Chapter Eight: Before Departure

When I returned to my apartment, it was already past one in the morning. Just as I was about to open the door, I saw Tang Xin waiting for me at the entrance. His face showed signs of exhaustion, but upon seeing me, excitement swept away any trace of fatigue.

He greeted me politely, “Teacher!”

I didn’t ask how long he’d been waiting. There was no need; anyone in this situation would know his wait had been lengthy. I invited him inside, offered him a seat, and brewed him a cup of coffee.

Tang Xin thanked me courteously, then fell silent. Perhaps he wasn’t sure where to begin.

I knew he had come for more than just borrowing that book, but since he seemed uncertain, it was up to me to break the ice.

I pulled "Chronicles of the Spirit Realm" from the bookshelf and handed it to him. Seeing his hesitation, I smiled gently and said, “In truth, the world cannot be fully explained by human ability. What we truly witness is only one facet of reality.”

“This book, ‘Chronicles of the Spirit Realm,’ was written in the 16th century by a man named Swedenborg—his English name was E. Edenborg. Over thirty years, he recorded his experiences in the spirit world and was hailed as ‘the most extraordinary and mysterious figure in Western European history.’ The work comprises eight thick volumes, thousands of pages, most of which are carefully preserved in the British Museum in London. What I have here is a hand-copied version I managed to obtain through various means. It’s incomplete, but contains the essential parts.”

I gave him a brief introduction to the book. Tang Xin looked at me and asked directly, “Teacher, do you believe in ghosts?” It was the third time today he’d asked; twice before in class.

“If you believe, they exist; if not, they don’t. But I believe,” I answered firmly.

He relaxed at my definite reply, then asked, “If there are ghosts, then surely there must be ways to deal with them, right, Teacher?”

I nodded. “Historical records mention the Maoshan sect in Zhenjiang. Their priests specialize in exorcising ghosts and subduing demons. Zhang Tianshi was the founder. Many others had such abilities. Whether these skills have been passed down to the present day—and to what degree—I cannot say.”

Tang Xin murmured, “As long as there’s hope, that’s enough.”

His peculiar words gave me a clue, but since he didn’t elaborate, I refrained from prying. Such matters are best revealed voluntarily.

Reluctantly, I offered, “I have a friend who specializes in this field. If you’re interested in supernatural knowledge, you can talk to him. Perhaps he can help you. His name is Gu Jing.”

I handed Tang Xin Gu Jing’s phone number and address, cautioning him, “He’s eccentric. If he refuses to see you, don’t force it. It’s a matter of fate.”

Tang Xin grew excited, bowed and thanked me, then left.

I saw him off at the door, secretly forming a gesture of protection with my right hand and pressing it lightly against his back. This was no ordinary blessing; I had learned the mudra from a Tibetan master and combined it with my own insights to create a unique seal for safety. I hoped it would keep Tang Xin safe.

Unexpectedly, when I returned from Xi’an, Gu Jing found me and told me what had happened to Tang Xin. Only then did I realize that my protective seal had indeed saved his life.

The next day, before I’d even fully woken, the doorbell rang. I’d planned to sleep in—after all, today was my day off, and tomorrow I’d be flying out—but someone had disturbed my rest.

Peering through the peephole, I saw Mrs. Wang, who had apparently forgotten her keys. But to my surprise, behind her stood Wang Tingting. She made a playful face at me and slipped inside.

Mrs. Wang chuckled, “Changfeng, so you’ve got a girlfriend now and didn’t even mention it. You’re so tight-lipped! She met me downstairs, so I brought her up with me. You go keep her company, I’ll make you both breakfast.”

I shook my head in resignation, wishing it were all a dream.

Entering the room, I saw Wang Tingting, leg crossed, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. Without looking up, she remarked, “Changfeng—full name Wanyan Changfeng—undergraduate degree, worked in Beijing and Guangzhou, changed jobs twelve times just this year. Don’t you think the Commercial Investigation Bureau would mistake you for a corporate spy?”

Listening to her recite my history, I realized she’d dug up what little information was available on me. Even uncovering my surname was impressive.

“Wang Tingting, female, twenty-three, graduated university at twenty-one with a degree in foreign languages. Studied in Singapore for two years, earned an MBA. Father, Wang Fugui, president of Shengmin Pharmaceutical Group…” I replied, matching her tone.

To my surprise, she jumped up, pointed at my nose, and accused, “Wanyan Changfeng, you’re despicable! How dare you investigate me behind my back!”

Her outburst was comical—a beauty feigning the manner of a shrew, scolding in the street. Anyone witnessing it would remember it for life.

I brushed aside her pointed finger, smugly retorting, “Don’t get so worked up, Miss. You investigated me first, didn’t you?”

“Hmph! Who are you really? Where did you get my file?” she demanded.

“Oh, who I am—you can ask your second uncle. As for your file, that’s all there was. I also know who your first boyfriend was. Want me to describe him?”

“Stop! Stop! My second uncle refused to say a word and scolded me for bothering you,” she replied with an innocent face, pretending to be pitiful. “You bullied me in class, now you’ve investigated me. What are you after?”

Her demeanor and tone made it look as though I had wronged her. If I hadn’t experienced her tricks before, I’d surely be caught off guard.

I replied coldly, “Listen, Wang Tingting, it was you who wanted me to go to the police station, and you who followed me to my lectures. I haven’t even settled that score. You didn’t come here today just to play the victim, did you?” I added, “If you were really a weak woman, you wouldn’t have single-handedly smashed the Japanese dojo in Singapore!”

I expected her to blow up at my words, but she surprised me. Her face changed, her eyes spun mischievously, and she dropped her gaze, fiddling with her braid in silence.

I continued, “Someone who can single-handedly wreck a dojo and pesters me to learn martial arts—hmm, this isn’t as simple as it seems!”

Just then, Mrs. Wang called out, “Come, breakfast is ready. You two, stop quarreling.” She must have overheard my raised voice and assumed we were arguing.

Wang Tingting, seeing Mrs. Wang intervene, bounced up and dragged me by the hand into the living room for breakfast, feigning intimacy.

Though annoyed, I couldn’t help but notice how skillfully she played her part, her small, delicate hand firmly gripping mine.

The three of us sat together. Out of respect for Mrs. Wang, we refrained from discussing anything further during breakfast, intending to question her later.

Mrs. Wang, seeing us so close, cheerfully remarked, “Changfeng, you’re grown up now. You’ve got such a lovely girlfriend in Tingting—why didn’t you bring her home sooner?”

Wang Tingting blushed, lowered her head, and pretended to be shy.

I sipped my soy milk, smiling wryly, and asked Mrs. Wang, “Did she say she was my girlfriend?”

Mrs. Wang was caught off guard by my question, staring blankly.

Unexpectedly, Wang Tingting chimed in, “Mrs. Wang, Changfeng just proposed to me yesterday!”

At her words, I nearly spat out my soy milk and choked, coughing violently.

Wang Tingting covered her mouth, laughing quietly at my distress.

Mrs. Wang exclaimed, “Oh!” and, after offering congratulations, made an excuse to leave.

My throat burning and unable to speak, I rushed to the bathroom. This girl was ruthless—she dared to say anything.