"That's a Soul-Calming Talisman from the Laoshan Daoist Sect—damn bastard tried to con me!" The door burst open, and in came Ouyang Pianzuo, the Director of Room Five, who we had just bumped into upstairs, grumbling under his breath.（Note: Ouyang's name means "Close to the left"）
Hao Wenming looked a bit surprised to see him entering the shooting range. "Weren't you out treasure hunting? Don't tell me you got swindled?"
Ouyang Pianzhuo fumed, "Don't even bring it up. I was almost fooled by some jerk who claimed to have a rubbing of the Ghosts of Hell Scroll, said it was hand-drawn by the very first Celestial Master Zhang on the Demon-Subduing Platform of Mount Longhu. Told me it had just been unearthed, over eight hundred years old. But when I got there, that so-called 'rubbing' was on some ridiculous greenish satin—acrylic blend fabric!"
Finished venting, Ouyang didn't even bother with Hao Wenming. He pulled two sheets of talisman paper from his coat and slapped them on the table. Then he crooked his index finger at me and Fatty and said, "You two, come here. Write down your birth dates—preferably in the lunar calendar. And if either of you have had any, uh, intimate activity in the past three days, don't bother writing."
Seeing how confused we looked, Hao Wenming explained, "Director Ouyang's making you each a Life Essence Talisman. If something happens to you out in the field, the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation will be alerted immediately."
After Fatty and I finished writing our birth dates, Ouyang Pianzhuo pulled out a silver needle. He passed it through a lighter flame for a few seconds, then pricked our fingertips to draw a few drops of blood, which he dripped onto the talisman paper.
"All right, I'm off to craft the talismans. Lao Hao, they're all yours." With that, he turned and walked straight out of the range without looking back.
"Hey, that's supposed to be your job, isn't it?" Hao Wenming didn't manage to stop him. He sighed and said awkwardly, "Let's keep going. Where were we?"
"Finished with handguns. Time for the rest," Fatty chimed in. Hao Wenming nodded and moved on to the rest of the gear.
Long story short, the police-issue baton was also inscribed with talismanic charms. The pouch that looked like a cellphone case was a talisman pouch, containing ten spell papers. Hao Wenming didn't go into detail about what they did, only saying that Director Ouyang would teach us how to use them during training.
"All right, that's everything. We've still got time—let's hit the range. Bureau policy: investigators normally only train with regular bullets. But since this is your first time, you get to use the special rounds."
Hao Wenming pressed a button, sending a specialized target sliding fifty meters downrange. "These guns are probably different from what you're used to. Try them out—get a feel."
Fatty didn't stand on ceremony. He slid the magazine into the grip and snapped it into place, took aim, and fired. Bang! Hao Wenming glanced at the monitor and said, "Ten-ring bullseye. Not bad, Dasheng."
I looked toward the target—sure enough, a red blotch had appeared dead center.
"That red blotch is from the secondary detonation of the bullet—the concentrated cinnabar inside exploded on impact. Not bad at all, Dasheng. You've got real aim."
Fatty grinned. "Director, anything within ninety-nine steps, I hit where I point. A fifty-meter target? Piece of cake." With that, bang bang bang bang bang, he fired off the rest of the magazine. Maybe because he'd just been boasting, he lost his rhythm—no more bullseyes, mostly eights and nines.
"Still good—129 points. Pretty impressive. Lazi, your turn." Hao Wenming looked at the digital score.
I loaded a human-shaped target, also at fifty meters. Didn't even aim—just raised the gun and fired three quick shots. Bang bang bang! The target's forehead, throat, and chest all sprouted small, red-blotched holes almost simultaneously.
By the time the third shot left the barrel, I'd already lined up my next sequence. Following Fatty's lead, I emptied the rest of the magazine. A neat line of red-stained holes appeared across the neck of the target. With the final shot, a crack rang out, and the neck of the paper dummy snapped clean. The head tumbled off.
Fatty wasn't surprised—he'd already seen my shooting in the Water Curtain Cave. But Hao Wenming just stood there, utterly stunned.
Hao Wenming said with a hint of excitement, "Not bad, really not bad. You two shoot quite well. It's a pity there's no internal shooting competition in the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation—otherwise, you'd definitely be our picks."
Competition? I felt a jolt in my chest. For some reason, I suddenly thought of Old Wang, who had already died in the Water Curtain Cave…
How long is three months? That really depends on who you ask. With a few years of special forces training under my belt, the Bureau's special program honestly wasn't that tough for me. But for Fatty Sun, it was basically a matter of life and death.
On our first day at the Bureau, Ouyang Pianzuo handed us each an envelope. "One for each of you. Take a look inside."
Fatty Sun casually went to tear his open, but Ouyang slapped his hand away. "Who told you to open it?"
Fatty looked confused. "How else are we supposed to see what's inside?"
"Use your third eye, of course. If you opened it, what would be the point of having you two here?"
"Third eye?" Fatty Sun reached toward his own butt. I gave him a swift kick from behind and said, "What the hell are you thinking? It's the Heavenly Eye! What's going on in that head of yours?"
Fatty got flustered. "You're the one thinking dirty! My butt itched. I was just scratching it!"
Ouyang Pianzuo was already impatient. "Hurry up. There's a full schedule for you today."
Fatty Sun, looking pitiful, begged, "Director Ouyang, give us a hint at least…"
This test was something I'd done when I was six. No challenge at all. I stared at the envelope for a bit and could already make out the half-page newspaper inside.
Fatty Sun widened his eyes and asked, "You can see it? What is it?"
I tore open my envelope—it was half of today's Capital Morning News entertainment section. Fatty snatched it and saw it was that scandalous "photo gate" incident that had caused a stir back then.
"Not bad, Xiao Shen," Ouyang said with a rare smile. "Not many in the Bureau can see it that fast." He then turned to Fatty, his face stern again. "Hey, what about you?"
Fatty stared at his envelope for a while, face flushed red. After Ouyang prompted him five or six times, he finally mumbled, "It's… the lower half of Lazi's paper?"
Ouyang looked skeptical. "You're sure Shen didn't whisper it to you?"
"How could he? You were standing right there! When would he have had the chance?"
Fatty then tore his envelope open. Sure enough—it was the rest of that same scandal.
After Ouyang left, I asked Fatty quietly, "You guessed that, didn't you?"
"No sh*t," he grinned slyly. "One paper torn in half—one half's in your envelope, where else would the other be? Old Left's riddles are way too childish."
Guessing the envelope's contents became a daily exercise. It was a breeze for me. But I still didn't get how Fatty managed to guess right every time.
After that, the training got more monotonous. We had to run 5 kilometers around the underground track with 11-pound sandbags tied to our bodies. That wasn't a big deal to me—back in the army, we used to do cross-country runs with 44-pound loads. This was nothing. But Fatty couldn't handle it. He ran barely halfway before collapsing, foaming at the mouth.
It felt strangely familiar.
"Lazi, carry him," said Hao Wenming, who had appeared silently on the field, pointing at Fatty Sun, now spread out like a crab.
Old Wang used to carry me like that. Now I had to carry this guy? That's karma for you. Looking at the 286-pound hunk of meat that was Fatty Sun, I felt completely daunted. I protested, "Why do I have to carry him?"
"Because you're teammates—you have to support each other. No more questions. Get moving!" Hao Wenming waved his hand with finality.
I went over to Fatty. He was feeling a bit better and wiped the foam from his lips with his sleeve, looking at me pitifully.
I couldn't carry him on my back, so I had to drag him up by the arms. I whispered in his ear, "How much do you weigh?"
"About 286 pounds," he said weakly.
Two-eighty-six? No way that's it. Later I learned that the scale maxed out at 286 pounds—that was just the upper limit.
And for some reason, that made me think of Old Wang's rubber baton…
What puzzled me most was the Bagua formation on the training ground.
It consisted of eight electronic panels embedded into the corners of the ground. They had Bagua symbols and 49 random numbers laid out in no discernible pattern.
After the envelope test each morning, Ouyang Pianzuo would disappear, leaving the rest of our training to Hao Wenming. I figured Hao had some dirt on him—Ouyang would call, and Hao would show up with a thundercloud over his face.
"Hey, you two. Shoes and socks off. Stand on the Bagua panel," Hao ordered grimly.
We weren't sure what was going on, but we obeyed and stepped beside the formation barefoot.
The rules were simple: step on the numbers in order.
We were just starting to feel confident after walking one full round when Hao upped the challenge. "Again. This time it's harder." He flipped a switch, and the number lights started flashing. "Same as before—but now, step on the number before the light goes out."
"Tch, kiddie stuff. It's just a dance machine," Fatty said. He stepped onto "1" just as its light went off, and "2" started flashing.
But the interval was only about half a second. Before Fatty could lift his leg, the second light blinked off and "3" came on.
That's too fast!
Before I could even react, Fatty collapsed, twitching violently on the ground. His hair stood on end.
What the hell? Did he have epilepsy?
Fortunately, he recovered quickly, though his legs were shaky. "Damn it… Director, this thing's leaking electricity. Get someone to fix it!"
But Hao's reply almost made Fatty cough up blood. "Oh, right—I forgot to mention. If you don't step on the correct number before the light goes out, you get hit with a 1,000-volt shock. Don't worry, it's just for a moment. Won't kill you. Though… if you get zapped too many times, there could be side effects—like facial twitching or something. Nothing major. Anyway, Lazi—you're up."
You son of a—where'd you learn this crap?!
I was fuming inside but didn't dare show it on my face. "Director Hao, maybe you could turn off the switch and let us practice a bit more first? I promise, in two months I'll nail it in one go."
"No can do," he said firmly. "Everyone in the Bureau has to pass this. I already let you familiarize yourselves once—that was me being nice. Besides, if I turn off the switch now, what will Fatty think? That's favoritism. I can't let this hurt your team spirit."
Fatty chimed in cheerfully, "Lazi, getting electrocuted once in a while ain't so bad—call it electrotherapy." The bastard was clearly thinking better both get shocked than just me.
I had no way out. Gritting my teeth, I stepped onto the Bagua. After watching Fatty get fried, I went all in—full concentration. Step by step, I was cautious to the extreme.
But even so, when I moved from step 13 to 14, I was just a split second too slow.
A bolt of electricity shot up from my left foot, ran through all my organs, and exited through my right sole.
After lunch, we had theory classes—from why Confucius refused to speak of ghosts and gods, to Daoist doctrines, from Zhang Jue's Taiping Qingling Shu to Zhang Daoling's Five Pecks of Rice Sect (Tianshi Dao).
The instructor was Deputy Director Yi from Room Five. His teaching was heavy on theory but completely lacking in charm—nothing like his famous namesake Yi Zhongtian. Both Fatty and I nearly dozed off. Yi didn't seem to care—he talked, we slept. No conflict. It was a good way to recover from the morning's stress.
This went on for over two months. The final assessment was near. Everything else was manageable—but that damn Bagua formation was still hell. We had managed to complete all 49 steps over a month ago, but Hao Wenming made it even harder: we now had to do it blindfolded.
After countless electric shocks, Fatty and I finally memorized the entire sequence through sheer brute force.
The assessment day finally arrived. Whether we'd get paid next month depended on it. As I looked at my deflating wallet, I couldn't help getting anxious.
Fatty Sun, on the other hand, seemed totally relaxed. A skinny camel is still bigger than a horse—he'd been undercover for years, drawing two paychecks. Of course he was more comfortable than I was.
The assessment day finally arrived. Whether we could get our salary next month hinged on this. Looking at my increasingly thin wallet, I was starting to feel uneasy. Fatty Sun, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered. A lean camel is still bigger than a horse—after all, he had been an undercover agent for years, drawing two paychecks. No matter how you looked at it, his pockets were still deeper than mine.