"Made some money?" she asked.
"Yep, got my first client." I told her about Madam Dong.
Zhao Na's eyes widened. "That magical?"
"Yin spirit arrays work fast but have backlash. Normal feng shui relies on virtue, slower but stable—it can't make you rich, but keeps you safe."
"Make one for me!" She leaned in, shaking my arm. My heart melted.
Asking what she wanted, she pouted about flunking exams. "Study hard," I laughed, but she complained about memory loss. I bought a Wenchang Pagoda, infused it with qi, and told her to place it on her desk with mist twice a week for focus.
Holding the pagoda, she giggled. "You're so serious about feng shui, but like a kid otherwise."
She was right. Four years of isolation left me both ancient in wisdom and childish in life—no movies, no pop culture, just grandpa's teachings. Despite her past (blamed on the Rat Curse), Zhao Na was kind. A poor fortune - teller like me should cherish her favor. "Let's go—you choose the restaurant."
"Pizza Hut!"
Our date felt surreal. She (held my arm), introduced me to (Western food), and I fumbled with (knife and fork), even asking for chopsticks. When she suggested clubbing, I pleaded work—she didn't mind, even walked me back.
Alone, I returned to the . Just as I was leaving, Old Wang blocked the door, beady eyes sizing me up. "Youngster, no respect for your elder?"
"Old Wang! What are you doing here?" I still resented him for dumping that client on me.
He smacked his lips, wiping them with a grimy sleeve. "Can't I visit? Call me Master Wang."
Before I could retort, he asked, "Who taught you yin - yang feng shui?"
"Want to learn?" I deflected.
"Is your master Li Xiaozhang?"
My grandpa's name shocked me. "You know him?"
"We're friends. I'm here about that curse."