Mayi Physiognomy

Business had been good lately, so I didn't need to keep the shop open late. Around six or seven in the evening, I'd close up and head to the bank to deposit the day's earnings in the ATM. Today was no different.

After depositing the money, I was distracted, thinking about dinner as I crossed the street. That momentary lapse nearly cost me dearly—a motorcycle came roaring toward me. I reacted at the last second, stumbling aside, but still fell hard. My hand landed on a sharp rock, tearing a deep gash. Blood instantly stained half my palm.

The motorcyclist saw me injured but didn't stop. He revved the engine and sped away.

A bloody palm—a literal blood calamity. Had my recent string of readings used up all my good luck, leaving only misfortune?

A few concerned passersby asked if I was okay. I waved them off, saying it was nothing, and they dispersed. Alone, I went to a nearby clinic to get bandaged. Thankfully, it was just a skin-deep cut—no stitches needed.

As I was about to leave, a news report flashed on the clinic's TV: a county official, exposed by a female subordinate who'd turned herself in, had slit his wrists at home. He'd bled out and died despite emergency efforts.

Huh. Was this the guy the female accountant who'd come to me had exposed?

While I pondered, the doctor bandaging me scoffed, "A corrupt official killing himself? Why bother saving him? If they'd brought him here, I'd have finished him off. Wasting the country's money."

Even with the county's limited medical resources, they wouldn't send him to this tiny clinic, I thought. Out loud, I said, "A doctor's heart is like a parent's. It's still a life."

The doctor waved a dismissive hand. "That thing deserved to be called a life?"

Clearly, he was a cynic.

Bandaged, I ate out before heading home. Xu Ruohui's light was already on when I arrived. I tried making small talk, but her replies were curt—"Hmm," "Oh." After two attempts, I gave up and retreated to my room to practice Grandpa's qigong techniques.

Night fell quickly. By nine, a light rain pattered outside. Worried the rooftop door might be open, I grabbed a flashlight to check. On the second floor, the air felt unnervingly still—especially near Xiang Lili's old room. That trauma ran deep.

My courtyard roof was glass-paneled. Raindrops tapped rhythmically against it, like single-note songs in the quiet dark. It was… peaceful. Gradually, my fear eased.

I shut the rooftop door firmly and was climbing down the ladder when—creak—it swung open again. A cold, wet gust blew in, drenching my face. I shivered violently.

Looking up, I saw the door swaying in the wind, hinges groaning. All peace vanished, replaced by creeping dread.

Must not have latched it properly. I climbed back up, slammed it shut, and rammed the bolt home. After checking twice, I descended. This time, it stayed closed. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The noise had probably disturbed Xu Ruohui. She emerged in a long nightgown. "What are you doing up there?"

Hearing a human voice steadied me. "Just closing the rooftop door."

"Oh," she said flatly, then retreated inside, shutting the door on further conversation.

The stairs to the first floor wound around the second-floor landing. At the top step, I shone my flashlight behind me. Nothing unusual.

I started down. Then it hit me—something was off. I'd seen it but hadn't registered it. Slowly, I turned.

Two sets of wet footprints trailed across the second-floor hallway. One was mine. The other?

I swallowed hard. The second set mirrored my path—heading downstairs. Judging by their position, their owner had been walking just behind and to my left.

A chill prickled my back.

The last print stopped beside me. I slowly looked up at my left shoulder. Empty. But I felt something there.

I took a step down. A new wet print appeared on the step below me.

My scalp crawled. What the hell? First the old man ghost, then Xiang Lili… now another? Could I ever live peacefully here?

I took a deep breath and rushed downstairs, diving into my room. Wang Junhui had said this room, Grandpa's old space, was saturated with his powerful Yang energy. Ghosts usually couldn't enter.

Slamming the door, I checked the floor. No new wet prints. Relief washed over me.

Then it hit me: If the ghost wasn't following me… where was it going? Xu Ruohui's room?

I yanked the door open. The glistening wet footprints were indeed heading straight for her door.

What do I do? Grandpa had said fighting ghosts required seeing them first. To see them, I needed to channel Qi through the "Supervisory Official" physiognomy gate—the eyes. Opening this gate was like Daoist spirit sight.

No time to hesitate. I focused, summoning that faint, fish-like current of Qi from my dantian. It flickered unsteadily, threatening to vanish.

Ignoring its fragility, I guided it upward through my physiognomy gates and into my eyes.

Though weak, the Qi flowed into my Supervisory Official gate. A cool clarity washed over my vision. The world snapped into sharper focus.

And there it was—a hazy, dark figure nearing Xu Ruohui's door.

I lunged, throwing a wild punch. My fist passed clean through its form. Momentum sent me stumbling. My bandaged palm slammed into the floor. White-hot pain flared; fresh blood bloomed beneath the gauze.

The noise startled Xu Ruohui. "Who's out there?" she called, voice tinged with fear.

"It's me!" I shouted. "Just… tidying up! Don't come out!"

She fell silent. The shadowy ghost, finally noticing me, stopped. Its face became clear: deathly pale, eyes sunken deep into their sockets. A swirling mass of dark, vicious energy obscured its nose. Its hollow gaze fixed on me.

I scrambled backward, then stood. Slowly, it raised an arm… and pointed directly at me.

It's here for me. When had I angered this ghost?

A realization jolted me. This ghost bore the physiognomy of a violent death. Its Wealth Palace brimmed with tainted riches, the dark energy even spilling into its Glabella. He'd died because of ill-gotten wealth. Was this the official who'd killed himself today?

But why come after me?

Outside, the rain intensified, hammering the glass roof like frantic drumming. The wind howled. The stormy night felt thick with menace.

The ghost drifted closer, whimpering—accusations, blame, pure hatred vibrating in the sound.

Panic surged. His suicide wasn't my fault! Had the accountant gone to him before confessing? Told him about the reading? Urged him to turn himself in too? When he refused, she'd confessed alone, exposing him. Facing ruin, he'd chosen death… and channeled all his fury toward the fortune-teller who'd started it.

Unbelievable bad luck. Why did every consequence of my readings involve vengeful ghosts?

As the shadow lunged, thunder cracked the sky—BOOM! A blinding bolt of lightning struck my glass roof.

Light seared my vision. Glass shattered, raining down. I threw myself sideways.

The shadowy ghost let out an unearthly screech and fled through the courtyard gate.

The lightning strike was terrifyingly abrupt.

Rain poured through the gaping hole in the roof. The acrid smell of burnt wiring filled the air.

The explosion of noise brought Xu Ruohui rushing out. "What happened?"

I pointed upward. "Lightning struck the roof. The hole's right above your door. Water's pouring in—you won't sleep there tonight. Take my room. I'll sleep in yours."

She stared at the water cascading onto her doorstep. "Okay. But don't touch my things."

I nodded numbly. My mind was elsewhere. All I could think about was the suicide ghost… and that inexplicable, life-saving bolt of lightning.