On the fifth day after the incident, Jordan Turner and his manager came to my joss-paper shop again.
As if afraid I might escape, there were four burly bodyguards standing guard at the door.
Jordan Turner was helped in by two of the bodyguards. In just a few days, he had become gaunt and unrecognizable.
Casey Anderson, the manager, also looked much more haggard.
Unlike the previous two visits, this time they were accompanied by an old man.
The moment the old man entered the shop, he began to look around. I realized he could see the joss paper in the shop—not because he was about to die, but because he was holding an incense burner burning with rhino horn.
When rhino horn burns, its scent connects to spirits and ghosts.
Jordan Turner clutched his chest, his voice as weak as a mosquito: "You witch! Do you think a few paper oxen and paper horses are enough to scare me? Do you even know who this man beside me is?"
His pale face was full of smugness: "If you go live and clear my name, I'll spare your life! If not, I'll let Avery Miller deal with you!"
I sat calmly on a sandalwood chair with openwork carvings. "Mr. Turner, my shop only serves the dead. You're not dead yet, so there's no need for you to come here again."
Before Jordan Turner could reply, the old man spoke up: "The dead should return to the underworld. Staying in the world of the living only brings disaster. Today, I will rid the world of you. Don't blame me—blame your own insatiable greed!"
I let out a soft sigh. "So the Taoist priest wants to rid the world of evil for the sake of the living."
I raised my hand in a gesture of invitation. "Then please, go ahead."
The old man snorted, pulled a pile of ritual implements from the cloth pouch on his chest, grabbed a bell, and began to walk in a pattern shaped like the eight trigrams, shaking the bell and chanting under his breath.
Then he took out a talisman, which burst into flames without any fire.
He let go, and the talisman floated toward the altar in the northeast corner.
I jumped up in alarm.
This old Taoist really had some skill—he wasn't a fraud.
"Priest, you can't touch that object!"
The old man sneered, "In this world, there's nothing I can't touch!" After saying that, the old Taoist priest took two steps toward the altar, flicked his horsetail whisk, and overturned the altar table.
The ancestral tablet, draped in red cloth, fell to the ground, scattering incense ash everywhere as smoke and dust rose up.
The red cloth slipped off the tablet, and the old man bent down to read the inscription.
When he saw the words clearly, his voice trembled with fear: "Cửu… Cửu Thiên… Tư Mệnh Tam Mao Ứng Hóa Chân Quân…"
As soon as he finished, he dropped to his knees and kowtowed. "Disciple has offended without meaning to, disciple has offended without meaning to! Please, Venerable Immortal, forgive me! Please, Venerable Immortal, forgive me!"
I waved my hand, and the glass windows and doors—still letting in sunlight—suddenly turned into stone walls.
The entire room transformed into a vast stone chamber, bathed in harsh white light that made the paper effigies look even more eerie and sinister.
Jordan Turner clutched his chest. "Wh-what's happening?!"
I no longer felt joy or sorrow, but at this moment, I was truly displeased. "I told you, you can't touch that object! I have no idea what's going to happen now, so just wait and see!"
No sooner had I spoken than the incense ash in the burner began to swirl upward, slowly condensing into two gigantic human figures.
When their forms became clear, Casey Anderson collapsed to the floor in terror. "Bl-Black and White Impermanence?"
Jordan Turner staggered and hid behind the bodyguards. "What kind of special effects is this? Are we filming some show right now?"
Black and White Impermanence have dwelled in the underworld for ages—their aura of death is unbearable for ordinary people. Within just a few breaths, everyone present began to bleed from their orifices, especially Anderson, who had already fainted.
The two bodyguards, not understanding what was happening, frantically punched and rammed the stone walls with their shoulders, desperately trying to escape.
Jordan Turner clutched his head and screamed, "What is this?! What the hell is this?! Help me, someone help me! Taoist priest, Taoist priest, save me!"
But the Taoist priest they trusted was still kneeling before the ancestral tablet, kowtowing so hard his forehead was bleeding.
I knelt down and paid deep respects to Black and White Impermanence. "Your Majesties, the Ghost Kings, I am deeply in awe of your presence." Normally, when something happened, I’d just burn a few spirit ingots and ask some idle underworld officials for help.
The Black and White Impermanence I’d met before were only avatars of these two Ghost Kings.
But this time—they had come in person!
Black Impermanence stood behind the altar. Behind the altar yawned an endless, bottomless cave, reeking of rot and echoing with ceaseless, anguished wails.
Even though I’d seen all kinds of terrifying, vengeful spirits, those cries made me want to cover my ears in fear.
But in the presence of the true Ghost Kings, who would dare make a single unnecessary move?
Their forms were enormous—three meters tall, maybe even five—existing only in the mind, invisible to the naked eye.
The Ghost Kings’ shadows grew larger and larger, like mountains pressing down, making it hard to breathe.
Black Impermanence spoke, his voice booming like a bronze bell: “You! This Taoist dares not only to topple the Maoshan Patriarch’s memorial tablet, but also to tamper with the formation at the intersection of yin and yang!”
White Impermanence’s voice was shrill, like metal scraping glass: “If you let the ghosts of hell escape, even being banished to the eighteen levels of hell wouldn’t be unjust!”
Their voices merged into one: “You lack true skill, arrogant and self-important, helping evildoers commit evil. Today, we take you—descend to hell and atone for your sins!”
With that, White Impermanence swung his arm, and a chain as thick as an arm bound the kneeling Taoist.
The Taoist, completely insensible, was dragged by Black and White Impermanence deep into hell.
I kowtowed again. “Farewell, Ghost Kings!”
In the blink of an eye, Black and White Impermanence and the Taoist vanished.
The stone walls disappeared, replaced once more by windows and doors.
The wailing from the room finally startled the four bodyguards outside.
They rushed in, helped Jordan Turner who was writhing on the floor, and carried out the manager, who had fainted and was foaming at the mouth.
The whole group fled, sobbing and wailing.
I stepped forward, picked up the Maoshan Patriarch’s memorial tablet, set it back on the altar, and covered it with a red cloth.
I straightened the incense burner, took out three sticks of incense, and tried to light them—but no matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t burn. I watched the direction they ran off and shook my head.
When the King of Hell wants someone dead at the third watch, they won’t make it past the second.
After that, I started keeping an eye on news about Jordan Turner.
After half a month of recuperation, he couldn’t handle the pressure and returned to the film set, only to make headlines again for getting injured.
This time, it wasn’t a nightmare—it was a real accident.
During a high-wire stunt, all four cables snapped at once. Luckily, he fell onto a tree, suffering only a broken leg, two fractured ribs, and a mild concussion.
This was a major blunder by the props team. Jordan Turner’s management company called the police, and the film crew halted production for an investigation.
After confirming there were no mistakes in any department, the crew checked the cameras and the original footage.
The camera angle revealed that Jordan Turner himself had pulled a knife from his jacket and cut all four cables.
The investigation’s findings sent shockwaves through the entertainment industry.
Jordan Turner adamantly denied the act, claiming the film crew had doctored the video.
Filming was suspended, investors pulled out, and Jordan Turner was taken to court.
During the investigation, it was also discovered that Jordan Turner had tax issues.
He was trending online again.
As the saying goes, when a drum is broken, everyone takes a swing; when a wall collapses, everyone gives it a push.
Rumors swirled from all sides, and things quickly spiraled out of control.
The next time I saw Jordan Turner, he didn’t have any bodyguards with him.
He knelt on one knee before me, the other leg braced with a steel support.
“Please, Ma’am, save me! Please, save me!”
He opened the suitcase he’d brought and offered it to me: “This is all my real estate, land deeds, stocks, and bank cards—everything I own. I’m willing to give up my entire fortune to buy my life from you!”
I closed the suitcase and set it beside his feet. “Mr. Turner, do you believe in karma?”
Jordan Turner nodded frantically. “I do, I do!”
I shook my head. “No, you don’t believe in anything. Good deeds bring good results. The suffering you face today is the fruit of seeds you planted before. I told you when you first came—money is useless to me.” "Besides, if money could buy life, then the richest people would never die, right?"
He clung to my pant leg, shaking it desperately. "Ma'am, I truly regret everything. Just let me live—I'll do anything you ask!"
I turned to look at him. "Anything at all?"
He started banging his head on the floor, frantic. "Yes, anything!"
I nudged the suitcase by his feet. "I'll give you one way out—this is your last chance. Turn all of this into cash, pay every cent of taxes you owe, and don't leave any debts behind. With whatever's left, not a single penny kept for yourself, do good deeds. Build schools, sponsor underprivileged students, help the sick—whatever you choose. Spend this ill-gotten money to accumulate merit and see if you can turn your fate around."
"And one more thing: you must leave the entertainment industry. From now on, you can't appear in public again. You know in your heart what you've done. Admit your wrongdoings, accept the punishment of the law, give justice back to others, and resolve the resentment you've caused. Can you do that?"
Jordan Turner sobbed and agreed, dragging himself out of the joss-paper shop.