Chapter 39: A Strange Request

Liu Juan’s matter in the shadows had finally come to an end, and she paid me two hundred thousand in labor fees without hesitation. Well, it made sense—after all, her haunted house was now completely free of ghosts, restoring its actual value to the millions it was worth. Of course, after all she’d gone through, whether it would sell was another matter entirely.

Business had been thriving lately, and with Brother Xiaolin—a living Buddha himself—by my side, neither Brother Liao nor I felt threatened, no matter what manner of spirits or demons came our way.

Today, with nothing much to do, I found myself bored and sprawled across the tattoo bed, studying the design for the ink jade Qilin that Brother Xiaolin had given me. The power of ghost embroidery was truly formidable—the sight of the Qilin swallowing a ghost from Xiaolin’s back still lingered vividly in my memory.

“It’s a shame, really. This kind of ghost embroidery demands someone who can truly keep it in check.” But how was I supposed to repair this design? Whether or not it looked good was another matter; if Brother Xiaolin lost the power of his family heritage, even if he didn’t ruin my reputation, I’d be disgraced among those who walk the shadows.

Tattooing is, in its own way, an art. When inspiration runs dry, restlessness soon follows. I couldn’t help but sigh and groan upon the tattoo bed.

A series of knocks came from the door.

That must be Liao, I thought. He hadn’t been gone long—had that old man’s shabby chess stall at the entrance been overturned?

“All right, all right, I’m coming!” I grumbled, shuffling to the door in my slippers.

Sliding up the shutter, I saw a woman of enormous girth standing in the doorway.

As soon as I opened the door, she laboriously shifted her bulk, trying to squeeze into the shop.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? I haven’t even let you in yet.”

She snickered, “So, Yin-Yang Embroidery has started refusing clients at the door?”

Hearing she was here for business, I relaxed a little.

Her appearance was hardly flattering—an overweight body, a head of tight curls, garish makeup plastered across her face. Even her black sunglasses couldn’t conceal her chubby cheeks, though she did have a certain domineering landlady vibe.

“All right, tell me—what unclean thing has got you spooked?”

“It’s not about anything unclean. I’m here to ask—does your Yin-Yang Embroidery do everything?” I really didn’t understand what she meant by “everything.”

“Be specific,” I replied.

“Oh come on, you don’t recognize me? Haven’t you ever seen my Douyin channel? I’m the hottest mukbang host right now.” She boasted, proudly whipping out her phone to show off her follower count.

I wasn’t one for these trends—Liao might recognize her, but I had little interest in such things. Still, respect where it’s due: with a million followers, you couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Oh! So it’s you—I’ve heard a lot about you. Your eating streams always make my mouth water.”

She giggled. “I’m here today to ask you for a tattoo—one that will let me eat continuously!”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?”

The request left me at a loss. I’d had all sorts of clients—some wanted wealth, some sought love, others were after luck, or even weight loss—but I’d never heard of a tattoo for eating. Her request reminded me of the Thai practitioners’ ‘food spell’—but that was for harming others, not oneself.

“I mean, is there a Yin-Yang Embroidery that will let me keep a great appetite, but stop me from getting fat?”

Ah, so that was it. The rise of short-video apps had brought fierce competition for influencers and streamers. Live mukbangs were all the rage—a trend that even Liao had said could lift people’s spirits. With so many cuisines in the world, showcasing and reviewing them professionally was even a boon to tourism.

But in recent years, mukbang had changed for the worse. Now the short-video platforms were filled with “big eaters”—hosts who piled bowl upon bowl of food on their tables and streamed themselves bingeing. Some even ate, forced themselves to vomit, and then ate again—wasting food and destroying their health, all for the sake of tips and traffic.

The woman before me, Qi, was just such a streamer. In her older videos, she was a slim, lively young woman. In just a few years, she’d become the formidable landlady standing before me.

“So? Can you do it? My video metrics have been falling—viewers prefer hosts who can eat and still look good. Can you do a Yin-Yang Embroidery that lets me eat endlessly and not get fat?”

I shook my head. There were plenty of tattoos that helped with weight loss—much like legitimate weight-loss methods, they either stimulated the urge to exercise or reduced appetite, and the benefit of Yin-Yang Embroidery was its compulsion, so clients couldn’t slack off. But none of these would work for Qi, since her career depended on eating. There was a fundamental contradiction.

As I pondered, Liao came in humming a tune. He glanced at Qi with clear disdain in his eyes.

Qi bristled at that look, grabbing Liao by the collar and demanding an explanation. I quickly stepped in to mediate: “He’s my shop’s technical consultant—just a misunderstanding.”

After much effort, the misunderstanding was cleared up. Liao leaned over and whispered, “Damn, you’ve got business and you didn’t say so? I thought the landlady was here to collect rent.”

“Well, do you know any designs that let people eat endlessly?”

“That’s easy. It’s in the Classic of Mountains and Seas—the Taotie. But that’s a ferocious beast; ordinary folks can’t handle such a design.”

The Taotie was clearly not an option—ancient, savage, and more harmful than helpful.

“Hey, can you do it or not? I found a Thai guy who promised I could eat endlessly without hurting my body, but he wanted fifty thousand! Way too expensive.” Qi was losing patience, drumming her fingers on the table.

“Go ahead and try, but you probably wouldn’t survive a year,” Liao sneered.

“If I can’t get popular, I might as well be dead.”

She was mad—truly mad. To become famous, she’d do anything.

I flipped through my design book, feeling helpless. Suddenly, a pattern caught my eye: a small snake coiled around a peony.

“Snake Twined Peony. Legend has it the little green snake is the incarnation of the mountain god of the Green Mountains—immensely strong, capable of swallowing an ox a day. The peony is a sign of good fortune, suitable for women, conveying health and auspiciousness. It can relieve symptoms of anorexia and weakness.”

The snake in the design looked nothing like a fierce or cold-blooded creature—instead, it gave off a sense of harmony and warmth.