It seems there's really something unclean in this house, or it wouldn't be so eerie. Maybe He Wei's ghost is indeed inside. I hope the master hired by Zhang Xiaoman's family actually has some ability.
After about half an hour, Zhang Xiaoman's door finally opened. A sweaty, wretched-looking fat man emerged. Weighing over 200 pounds, he wore a Taoist robe that clung to him like overstretched plastic wrap, making him look extremely uncomfortable—though he was reluctant to take it off. In his left hand he held a bell, in his right a peachwood sword, and a sleazy grin curled his lips.
Beside him stood a middle-aged man in simple clothes, yet exuding authority. His wise eyes and thin mustache (which looked like a third eyebrow) marked him as Zhang Xiaoman's father.
"Master, how is my daughter? She's had a high fever for days. We've taken her to several major hospitals, but it won't subside. She's getting weaker, talking nonsense—she looks possessed," her father said.
The fat man wiped his forehead, twisting his body as if the robe were too tight. "Hmm, your daughter is clearly possessed—put plainly, she encountered something unclean. Doctors can't help; we must drive away the entity haunting her. But don't worry, Boss Zhang—I just performed a ritual to expel the ghost. She'll recover in a day or two." His oily smile made him look like a street charlatan. I wondered how Zhang's father had found such a man.
Hearing this, the father looked skeptical. As a successful businessman, his intellect and experience kept him from fully trusting the fat man, but unfamiliar with such matters, he could only thank him and tell the butler to pay him. "I hope she gets better... She's my only daughter," he muttered.
It turned out that Zhang Xiaoman's father was so desperate in his daughter's illness that he sought help from anyone available—no wonder he hired such a character. One glance at the fat man was enough to tell he was a downright charlatan.
First, consider the peachwood sword in his hand. A traditional Taoist talisman, the peachwood sword is believed in Chinese folklore to ward off evil, bless homes, and attract prosperity. Authentic ones are carved from natural peachwood—though many modern versions use machine carving to cut costs. Peachwood is regarded as the essence of the five sacred trees, or "immortal wood," hence its evil-dispelling properties. However, the fat man's "peachwood sword" wasn't real at all—it was willow wood. While willow can also repel spirits, its efficacy pales beside true peachwood. The sword my second uncle gave me still carries a faint peachwood aroma even after years, proving its authenticity.
Second, the fat man's words reeked of deception. If he'd truly driven away the ghost haunting Zhang Xiaoman, her fever should have subsided immediately, not in "a day or two." He deliberately delayed the timeline to collect payment and vanish.
Unable to bear seeing Zhang's father deceived, I blurted out: "This 'master' is nothing but a fraudulent faith healer!"
The fat man had just walked a few steps with the butler when he heard me speak. Furious, he spun around and shot me a glare. "Kid, don't run your mouth off before you've shed your baby teeth, or this master will curse you!"
"Er... young man, you can eat anything, but you can't say just anything. May I ask who you are?" Zhang Xiaoman's father finally noticed us. Apart from Lin Xue, he didn't recognize me, Li Wen, or Zhao Yi.
"We're Zhang Xiaoman's classmates—" Before I could finish, Li Wen cut in. "Yes, uncle! We heard Xiaoman was sick and came specially to visit her."
"No, we didn't come to visit—we came to save her life!" I interjected, my expression unwavering.
At my words, everyone stared at me in astonishment. Zhang Xiaoman's father furrowed his brows, looking surprised, while the fat man sneered, his face dripping with scorn. "Hmph, still sucking on your mother's milk, yet trying to play the big shot here? I already drove away the ghost and exorcised the evil—what life are you saving?"
"Young man, what do you mean by that?" her father pressed.
Frowning, I glanced into the room and continued, "There is indeed a ghost haunting Zhang Xiaoman, but it hasn't been driven away. It's still in this room." Then I pointed at the fat man. "This guy is nothing but a charlatan—he has no real ability."
The fat man turned red with anger at my words, opening his mouth to retort, but Zhang Xiaoman's father cut him off before he could speak.
"Young man, don't spout nonsense. Even if you are Xiaoman's classmate, I won't hold back if you lie." As he spoke, her father stared straight into my eyes, as if he could see through my thoughts. I shuddered inwardly—no wonder he's a business elite; his gaze was too sharp, his aura too imposing.
When Zhang Xiaoman's father said that, Lin Xue, Li Wen, and the others also grew anxious. Li Wen and Zhao Yi kept shooting me looks, signaling me not to make trouble, while Lin Xue leaned close to my ear and warned that she had already done more than enough by bringing us here. She told me not to act recklessly anymore, or I would bear the consequences alone.
Despite this, I still didn't stop. Puffing out my chest, I continued, "Ghosts don't come out during the day. Have you ever seen someone exorcising or catching ghosts in the daytime? This fat guy is clearly deceiving people for money. If the ghost had really been driven away, Zhang Xiaoman's high fever would have subsided immediately, not tomorrow. Moreover, look at the peachwood sword in his hand—it's a inferior product, just a counterfeit made of cheap willow wood. Humph, he doesn't even want to invest in decent props to trick people. What a nerve!"
As recorded in Maoshan Ghost Taoism, except for particularly fierce ghosts, ordinary ghosts only appear at night and hide somewhere during the day. If a ghost doesn't show itself, even someone with high Taoist cultivation can't easily find it.
"You... you're spouting slander!" The fat man suddenly became anxious, looking like a cornered dog. By then, everyone was looking at him with strange expressions, and my words seemed to make them half-doubt this faith healer charlatan. The three people who came with me also cast questioning glances at me, as if asking how I knew these things.
"If you don't believe me, the butler can take that peachwood sword to have it appraised," I said. Without waiting for a reply, I pushed open the half-closed door and stepped into the room cautiously. After all, my purpose here wasn't to expose the fraudster, but to save Zhang Xiaoman's life.
Perhaps my earlier words had made everyone take me more seriously, for no one stopped me from entering. They silently followed behind, even the charlatan fat man—maybe the butler wouldn't let him leave.
The moment I stepped in, it felt like entering an ice cellar. I hugged my chest and shivered. "Who turned the air-con so low?" I grumbled.
The butler replied from behind, "There's no air-con in this room at all."
As soon as he spoke, everyone spun around to stare at him, their faces contorted with horror. If there was no air-con, this could only mean one thing—ghosts! The room was as cold as a hospital morgue, filled with icy drafts that made people tremble.
Strangely, the fat man seemed unaffected. His 200-plus pounds of fat must have insulated him. "I was sweating buckets when I came out," he mumbled. "How can it be cold? Could the ghost have come back right after I drove it away?"
Before he finished, Zhang Xiaoman's father shot him a withering glare. The fat man shrank back like a frostbitten eggplant, clearly losing the father's trust.
I scanned the room. Apart from the eerie chill, nothing seemed amiss—perhaps my Taoist skills were too shallow to detect the presence.
Then I approached the bed, where Zhang Xiaoman lay in a feverish daze. Wearing a pink pajama set with disheveled hair, she was still stunning. Her chest bulged beneath the covers, forming two distinct peaks. Her glabella and cheeks were tinged with black—a clear sign she was haunted.
As Maoshan Ghost Taoism, "Misty blackness encircling lips and cheeks" is an omen of encountering evil.
What does "misty blackness encircling lips and cheeks" mean? It refers to a dark, inky complexion on the forehead, with small black spots scattered like imprints, and a ring of black qi around the cheeks and lips—similar to Zhang Xiaoman's current condition.
Besides this, Zhang Xiaoman kept murmuring incoherently. Her voice was faint and slurred; even when I strained to listen, I couldn't make out her words. But her demeanor suggested she was being tormented painfully.
Lin Xue, as Zhang Xiaoman's best friend, sat by the bed, gently holding her hand with a deeply worried expression.
"Hmph, what do you think you'll find staring like that? You know jack-shit—stop showing off!" The fat man actually started mocking me.
I furrowed my brows, recounted the omens of Zhang Xiaoman's possession, and shot the fat man a withering look.
My explanation even caught the fat man off guard—he realized I knew something about Taoist arts. Still, he stubbornly tried to undercut me. "Brat, where'd you learn that line? From TV or a novel?"
This damn fat man still wouldn't concede. Though it's not nice to sabotage someone's livelihood, he left me no choice.
Glancing at Zhang Xiaoman, I said, "The ghost definitely hasn't left the room, but if it doesn't manifest, I can't act. However, we can't wait until night—today is the ghost's 'head seven,' also known as the soul-returning night. Ghosts are especially powerful then, and no one here can subdue it. We must force it out during the day."