The little jade shop sat in the center of the old quarter. On its left was a famous milk tea shop; on its right, a store selling fiery local specialties. Between them hung the tacky, outdated sign: “Ling Ling Jade Shop.”
I sat behind the counter, chewing on a few pieces of duck heart and sipping milk tea as I narrowed my eyes at the tall, well-dressed man in front of me.
His name was Tần Tuyên. An old customer of my father’s had sent him my way.
I asked, “Mr. Tần, how were you at math in elementary school?”
He paused, clearly unsure why I’d asked, but remained composed. “I teach advanced mathematics at a university.”
Then he asked, “But what does that have to do with what I just told you?”
I curled my lip. “Nothing. So when you say ‘the numbers don’t add up,’ what exactly doesn’t add up?”
“The number of rooms,” Tần Tuyên replied.
He stopped for a moment, a confused look crossing his face. “I only noticed this recently. Last week, when I was discussing renovations to the villa with the designer, I looked over the plans and suddenly remembered: the second floor has only seven bedrooms. But there are always eight people living in my house, and each of us has a room of our own. It didn’t make sense, so I went upstairs right away and counted every room. There really were only seven. Then I checked the number of people in the house again. Still eight. Everyone was going about their daily lives as usual, nobody shared a bedroom, and the house’s layout had never changed… So how could there be one room missing?”
His final words were so quiet they were almost a whisper. Outside the shop, the music kept blaring merrily without a single pause, making the little space around me feel even more still, as if cut off from the world.
He continued, “The others in my family don’t seem to have noticed anything. I was afraid of causing a panic, so I didn’t dare say anything. I heard the owner of this shop, Mr. Chúc, is able to deal with strange things like this, so I came to ask for help.”
I shook my head and sighed. “You’ve come all this way for nothing. The shop owner is busy. Please leave.”
But Tần Tuyên seemed to have expected that. He nodded and said, “Mr. Chúc is a master who keeps to himself amid the bustle of the world. Naturally, he won’t show himself easily.”
He took off his leather gloves, pulled a card from his pocket, and slid it across the glass counter toward me. “This is a 200,000 advance payment. I’m only asking the shop owner to come to my villa and take a look. If he can’t solve the problem, consider it a travel fee. If he can handle it, I’ll pay another 800,000.”
I tossed my milk tea into the trash can and stood up. “Let’s go.”
He looked surprised. “Where?”
“To your house.”
Tần Tuyên stared at me. “Aren’t you the receptionist?”
I grinned, baring my teeth. “From now on, I’m the shop owner, Chúc Linh. My father is Chúc Quốc Cường. We’re the last descendants of the Chúc family.”
According to the family records, our ancestors were shamans who served under the Yellow Emperor. When they slew demon dragons, their bloodline mingled with demonic energy, passing down the ability to manipulate consciousness and create illusions. Through all the upheavals of history, as Buddhism and Daoism flourished, the Chúc family became a strategic resource coveted by both sides, because we were connected to the three realms of Daoism and the Buddhist cycle of reincarnation.
To prevent conflict, five hundred years ago our founding matriarch, Chúc Thiên Hoa, laid down a family rule: “Those who bear dragon energy must not use magic. Any who break this rule will lose their family fortune and live in poverty for generations.”
Ha ha. I understood one thing from a young age: My family was so poor because none of our ancestors had been willing to listen!
They didn’t dare do it openly, so they did it in secret instead. Take my father: outwardly, he ran a shabby jade shop; in reality, he specialized in handling strange occurrences.
I’d once wanted to leave the past behind, study hard, get into a prestigious university, work for a big company, and become a proper office worker. But then my father disappeared.
I could sense that he was trapped somewhere, confused and anxious. He wasn’t in immediate danger, but I couldn’t just leave him there.
So I quit my job and took over the jade shop, searching for clues while earning just enough to get by.
By now, I’d made peace with it: descendants have their own fate. If even our founding matriarch wouldn’t follow the rules… then neither would I!
As I climbed into the limousine, I saw the driver’s contemptuous expression. He said loudly to Tần Tuyên, “Mr. Tần, there are all kinds of shady feng shui practitioners out there. Don’t let yourself get swindled!”
Tần Tuyên gave me an awkward smile. I didn’t mind and smiled back. Two hundred thousand just for the travel fee—why would I need a bike?
Tần Tuyên told me that recently he’d brought several people to the house, under the pretext of checking the feng shui before the renovations. But none of them had found anything unusual. Most thought he’d misremembered, or that renovations had added a secret room, or that two people in the house were secretly sharing a room.
As he said this, his eyes took on a gloomy look, as if… he hoped it wasn’t something people had done, but something else entirely.
I imagined the villa he’d described must be enormous, with seven bedrooms on the second floor alone. But even so, I was stunned when I saw it with my own eyes.
The villa stood halfway up a mountain on the outskirts of town. A quiet road led straight to its iron gate. Among flower gardens and ponds stood an elegant white villa, built to resemble an Italian rotunda. The rooms were arranged in a circle around the spiral staircase at the center.
“Is the second floor laid out the same way?” I asked.
Tần Tuyên nodded and glanced at his watch. “I’m about to go into a meeting. Miss Chúc, wait here a moment. I’ll ask the housekeeper to show you upstairs.”
He seemed doubtful of me, perhaps thinking I was only someone sent ahead to investigate. But out of politeness, he kept his misgivings to himself.
Just then, a door on the right swung open, and four people came out, still discussing who’d won and lost at mahjong. Tần Tuyên smiled and greeted them one by one. “Dad, Mom, Mom, Dad—finished your game?”
I took a look: two older married couples, one somewhat plump and the other thin.
What surprised me was how openly displeased they were to see Tần Tuyên. “Why are you bringing all these random people home again?”
A thin older woman said coldly, “Isn’t the house Ý Như liked already good enough? You’re worried the feng shui won’t suit her?”
Tần Tuyên answered respectfully, “I just thought we should have someone take a look before renovating, to put our minds at ease.”
Another woman, wearing Buddhist prayer beads, gave me a dismissive glance. Her voice rang out sourly. “Take a look? What is there to look at?”
“If you’re really not charging us and are only looking for an excuse to tour the house, then…”“The house is fine as it is.”
“If not, I’d be even less comfortable having someone so young look at the feng shui. I’d rather have the housekeeper hurry up and see our guest out!”
The other three elders all looked impatient and mocked me, clearly agreeing wholeheartedly with her.
One of the uncles called out loudly, “Housekeeper! Housekeeper!”
I was displeased. I was already poor, and it had taken all I had to land a chance to make some money—only to be interrupted!
I closed my eyes, then suddenly opened them and looked straight at the woman wearing Buddhist prayer beads. I saw a glint in her eyes and smiled faintly. “So it’s you. Don’t you remember me?”
She frowned in irritation. “What do you mean? I don’t know…”
She stopped mid-sentence, as if remembering something. After studying me for a few seconds, she slowly broke into a warm smile and called out, “Oh! So it’s you, Master! Last time, I saw so many lay Buddhists kneeling before you to pray for blessings. I waited in line for ages but never got my turn. I can’t believe you’ve come here!
“Master, could you give me the chance to pay my respects today?”
She looked at me with joy and reverence, tears welling in her eyes from the excitement.
The three people beside her stared in astonishment. One of them, apparently her husband, asked blankly, “When did you go there? How come I didn’t know?”
I smiled faintly and said nothing, putting on an air of profound mystery as I looked at the people before me with an expression of utter disbelief.
In the human mind, conscious memory is protected by a clear firewall, while the subconscious is guarded by a long, sturdy wall.
The Chúc family had fallen into decline by now, and with the old matriarch blocking the way, breaking into the subconscious was extraordinarily difficult. Only a handful of the Chúc ancestors had ever managed it. But adding a few false memories to the conscious mind was easy; these manufactured memories had no original neural connections, though, so they came and went quickly, lasting only a day or two.
Besides, every time I used my mystical power, it cost me money.
I did a quick calculation. Even counting the extra 800,000 from Tần Tuyên, I’d still come out ahead.
As everyone watched in astonishment, I calmly accepted the woman’s kneeling bows: one, two, three.
Tần Tuyên stood beside me, his face full of surprise.
The woman ushered the others away, calling out, “Don’t disturb the Master while she’s working!” Just then, the housekeeper came over.
Tần Tuyên said to him, “You’re not needed anymore. I’ll take Miss Chúc upstairs myself.”