do you think of the feng shui setup here?”

As the lair of the great and small swindlers, Jieshui Studio had, of course, been meticulously arranged. The wealth corner’s golden toad, the plum blossom vase for luck on the main table, and the Mount Tai stone and feng shui fish bowl in the evil direction—each item was placed with exquisite care, appearing natural and unforced. It wasn’t obvious at first glance that the room was filled with ritual tools, nor was it completely empty with no decorations. Simply put, if the clients had even a slight understanding of feng shui, this reception room was full of subtle mysteries, each item capable of sparking a conversation, perfectly embodying the principle of “showing the mountain without revealing the water.”

Wei Yang was quite satisfied with the room’s setup and was just making small talk. But Zhang Xiuqi answered, and he answered very seriously, “Useless.”

Wei Yang: “…”

Even if you know some real stuff, you don’t have to be so blunt about it… Wei Yang sighed helplessly and tried another approach, “Then how can we make it useful? Can you set up a feng shui formation?”

Zhang Xiuqi nodded but showed no intention of acting. Curious, Wei Yang asked, “What’s the matter? Is it hard to change feng shui? Do we need some specific ritual tools? It doesn’t have to be too complicated, just a proper wealth corner would do.”

The wealth corner, as the name suggests, is the direction that brings wealth and prosperity to the homeowner. It’s usually adorned with items like golden toads, fish tanks, or deity statues—one of the most common feng shui practices. However, this wealth corner often needs to be calculated based on the year, birth date, and geography, and few can accurately determine it. Thus, while everyone in the feng shui world knows how to set up a wealth corner, those who actually get rich are always the minority.

Zhang Xiuqi’s expression didn’t change at all as he coldly replied, “Shortens lifespan. Uncle forbids it.”

Those six words instantly shut Wei Yang up. At that moment, he didn’t think the other was making excuses but remembered something his grandfather had once said: there might truly be feng shui masters in this world who could harness the essence of heaven and earth and alter the fates of ordinary people, but such individuals would never act lightly. Any act of changing someone’s fate or fortune came with great consequences—shortened lifespan at best, sudden death at worst. And those legendary things passed down through the ages, like Mount Tianshou in the Ming Dynasty or the Eastern and Western Mausoleums of the Qing Dynasty, all had major flaws. Even if they could protect for a time, they couldn’t escape the fate of being desecrated. Only a very few, like the Mausoleum of the First Qin Emperor or the Qianling Mausoleum of the Tang Dynasty, were exceptions.

Thus, in ancient times, few were willing to set up feng shui formations. More of the renowned masters, like Guo Pu and Yang Junsong, focused on “rescuing” people—helping them avoid disasters and save lives. But those who could make someone wealthy overnight or help them rise to prominence were exceedingly rare. Merit was something to accumulate, not squander. Unless it was for close relatives, dear friends, or a life-saving favor, why would anyone shorten their own lifespan for the sake of others?

Yet those in power and the common folk alike refused to give up. Officials and nobles wouldn’t relent, and the foolish masses were willing to fight to the death for even the smallest gains. To satisfy these demands, the semi-fraudulent feng shui and fortune-telling practices emerged—half psychology, half geography—unreliable yet harmless, providing the spiritual comfort the masses craved. Meanwhile, the original disaster-warding secrets were replaced by the most common scam opener: “You’re in great danger.” The truly astonishing techniques used by masters became the best bragging rights for fraudsters, shrouding feng shui in an aura of ambiguity. Forgeries using the names of ancient masters proliferated, and generations of “great masters” came and went, but the number of feng shui formations that actually worked was probably no higher than the odds of a blind cat catching a dead mouse. It was precisely for this obvious reason that Wei Yang chose to dive headfirst into the world of outright fraud. Rather than chase that dead mouse, it was better to sharpen his claws and grab whatever he could.

But outside the world of swindlers, there seemed to be another set of rules, like the six great families of Sanliao Village or the “Yin-Yang Sage” they elected. Miracles might happen, but they were called miracles precisely because the odds were so low—not something just anyone could witness.

Shaking his head with a smile, Wei Yang dropped the subject and led Zhang Xiuqi upstairs. His office was next to the old swindler’s, and Sun Muhua had already dutifully prepared tea, filling the room with a fragrant aroma. The otaku eagerly ushered them in, stealing glances at the expressionless Celestial Master.

Wei Yang raised an eyebrow, “Woody! Where’s the information?”

Only then did Sun Muhua snap out of it, awkwardly handing over the folder he’d tucked under his arm to Wei Yang’s desk, “Brother Yang, here it is. These are all unsolved cases, some of them with pretty wild rumors. Not sure if the studios made them up or if there’s some truth to them.”

Having seen his father’s schemes and Wei Yang’s skilled cons, Sun Muhua wasn’t so naive as to believe every rumor. But there were always exceptions. After all, the famous Celestial Master from Longhu Mountain was right in front of him—maybe the world of the mystical wasn’t so out of reach!

“Woody!” Wei Yang laughed, interrupting Sun Muhua’s overly eager gaze, “Stop standing there like an idiot. Did we get any client calls these past few days?”

Sun Muhua’s face flushed as he looked away, stammering, “Y-yeah, there were a few. Mr. Liang from Haichao Company wants my dad to check his feng shui, and Mr. Wang and District Chief Cheng invited us to dinner. Oh, Brother Yang, Miss Yan called a couple of days ago too. Are you still taking on that haunted house?”

Wei Yang’s spirits lifted instantly, “Of course I’m taking it! My new home depends on her!”

“But someone really died there…” Sun Muhua’s voice was full of hesitation, “And you mentioned that infant spirit thing. I think the risk is a bit high.”

Although Wei Yang had largely hyped up the whole situation, there had indeed been a suicide at Chaoyang Community—a jump from the unlucky 13th floor, completely out of the blue, at a bizarre time and place. It was hard not to be suspicious. To make matters worse, Miss Yan had indeed had an abortion. Even Sun Muhua couldn’t deny there might be something to it.

Wei Yang, however, waved his hand dismissively, “Woody, you’re still too green. It’s precisely because it’s the spirit of an unborn child that I’m confident in pulling this off. Brother Qi, can the resentment of a fetus form an evil spirit?”

“No.” Zhang Xiuqi’s voice was calm, neither cold nor emotional, but it sent a shiver down Sun Muhua’s spine, instantly boosting his sense of awe.

Wei Yang smiled, “See? Even the Celestial Master says it’s impossible.”

Wei Yang knew this well, and he knew it deeply. In classical metaphysics, the concept of a “fetus” didn’t have consciousness. A fetus wasn’t a fully formed person; it didn’t even have fully developed human organs, and its three souls and seven spirits were incomplete. Thus, in any cultivation manual, there was no mention of infant spirits. At most, internal alchemy schools had the concept of nurturing a “child” within the body, but it was only considered complete once the child gained consciousness.

Moreover, in ancient times, the rate of natural miscarriages was always high, not to mention the regions where baby girls were drowned to make room for boys. If infant spirits really existed, too many people would have their lifespans shortened. As for the “little ghosts” that were actually raised, they had to be at least three years old—a child had to reach that age for their body and mind to fully develop, allowing them to form resentment and attachment, which could then become a curse. Isn’t that the logic behind raising “little ghosts” in Thailand? If the later popular “Kuman Thong” really worked, Thailand and all of Southeast Asia would be in chaos.

Thus, the concept of infant spirits ultimately stemmed from the modern abortion industry, a kind of ghost story meant to encourage kindness, much like “Stories Not to Be Told” or “Notes from the Thatched Cottage of Close Observations,” or the urban legends that warn people to be vigilant. Speaking of ghosts is to speak of people—they exist because they’re allowed to exist. Wei Yang would be a fool to be scared of such well-intentioned “frauds.”

Wei Yang smiled reassuringly at the hesitant Sun Muhua, “Don’t worry about this. Even if there really are ghosts, isn’t the Celestial Master right beside me? Brother Qi, this is for our new home, so I’ll have to trouble you.”

Perhaps because it wasn’t a formal question, Zhang Xiuqi didn’t respond this time. He just glanced at Sun Muhua, then at Wei Yang’s antique imitation huanghuali desk. Wei Yang immediately felt awkward, knowing what he wanted to do, and helplessly waved at the otaku, “Brother Qi and I have some things to discuss. Woody, go man the front desk. If anyone comes looking for the old man, tell them he’s out of town. If they’re okay with me handling it, I’ll go take a look. Otherwise, wait for Uncle Sun to return.”

Seeing that he was about to be kicked out before he could properly fawn over his new idol, Sun Muhua was reluctant to leave, shuffling toward the door and pitifully asking, “Brother Yang, if you guys really go exorcise demons, can I come along…”

Wei Yang stood up, walked to the door, smiled at him, and slammed it shut.

“This persistent kid,” Wei Yang chuckled as he turned back, “Brother Qi, if you…”

Well, no need to remind him. Wei Yang sighed helplessly as he saw Zhang Xiuqi already taking out his calligraphy kit from his pocket, laying out the cinnabar and yellow paper on the desk, completely taking over the large table to continue his talisman-drawing mission. He really didn’t slack off for a moment. Could this thing actually have a soul-stabilizing effect? But thinking about it, after just one day of drawing, the ice block had started talking a bit more—though still only to Wei Yang, ignoring everyone else. If he really returned to the “normal state” that Master Zeng mentioned, what would he become?

Wei Yang couldn’t help but recall their first meeting. He took a deep breath and shook his head to banish the image of that man, sharp and murderous, from his mind. The man in front of him was cold, yes, but not the least bit threatening, obedient like a well-trained police dog—forbidding on the outside but utterly compliant within, a world apart from that other man.

With a self-deprecating smile, Wei Yang didn’t watch the Celestial Master draw talismans this time. Instead, he picked up the stack of documents and sat down to leisurely read through them.

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