Time flew by. Ever since that incident, my daily life had returned to its usual rhythm—surfing the web, sleeping, eating—but I added one new activity: practicing how to draw the Liuhe Command Talisman and the Liuding Liujia Exorcism Talisman. I even mastered another five types of talismans. Though my progress was slow, I made three of each to stash in my wallet—just in case I ran into any paranormal stuff again.

Luckily, the next two months passed without incident. However, Han Sifan didn’t come looking for me or Brother Xiang much during this time. I figured it was probably because of that Spirit Within Paint incident, where she cried in front of me. Maybe she was feeling embarrassed about it.

Meanwhile, Zhang Daozhang frequently invited me on “adventures”—things like checking out a haunted house in the east of the city or exploring an ancient burial ground in the west. Honestly, those outings were boring, but Zhang Daozhang and Liu Bi were over the moon every time. Those two are true die-hard fans of the supernatural.

Before I knew it, winter break had arrived. On the day school let out, I, Brother Xiang, Tai Long, and Little Fatty went out for a meal together. After spending half a year playing around, our bond was naturally solid. Anyone who’s been to college would understand.

Brother Xiang and I had bus tickets for four in the afternoon to head back to Changshou.

After our meal, we returned to the dorm to grab our luggage. Tai Long and Little Fatty had earlier tickets, so they said their goodbyes and left for home first.

Once Brother Xiang and I had finished packing, we lounged on our beds for a short nap before heading to the bus station.

When we got there, I couldn’t help feeling nostalgic as I looked at the terminal. I thought back to how Brother Xiang and I had first arrived in Chongqing six months ago. Time really does fly.

We boarded the bus and took seats at the back. I put on my earphones, zoning out to music while gazing out the window. Beside me, Brother Xiang had already shut his eyes and dozed off.

About an hour later, we arrived in Changshou. As soon as we stepped off the bus, it started pouring. Hugging our heads, we dashed outside the station and flagged a cab, quickly giving the driver the address.

The taxi sped along, taking only a little over ten minutes to reach Duzhou. After getting out, Brother Xiang waved goodbye and headed home.

I, however, lingered for a moment. Instead of heading straight home, I walked toward the Old fortune-teller’s house. I hadn’t seen that old man in half a year, and honestly, I missed him.

When I got to his door, I knocked and shouted, “Old man, hurry up and open the door! I’m back!”

“Huh? You little brat, weren’t you off at school?” the Old fortune-teller opened the door, looking a bit surprised. Standing there in a black tank top and shorts, with slippers on his feet, he radiated a strange kind of carefree vibe—even on a rainy day. Meanwhile, I was bundled up in a down jacket and still felt cold.

“I’m on break, thought I’d come visit you.” I stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. The interior hadn’t changed much, so I plopped myself down on his leather sofa.

Seeing this, the Old fortune-teller rushed over. “Hey! Your clothes are soaked, and you’re sitting on my leather sofa? Take off that wet coat right now!”

“Oh, oh!” I quickly stood up, took off my jacket, and wrapped myself in a blanket I found. Honestly, this weather was freezing.

the Old fortune-teller chuckled at the sight and went to the kitchen. He returned with a bowl of ginger soup, setting it down in front of me. I didn’t hesitate, taking a sip. Warmth spread through my stomach instantly.

“When did you get back, kid?” the Old fortune-teller asked with a smile.

“Just now. Haven’t even gone home to see my mom yet—I came to see you first. Touched, aren’t you?” I set the bowl down and gave him a smug look.

“Touched, my foot! You’re never here unless you need something. If you didn’t have business, you’d probably stay home like a log rather than come see me.” the Old fortune-teller crossed his legs, looking suspicious. “Spit it out. What do you want?”

“Well…” I hesitated for a moment. “I wanted to ask about my dad. Who he really is and what he does. Last time, you mentioned he’s a yin-yang master, but I don’t know anything beyond that—not what he does, or where he’s gone.”

At the mention of my dad, the Old fortune-teller’s eye twitched ever so slightly. “Why don’t you just tell me, huh?” I pressed.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he said after a pause. “It’s that your mom doesn’t want me to. Besides, even if I did tell you, it might not be a good thing.”

Though his words seemed firm, there was a hint of hesitation in his tone. My heart leaped with hope, and I quickly said, “Come on! I’m already eighteen—nearly nineteen! If I can’t know now, then when?”

He sighed, stood up, and said, “Fine, follow me.”

He handed me a raincoat before putting one on himself and heading out. I hurriedly followed, donning my raincoat on the way.

The rain had lightened considerably. The Old fortune-teller led the way toward Jilinpo, a small hill not far from Duzhou. The hill was dotted with graves—a burial site for the residents of Duzhou and nearby villages.

When we reached Jilinpo, the sight of countless tombstones spread out before me. Memories of my childhood came flooding back—how Brother Xiang and I had loved exploring this place, back when it seemed like the scariest spot in the world. Looking back now, we were so naive.

The Old fortune-teller led me up the hill. At the halfway point, we entered a bamboo grove. To my surprise, there was a clearing in the middle, with over twenty graves.

“This is your Chen family’s ancestral burial ground,” the Old fortune-teller said, pointing to the graves. “All your close ancestors are buried here.”

I was puzzled. I’d come to ask about my dad, so why were we here at the family graves? Feeling a bit strange, I asked, “If our family’s ancestral graves are so close, why has my mom never brought me here to pay respects?”

“It’s not too late to start now. Go ahead and pay your respects to your ancestors.” the Old fortune-teller chuckled softly and handed me a bundle of incense. Though it was still drizzling, the rain was light, and the bamboo provided good cover. Lighting the incense was no issue.

The first grave I approached bore a simple inscription: Chen Ling (1925–1950). That was it—no extra details. Only twenty-five years old, I thought. A short life. I lit three sticks of incense, knelt down to bow, and placed the incense in front of the grave.