Chapter Seventeen: Prolonging Life

He looked at me and sighed in embarrassment, "I... cough... I did my best."

"I did my best"—the most perfunctory phrase, leaving you uncertain how much effort the other person truly expended. I had waited, I had helped, I had done my part, and when it was finally my turn, all I got was "I did my best!" It's impossible not to feel some resentment.

At first, I had clung to a faint hope of survival, not thinking much of it, but now anxiety and panic began to take hold. I truly felt death creeping nearer.

Footsteps echoed from upstairs, accompanied by joyful voices. Xiao Nest was safe, and the others were unharmed as well. Everyone rejoiced; all troubles seemed resolved.

But what about me? How much time do I have left? How much longer can I live? Why is it me? Why not someone else? What sort of ghost curse is this? Grandfather never told me about it; he simply asked me to carry the talisman until I turned eighteen. Now, I'm already an adult, twenty years old, no longer frail or sickly, as healthy as anyone else. Why has this ghost curse suddenly appeared?

"Luo Zi, what's wrong?" Wen Zai returned and asked.

I neither looked at him nor spoke.

Old Chen rested at Wen Zai's grandmother's house for two days. Once his health recovered a little, he performed the ritual to prolong my life.

This so-called life extension was merely suppressing the ghost curse on me. The process was not complicated: he set up a ritual altar, had me remove my shirt, and after a series of bell-ringing, sword-dancing, chanting scriptures and incantations, he pricked my finger, mixed the blood with cinnabar ink, and drew a talisman on my left chest.

When all was done, his face was ghastly pale, devoid of any color—evidence that he had exhausted himself.

I helped him to a chair, where he sat, breathing heavily. "My abilities are lacking," he said, "and after dealing with that female ghost, my vitality is drained. As for the curse on you, I can only suppress it for another month."

A month! I had hoped for more time, but "doing one's best" always turns out to be nothing but empty words!

He sighed, "I truly owe you an apology. You've helped me several times, yet I couldn't help you."

I forced a bitter smile. "What's the point of saying that now? Sir, let me ask you one thing—am I truly beyond saving?"

"Not necessarily."

A jolt went through me—there was hope! I had nearly succumbed to despair, and now this old man revealed there was another way!

"I know someone whose abilities surpass mine. If you seek him out, perhaps there is a sliver of hope."

I was so overwhelmed I nearly wept for joy. Never before had I cherished life so much. I hurriedly asked for this person's name and address.

Old Chen gave me both. The man wasn't in Guangdong, but not far away—he was in my hometown, Guangxi. That was good news; at least he was a fellow countryman and surely wouldn't let me die.

I thought for a moment and said, "Old Chen, since you know him, could you help by letting him know I'll be coming, or perhaps give me a letter of introduction or something? If he sees it's from you, maybe he'll be more willing to help. After all, I've helped you quite a bit this time."

I'm no fool. I noticed his earlier phrasing—"try," "a sliver of hope"—meaning this person was not easy to deal with. As the saying goes, without a proper introduction, even nonsense goes unheard. It's best to have something like an imperial token to increase my odds.

Old Chen looked at me, half smiling, half not. "You're quite clever, young man."

If I couldn't spot such nuances, all my years as a top student would have been in vain.

He gazed at me, his eyes complex, as if hesitating over something. This time, I truly couldn't decipher his thoughts. His emotions seemed unrelated to my current situation, but rather tied to something deeper.

After a moment, as if having made up his mind, he said, "I'm not very close to him. Take this... cough, cough... this divine seal with you, and he'll help you."

He handed me the seal. I examined it, thinking how fate had brought it back to me; I'd used it before to deal with ghosts, and now it was in my hands again.

Old Chen's gaze lingered on the seal for a long while before he looked away, his expression both reluctant and relieved, as if the seal had finally found its rightful owner.

He murmured softly, "Perhaps this is fate's decree..."

Does the seal hold some special significance?

Old Chen didn't stay any longer. Once his business was done, he packed up and left.

Wen Zai's uncle had Wen Zai send money to him early on. I never knew how much it cost to hire Old Chen until Wen Zai returned and told me. The price was steep—three hundred thousand. At first, the offer was two hundred thousand, but after negotiations with the ghost merchant failed, and with my situation added, the fee rose by another hundred thousand.

The money wasn't all from Wen Zai's grandmother's family; the families of the other affected children contributed as well.

Watching Old Chen leave, half a life lost, I had nothing more to say about the money.

I told Wen Zai I'd transfer my share when we got back to the café.

Wen Zai insisted it wasn't necessary. I only got involved because I accompanied him, helped them so much, and now with my life hanging in the balance, how could he accept my money?

There was another reason he didn't mention: judging by his family's wealth, the sum meant little. Though his grandmother lived in a city village, it was simply habit; neither his family nor hers lacked money.

I was adamant. "I helped you because of our friendship. Old Chen helped me, so I must pay my share. Family background is nonsense. Do you think I'm trying to show off? I will allocate our finances proportionally, as any reasonable person would. Take the money and treat me as a friend; refuse it, and you look down on me."

Wen Zai was stunned. After a long silence, he finally said, "With words like that, of course I consider you a friend."

My time was short. Before seeking the man Old Chen recommended, I needed to return and pack my things. So, I would leave the next day, and Wen Zai would come with me.

On the train back, I asked Wen Zai, "By the way, where is your grandmother from? What's her surname?"

"She's from Guangzhou. Surname Fan. Why?"

I understood at last. I glanced at the search results on my phone: most self-combing women migrated to Guangzhou, Hong Kong, and other big cities to work as nannies for wealthy families. That female ghost was likely one of them in her lifetime.

I recalled the incantation that summoned the ghost, thinking how true it was—debts repaid, grudges avenged. The self-combing woman ghost came by chance, but her clinging to Xiao Nest was no coincidence.

I remembered that surreal vision: the slender woman, terrified and helpless, pleading, "Young Master Fan! Please, have mercy on me!"