After he left, I took out three more incense sticks, but still couldn’t get them to burn.
Maybe he took my advice to heart, because three days later, an official announcement stated that Jordan Turner had paid all his back taxes.
He recorded a video, crying as he admitted he’d been momentarily greedy, begged the public for forgiveness, and promised to donate all the money he’d earned over the years to those in need.
The internet has no memory, and Jordan Turner’s sincere repentance moved people.
His management company stepped in, fans managed the comments, and his shaky reputation began to recover.
Once his injuries healed, he bought a batch of school supplies and books and personally traveled to the mountains to donate them.
He bought new clothes, rice, and soybean oil to visit elderly people living alone.
During that time, Jordan Turner was constantly trending online.
There were photos of him beaming as he hugged children in the mountains, and even shots of him tearing up while visiting patients.
All of it became his glory, and everyone sang his praises.
Not long after, a film starring Jordan Turner announced the start of production.
At the launch ceremony, he hugged his co-star, a female actress, and smiled brightly.
But the promise he made to me—he only kept half of it!
The launch party was held at a hotel.
On the big screen, they played clips of Jordan Turner’s heartwarming acts during his mountain visits.
I held a red umbrella, standing at the entrance to the banquet hall. From a distance, Jordan Turner, who was drinking with the director, spotted me.
The wine glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.
A server hurriedly knelt down to wipe his shoes, apologizing profusely.
The director asked him with concern if something was wrong.
He rubbed his eyes, made sure it was really me, and strode over.
Jordan Turner pulled me out of the banquet hall and into the lobby. “Miss... Miss, is there something you need from me?”
He forced a smile, his eyes darting away.
I looked up and met his gaze. “Jordan Turner, have you forgotten the promise you made to me?” He pressed his lips together, no longer looking as panicked as the first time we met. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "Miss, let me be blunt—I'm not afraid of you anymore. Last time, I got into trouble because Avery Miller died, and the protective formation he set up for me lost its power. This time, I found a foreign sorcerer, and he took care of everything for me. Whether I live or die, that's not for you to decide!"
Looking at his arrogant face, I couldn't help but find it a little funny. "Jordan Turner, I showed you the right path. Why did you go seeking out dark arts?"
He let out a cold laugh. "Miss, once someone enters the world of fame and fortune, it's not so easy to walk away. Maybe you don't know what it's like to be admired by thousands. Every eye is on me—they're happy when I speak, sad when I frown. I can decide someone's fate, control their future. That feeling is intoxicating. I can't bear to let it go!"
He circled around me. "Just go back to running your joss-paper shop. After today, we won't have a chance to meet again. Leave on your own, or if I call security, it won't look good for you."
So stubborn—refusing to wake up!
Jordan Turner was startled. "What did you say?"
I smiled faintly. "I said, 'Heaven has a path, but you refuse to take it; hell has no gate, yet you rush right in.'"
I looked at him, and he saw the blood-red color in my eyes.
He pulled a small wooden plaque painted with a child from his pocket. "I have a guardian spirit. You can't do anything to me!"
I took out a pair of scissors and some joss paper from my bag, slowly cutting as I spoke. "A guardian spirit? What a joke! A stray spirit dares to call itself a god?"
With a few quick snips, I cut out eight paper effigies, put away the scissors, and the paper figures floated in the air.
I pressed my fingers together and chanted, "Borrowing your ghostly energy, by my command—kill!"
The paper effigies instantly came to life, charging toward the wooden plaque in Jordan Turner's hand. The eight paper figures joined hands, drawing closer and closer.
Suddenly, the plaque burst into flames. Terrified, Jordan Turner threw it to the ground. The wooden plaque and the paper effigies fell to the ground, turning to ash.
Jordan Turner's face went pale as he bent down to pick up the ashes. "You... this... how is this possible..."
I waved my hand, and the ashes vanished into thin air.
"Jordan Turner, you have no more chances!"
Jordan Turner trembled, sweat pouring down his face.
At that moment, the large screen in the hotel blared with the sound of crying: "Mr. Turner, please, don't treat me like this, I already have a boyfriend!"
He spun around. The big screen in the hotel lobby was playing a video.
Alex Miller, who had taken her own life last year, was on her knees, sobbing and begging for mercy.
Jordan Turner's familiar voice rang out: "Didn't you come to me because you wanted to sleep with me? Now you're pretending to be some virtuous woman!"
Everyone in the hotel lobby stopped to watch.
Jordan Turner screamed in panic, "Don't watch! Don't watch! Security! Security! What is this!"
But no one paid him any attention.
The video continued, with the sound of fabric tearing, a woman's desperate pleas, and a man's triumphant laughter.
Before the footage became too graphic to watch, the video cut to another scene.
Jordan Turner and Casey Anderson were talking: "Did you give the money to Avery Cooper last time and tell him to make the shadow contract? Is it done?"
Casey Anderson grinned slyly. "Relax, when have I ever let you down? The contract for the next film is already taken care of!"
Jordan Turner lounged on the sofa, acting cocky: "So, are we 'recruiting concubines' again tonight? Tell the artist department—all the newly signed artists, gather in my room. I want to be extra picky this time!"
Jordan Turner's and Casey Anderson's voices echoed throughout the hotel. Jordan Turner ran frantically through the hotel, only to find that every screen in the banquet hall was playing the same footage.
Everyone in the hotel stopped what they were doing, watching the award-winning actor's performance.
He realized that no one could hear his screams, as if he were a ghost drifting through the crowd. Finally, he ran over to me, dropped to his knees, and pleaded, "Ma'am, I really know I was wrong, please stop playing it! I'm begging you, please stop!"
I looked up at the screen. "Jordan Turner, the best part hasn't even started yet!"
As soon as I finished speaking, the video of Jordan Turner ordering the new actress to clean his shoes and pour him water ended, switching to another clip.
The scene shifted to the mountains, where Jordan Turner and the manager were dragging a suitcase.
They opened the suitcase, revealing a corpse twisted into a grotesque shape, curled up inside.
The entire hall erupted in chaos. Someone shouted, "Call the police! Call the police! Jordan Turner and the manager are murderers!"
People started recording with their phones, uploading the footage to social media nonstop.
Jordan Turner, his shirt unbuttoned, hair disheveled and plastered to his sweaty face as if he'd just been pulled from water, looked utterly wrecked.
In the video, the two of them spoke:
"I told you to take it easy, but you wouldn't listen. Now you've killed someone!"
Jordan Turner replied indifferently, "How was I supposed to know she was so weak? It's not my fault. The twin sisters—one of them is still fine, isn't she?"
As they dug a hole, they kept talking:
"The surviving twin saw us kill her sister. What do we do now?"
"Doesn't matter, we've got video of them. If she doesn't keep her mouth shut, we'll leak it online and ruin her life."
Their conversation sent chills down everyone's spine, covering everything from tax evasion to manipulating new artists, laying out every detail.
Jordan Turner clutched his ears, sobbing in despair: "Stop playing it! Stop watching! Please, all of you! I'm an award-winning actor! I can't be destroyed! I'm an award-winning actor! It took everything I had to get here!"
I couldn't hold back anymore. I swung my umbrella and struck him hard. "You think you're the only one who's struggled? Do you know the girl in the first video—the one you bullied—lost her life because of you? Her boyfriend killed himself after hearing about her death! You destroyed two families. You owe two lives!" "Those new artists you crushed with your power—they were their parents' pride too. They worked hard to get into art school, struggled for four years. Do you think it was easy for them?"
"And those twin sisters! You killed the older one, then used the video to blackmail the younger! Do you even know what happened to her now?"
Jordan Turner, desperate and defiant, shouted, "Isn't she still alive? I don't owe her anything!"
I struck him again with my umbrella. "That younger sister has gone mad! Do you know how? She used her own soul to make a pact with an evil deity, cursing you to die a miserable death, never to reincarnate, for all eternity!"
I stepped right up to Jordan Turner, tapping the tip of my umbrella against his forehead. "Why do you think you suddenly saw my shop? The people you killed—they've come for revenge!"
As I tapped him, Jordan Turner's eyes flew open. His third eye was awakened, and he could see everything behind me.
The girls he had killed were standing right there, just behind me.
The couple who died by suicide were holding a ghost child, baring sharp teeth in a twisted grin at Jordan Turner.
The older twin sister, covered in blood, tears of blood streaming from her hollow eyes, called out, "Jordan Turner, it's so cold in the mountains! Come join me!"
I turned away, unable to watch any longer.
The vengeful spirits surged forward, and behind me came the gut-wrenching screams of a soul being torn apart.
Back at the joss-paper shop, I took out three sticks of incense.
As the incense burned, blue smoke curled upward.
The vengeful spirits appeared, their blood-red eyes filled with satisfaction. "Thank you, Miss Van, for helping us clear our grievances."
I waved my hand for them to rise. "Don't thank me. Good and evil always get their due. The underworld officials keep their records. But you all—tearing his soul apart like that—the underworld officials may not let it slide."
They all replied in unison, "Our great vengeance is fulfilled. We have no regrets!"
As soon as they finished speaking, a cold wind swept through, and two underworld officials appeared, chains in hand.
I bowed respectfully. "Honored officials, sorry to trouble you." The underworld officials nodded at me, draped their chains over the vengeful spirits, and dragged them deep into the afterlife.
Just before she vanished, the older twin sister turned to me and asked, "Miss Van, my younger sister..."
Though I didn't want to be cruel, I wasn't good at lying: "Your younger sister sacrificed her soul to curse Jordan Turner. As long as Jordan Turner suffers for all eternity, your sister will never be freed."
Her face was streaked with tears as the underworld officials pulled her away, leaving behind a long, sorrowful sigh.
For days, Jordan Turner kept trending on the hot search.
The hotel was packed with people coming and going, and every screen played the same video, exposing his vicious deeds for all to see.
The police arrived, but couldn't find Jordan Turner. They did, however, arrest his manager.
Following the video evidence, the police located the burial site and dug up a heavily decomposed female corpse.
On the day of the burial, I went as well.
Holding a red umbrella, I walked over to the surviving twin sister.
She stood there, absentmindedly playing with a bouquet of white chrysanthemums.
Her parents collapsed in tears before the gravestone, but she showed no sadness at all—she had become completely unhinged.
I took her hand. She looked at me, and for a moment, there was a flicker of clarity in her eyes.
I glanced at the doorway, then at Jordan Turner and his manager, doing my best to remain polite: "And you? Do you regret it?"
She smiled, gazed at the gravestone, and tears rolled down her cheeks: "Never. I will never regret it!"
I let go of her hand, and her eyes went vacant again.
A butterfly fluttered by, and she laughed, chasing after it.
Maybe it's better this way—to forget the pain, to live well for her sister's sake.
More than half a year passed. The manager was now serving time in prison.
The film crew finally found Jordan Turner deep in the mountains.
He had hanged himself from a tall tree.
No one knew how he managed to climb up there.
Just as no one knew where those private videos had come from.
Jordan Turner dangled from the tree like a piece of dried meat.
Wild birds had pecked out his eyes, and forest animals had gnawed away his hands and feet.
The police had to use a fire ladder to bring his body down. While waiting for the fire ladder, wild birds kept pecking at his flesh, and some even defecated on the corpse.
Villagers nearby recorded all of this and posted it online.
Netizens mocked:
["Even in death, the 'Best Actor' puts on a grand performance with his own body!"]
I turned off my phone, no longer wanting to see the chaos in the news.
My joss-paper shop still stands in the heart of the city, waiting for someone to walk in.
They might be the dead, or they might be the living.
They come to tell me their grievances, or to seek forgiveness for their sins.
So that heaven and earth may bear witness, and karma will be repaid.
—END—