The middle-aged man before me was Zhou Jianguo from Tongliao. He came to Shenyang to seek help at Ci'en Temple, but most monks there practiced Mahayana Buddhism and weren't skilled in dispelling curses. They suggested he try Zhongjie Street.
Instead, Old Wang intercepted him. After hearing his story, Old Wang shook his head, claiming the curse was beyond him, then praised me as a reincarnation of the Wenqu Star, a celestial being in Huang Daxian's lineage. I cringed at the flattery.
Zhou's village, Zhoujiazhuang, had over 400 households near Shenyang. Last month, digging for a village committee building unearthed a (ancient tomb). Those involved soon developed festering sores—his adoptive father died from them. Raised by the village, Zhou felt deep loyalty.
The sores started as mosquito-like bites, then spread—oddly, only infecting adult men, sparing women, children, and the elderly. Within weeks, skin (ulcerated), itching unbearably. Four young men committed suicide from the agony. The sores proved fatal once reaching the soles of the feet. Doctors called it a bacterial infection but couldn't cure it; the village was quarantined.
Zhou knelt, sobbing: "Master, save our village! Hundreds of lives are at stake. If our young men die, our families collapse."
This reeked of a tomb curse. The symptoms sounded like (evil energy) invasion. I guessed the coffin held a protective hex. Zhou, a foundling, wasn't infected—no blood ties to the village.
"Go back, Mr. Zhou. This curse is complex. Give me three days to find a solution." I couldn't promise more—my experience was limited, and I needed to consult Feng Shui Zhai Zhi.
After sending him off, I called Grandpa, but his phone was off. I dove into the book. It described tomb curses—aristocrats often hired sorcerers to protect graves with dark arts.
As I studied, Zhao Na's perfume drew my attention. She leaned over, making my ears burn. "What's so fascinating?"
"My grandpa's ancient book." I closed it, meeting her bright eyes. "Aren't you in class?"
"College isn't high school." She stretched languidly. "How's business? Let me treat you to dinner if you're free."
"I'll pay." I'd earned 10,000 yuan in three days—more than most white-collar workers. Pride swelled, but so did gratitude for Zhao Na's help.