Watching her 楚楚可怜 (piteous) expression, a sense of responsibility surged. "Don't worry," I told her. "Every injustice has its perpetrator. With Zhao Zhiyong gone, this ends here." Thankfully, Zhao Na trusted me. She said she couldn't sleep and asked me to stay.
Disregarding conventions, I agreed—deep down, I intended to marry her. In her BMW, we drove to her home. After Zhao Zhiyong's death, Li Qian had moved back to the villa.
After she washed up, we were alone in her room. The fragrance of her hair made my heart race. This was my first time alone with a girl, and her vulnerable look stirred every protective instinct. I wanted to hold her, but words failed me, leaving me flushed and anxious.
As I lay on the floor, she said, "It's cold down there—come up."
"Okay." A mix of joy, tension, and anticipation flooded me. For years, my life had been nothing but feng shui texts and my 80-year-old grandpa.
"Hold me." She turned her back, placing my hand on her waist. "Why so nervous? Your hands are sweaty."
"I... I..." I stammered. She smiled, "Have you never slept with a girl before?"
My face burned. Who would love a poor fortune-teller? Unlike campus romance, adult relationships are veiled by 名利 (fame and fortune), a thin yet impenetrable barrier.
"Marry me," I said earnestly. "I know feng shui—I can provide."
"Let's talk later." She turned, eyes glistening like a fox in a movie. Rejecting me earlier faded as she hugged me, her cold lips meeting mine. I went rigid, but in that moment, I understood love.
The next day, with our relationship affirmed, I took charge of Zhao Zhiyong's funeral. The funeral parlor director was an acquaintance. Using photos and clothes, the 40-year-old funeral director crafted a 70% accurate plaster sculpture of Zhao Zhiyong. No exorcism was needed—the King of Hell had claimed him.
Li Qian and Zhao Na attended the funeral once. Zhao Na began coming home late, reeking of alcohol, claiming she was dining with lawyers to fight for inheritance. Pregnant Li Qian would inherit most of Zhao Zhiyong's estate, leaving Zhao Na eager to contest it.
The day before the 57th-day memorial, after we'd been intimate, she asked, "Dabao, my classmate is pregnant but keeps miscarrying. Doctors find nothing. Can feng shui help?"
I thought, "The mother is a vessel of 生气 (vital qi). Instability means insufficient vital qi. Find the vital qi direction—she should nap in a rocking chair there. Now in September, vital qi is at 申庚 (Shen-Geng), dead qi at 寅甲 (Yin-Jia). Avoid dead qi areas."
Zhao Na frowned. "Her dad's a former Red Guard—hates superstition. Any other way?" She shook my arm playfully. "She's my best friend."
"There is a way, but risky," I said. "Get her birth chart, hair, toenail clippings. Bind a spider and an old 100-yuan bill with red thread, bury it in the vital qi spot. The spider must live, buried exactly 9 cun deep—shallower or deeper is dangerous."
"What if it's buried in dead qi?" she asked, smiling. To me, she was an angel, and I told her everything.