I hurried into the VIP room and dialed my second uncle's number. Before he could speak, I blurted out, "Uncle, Hu Wenhui is literally stealing my fortune!"
Unfazed, he said gently, "Wenhui's using the shop—and therefore your luck. Yangyang, when the moon waxes full it must wane; when one's vitality overflows, it spills over. Too much good fortune can bring misfortune."
From the doorway, Hu Wenhui added, "When a person's luck is soaring, it can't be refused. But if your fortune peaks and then crashes, it becomes your undoing."
I stared at him. Was he warning me that the effeminate man's case might endanger me? I wouldn't be so easily deterred. "How do you know I'll fail? Or even agree to take that job?"
Hu Wenhui smiled. "Luck is fate."
My heart skipped. That very phrase—"Luck is fate"—my grandfather had taught me: what comes is meant to, what goes is destined to.
My uncle spoke again, "Yangyang, sometimes you must relinquish to gain."
I drew a deep breath to steady myself. "I don't mind—but my fortune is tied to Xiaocui's. Could this harm her?"
To a common guy like me, good luck merely translates into wealth. But Xiaocui was different: her roots lay deep in the Ten-Thousand Mountains, and her destiny was far greater than mine.
My uncle replied, "You and Xiaocui aren't wed in the flesh—your fortune won't affect her."
Hearing that only made me more anxious. Lately, my every waking thought revolved around… well, intimacy with Xiaocui. If Hu Wenhui moved into the shop, wouldn't that—even subconsciously—kill the mood?
In my panic I blurted, "So… does that mean I can't… you know… be with Xiaocui anymore?"
Both men fell silent, and the air grew awkward. After a moment, my uncle said kindly, "If you do manage to… um… be together, you can have Wenhui move out afterward."
Hu Wenhui nodded in agreement—though his half‑smile seemed to mock my ineptitude. I bristled, but forced myself to calm down. One doesn't air private matters in front of others. I grunted a reluctant assent.
Once I'd hung up, Hu Wenhui stood to leave. "Uncle Hu," I called, "please wait."
He sat back down, looking at me expectantly. For a moment I composed myself, then said, "Uncle Hu, normally I wouldn't interfere in your cases—but this shop belongs to me. Since you're using my storefront to take jobs, I, as the owner, must ask: what exactly are you doing?"
His brow creased—my directness clearly unnerved him. A flash of guilt passed through me. This wasn't the panic of a child before an adult, but the shame of a man caught in wrongdoing. He seemed the very embodiment of moral clarity; even the smallest deception would be laid bare before him.
As Huang Jiu put it, people like him really shouldn't exist—too much righteousness for a dark world that refuses the light.
Having read my thoughts, Hu Wenhui merely smiled. "There are not just men and women in this world, but also human‑demons. And not just the living and the dead—but the living dead."
My hair stood on end. "Uncle Hu, are you saying the effeminate man is one of the living dead?"
I immediately worried aloud, "But if he's undead, wouldn't he hide from us rather than come here seeking help?"
The notion of an undead fostering goodwill with virtue seemed absurd—yet Hu Wenhui's calm certainty was unsettling.
"He is undead," Hu Wenhui affirmed. "Your spiritual eye hasn't reached the second level—you can't distinguish true souls from counterfeit ones."
Undead in this sense weren't zombies but people who had performed a soul‑seizure: they killed the original occupant's spirit and took over the body. Hence they are both dead—because the original soul is gone—and alive—because a new spirit animates the flesh.
"True soul" and "false soul" thus refer to the original spirit and the usurper's, respectively. By this logic, he must have glimpsed that the effeminate man's original soul was gone.
He went on, "As for this effeminate man… his request puzzles me. I suspect he botched the soul‑fusion ritual. I'll go investigate; once I handle it, I'll tell you the truth."
Suddenly I understood my uncle's intention: the effeminate man might be the calamity that follows one's zenith of fortune. Without Hu Wenhui's intervention, I'd have been drawn into that ruin.
Grateful, I warned, "Be careful yourself, Uncle Hu—the man is no ordinary client. If he harms you…"
I caught myself. He wasn't asking me to watch his back; he trusted his own skill. So I corrected, "If anything happens, let my uncle know."
He nodded, "Don't worry. I'm confident."
I studied him—impossible to imagine such a man ever needing money. But whatever had driven him here, I dared not inquire.
We stepped back into the front room. The effeminate man grew restless. Huang Jiu, by contrast, lay atop his money chest, as if guarding two million yuan.
The sight amused me: without Hu Wenhui's warnings, Huang Jiu surely would've squandered or lost it by now.
Curiosity got the better of me. My mind raced: if I could glimpse the true nature of this undead, I'd confirm Hu Wenhui's claims. Summoning my nerve, I activated the second level of my spiritual eye.
Immediately a black mist coalesced around the effeminate man. Within it, I saw twin pools of blood‑red eyes staring back at me. His gaze pierced my own, and I felt as if two blades had pierced my eyes, twisting fiercely in my skull.
I tried to shut my spiritual eye—but it wouldn't close. I couldn't shout for Huang Jiu; my voice was choked.
Thankfully, Hu Wenhui noticed my distress. He stepped forward and gently tapped my shoulder. A warm surge flooded through me, banishing the pain.
"That's my boss," he said softly—though I knew he meant the spirit within.
In that instant, the red eyes vanished. I blinked and closed my spiritual sight, shaking with relief and dread.
I realized then that Hu Wenhui wasn't working for the effeminate man—he was working for that other presence. If I'd been drawn into its scheme, I can't imagine the outcome.
Hu Wenhui, seeing me recover, turned to the effeminate man and said, "We can go now."
Only then did the man seem appeased. As he reached the door, he paused and, in a mock–delicate gesture, raised a gloved finger at me and gave a coquettish smile—an image so absurd I nearly retched.