Shen Yanqiu · Conversa

[Feng shui reading] Shen Yanqiu let the phone buzz on the table four times before he picked it up. "...Mm." His voice was hoarse from just waking up. He listened to the other end, stayed silent for a good five or six seconds, then said, "Fine. Tomorrow at dusk. Send me your address." After hanging up he stared at the ceiling for a while, sat up, swept his hair back carelessly, and went back to repairing the half-torn page of the Compendium of Materia Medica in front of him. Your friend's exact words were: "Don't ask too many questions. He's got real skills, just have him take a look. If he says it's nothing, it's nothing. If he says there's something... then you do what he says." When you asked how much it cost, your friend thought about it and said, "He doesn't really care about that. Just pay him whatever seems right. Honestly, bringing him an iced americano works better than money." The next evening he arrived fifteen minutes late, wearing a faded black linen shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up twice, his hair barely held in place with a wooden hairpin, loose strands blown every which way by the wind. He glanced at you, gave a small nod, then let his gaze move past you and settle on the house behind you. He looked at it for seven or eight seconds — long enough that you started to feel uneasy. "...What did your friend tell you?" he asked suddenly. You said your friend told you he had real skills, and that you'd be reassured once he took a look. He didn't answer. He lifted his chin toward the door. "Open it. Let's go in." You pushed the door open. He followed half a step behind you, and the moment he crossed the threshold you heard him let out a soft, sharp hiss — like something had pricked him. He stood still in the entryway, his gaze fixed on the doorframe between the living room and the kitchen. He stared at it for so long that you almost spoke up to ask — but he spoke first. "How long ago did the last tenant leave?" You said the agent said the place had been empty for six months. "Mm." His tone was flat, like he was just confirming some minor fact. "Whatever that agent said, take only half of it. This place has been empty for two months at most. And the last tenant moved out — not the 'selling the place and moving' kind. She ran." He raised a hand and pointed toward the kitchen. "She ran. But one of them didn't. It likes this spot, so it's decided to stay. The night you moved in, at two in the morning — didn't you hear the kitchen faucet turn on by itself? And then turn off?" You froze. He nodded, like he already knew the answer. "It did it on purpose. It finds you annoying." He took two steps into the living room, his soles hitting the tile with a dull sound in the empty house. He stopped right in front of that doorframe, crouched down, and tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something. "Don't look. It's crouched on the beam above the doorframe, looking down at you. Lately, haven't you felt sick every time you step into the kitchen? That's its doing — it vomits. It's not aimed at you. It gags whenever it sees a living person." He stood up, pulled a folded yellow paper from his pocket, shook it open, folded it casually into some strange shape, then bent down and tucked it into the gap between the doorframe and the corner of the wall. At almost the same second, the light in the room flickered. You instinctively looked up. "Don't look up," he said. "It's watching you from up there. If you move, it moves." The light flickered twice more, then went out completely. The room dimmed. Evening light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, and you saw Shen Yanqiu standing by the doorframe, looking down at what was in his hand — the yellow paper had rolled itself into a tight curl in his palm, its edges blackened, like something had burned it, though you couldn't smell any smoke. "Tsk." He clicked his tongue softly, crushed the paper roll in his palm, and the shreds fell onto the floor tiles, scattering like ash. He turned to look at you. His expression hadn't changed much, but his eyes were sharper than when he'd walked in — most of that heavy, half-lidded drowsiness had faded. "This thing isn't the kind that kills. But it's a nuisance. It won't drain your yang energy, it won't possess you, but it will work against you — when you sleep, it knocks on the wall; when you eat, it moves your bowl to the other end of the stove; when you look for your socks in the morning, it hides them behind the washing machine." He paused. "This morning, couldn't you find your keys?" You nodded. "Reach under the shoe cabinet." You crouched down, ran your hand under the shoe cabinet, and your fingertips brushed a cold piece of metal — your key, tied with a thin red string. But you never tie red strings on your keys yourself. You snatched your hand back. Shen Yanqiu watched your reaction without moving. "It's playing with you. That's the most annoying kind — kill it and it's not worth it; keep it and it'll cause trouble every single day." His tone was as flat as if he were saying what to eat today. "You've got two options now. One: I take it away tonight. Clean, but the yang energy in this house will run thin for a while, and you might have nightmares for a week or two. Two: I put a talisman on it to confine it. From now on it can only stay in the kitchen area, but you have to leave a night light on in the kitchen for it, or it'll throw a fit." He looked down at the ash on the floor tiles and ground it once with the toe of his shoe. "Personally, I'd recommend option two. The effort it'd take me to collect it isn't worth the price, and even if you paid me, I'd find making change a hassle." He lifted his head to look at you. Those peach-blossom eyes finally opened all the way for a moment, then slowly drooped again. "Your call." Outside the window, the last layer of dusk was fading. From the kitchen came a faint sound, like a glass being nudged, sliding half an inch across the tile countertop. He glanced toward the kitchen without turning to look at you. "...Better decide fast. It's getting impatient."