Chapter Forty-Two: Seeking Someone

We dashed all the way back to the tattoo shop, and Old Liao’s trip to southern Fujian had to be called off.

“Damn it, what rotten luck! No sooner do I step outside than I run into that sinister corpse driver,” Old Liao grumbled, sprawling onto the couch.

“I mean… it’s not that sinister, is it? He was just hurrying home with a corpse. If that’s considered evil, then what does that make me, fiddling with restless spirits every day?” I replied.

Old Liao looked at me, clicking his tongue in exasperation. “Have you ever heard of the Three Terrors of Western Hunan?”

“What do you mean?”

“Corpse-driving, poison-craft, and the Fallen Flower Cave Maidens.” Clearly put off by my ignorance, Old Liao didn’t bother to explain further, flopping down to sleep.

“I get the corpse-driving and poison-craft, but what’s a Fallen Flower Cave Maiden?” No answer from Old Liao.

“Tch, what’s there to be proud of? Didn’t he just get scared off by a corpse driver today?” I shrugged off his attitude, yawned, and went into the bedroom.

Only later did I realize that Old Liao was clutching that little embroidered pouch tightly in his hand, tears glimmering in his eyes.

The night passed uneventfully. I woke up sneezing—the weather in Guangdong is truly bizarre. It was sweltering just yesterday, and overnight it felt like autumn had swept in, bringing a sudden chill.

I contacted Little Qi in the morning. To my surprise, the yin-yang embroidery of the Serpent-Coiling Peony had worked wonders. Even without color, she said she already felt changes in her body—her words: she ate and drank as usual, but lost nearly nine pounds overnight.

What astonished me most was that, despite the cold, she woke up drenched in sweat. Could the yin-yang embroidery really help people lose weight in their sleep? If so, I might as well make a fortune specializing in dream-weight-loss tattoos—after all, many city women would happily spend thousands on slimming treatments.

We’d originally agreed to finish the coloring in three days, but upon discovering the benefits of the tattoo, Little Qi was eager to complete it as soon as possible, saying she’d come that very afternoon. The sooner the work was done, the sooner I’d get paid, so I was happy to oblige.

“Alright, I’ll come over after this livestream,” Little Qi said excitedly.

Curious, I opened her livestream. She wore a layered cake dress, her hair in a bun, playing the part of the girl-next-door—except at two hundred pounds, the image felt rather off. Imagine a two-hundred-pound girl in a school uniform leaping on you, shouting “Oni-chan!” I suspect anyone would shudder.

“Hey, viewers, today’s challenge is the fifteen-bucket fried chicken combo! There’s sweet and spicy, mustard, soy-sauce, cumin… basically, I bought every flavor on the market!” she announced.

“Send some gifts to cheer me on!”

What followed was a frenzied display of eating and tearing into fried chicken—so intense it was almost nauseating. It wasn’t the food’s fault; it was Little Qi’s exaggerated, ravenous motions, as if she were a starving ghost reborn, devouring the meat and skin. The little snake’s eye on her collarbone flickered with faint black light.

“It seems an uncolored tattoo still has its flaws—I need to finish this design soon,” I thought to myself.

“Ah, thank you for the rocket gift, love you~!”

Overall, the stream was a success. Though Little Qi was undeniably overweight, her face was strikingly pretty, and the contrast with her ravenous eating made for compelling viewing. The chat was flooded with comments: “Look how hungry the poor girl is, hasn’t eaten in half an hour!” and “Watching this made me grab a sausage to gnaw on myself.” In just over two hours, she collected a tidy sum in gifts, and ended the stream satisfied, bidding her audience farewell.

I grabbed a slice of toast myself—damn, these eating streams really do make you hungry.

Old Liao wandered out, stretching. “What’re you eating that’s so tasty?”

“Fifteen buckets of fried chicken, Onii-chan.”

He snorted. “Are you nuts? Wait, let me call emergency services.”

I ignored his teasing and began preparing the dye for the Serpent-Coiling Peony. Luckily, the colors were simple—a green and a red.

“Boss Zhang~”

A coy, syrupy voice announced her arrival as a heavy shadow swept into the shop.

“I’m going out for a bit. Call me if you need anything,” Old Liao muttered, trying to slip away. I caught him and pushed him onto the sofa.

“You’re not going anywhere today. Brothers stick together through thick and thin,” I growled.

Little Qi shot Old Liao a glare before lying down on the tattoo bed. I brought out the red and green dyes to begin coloring. The tattooed area on her skin was still slightly swollen, which might affect the finished look, but she was impatient, urging me to finish the work.

Soon, the design was complete—a brilliant display of crimson peony petals intertwined with a vivid green serpent beneath her broad collarbone.

“All done. But you still need to keep active—you can’t rely solely on the yin-yang embroidery,” I advised.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Let’s sign the contract and I’ll pay you.” She pulled an agreement from her pocket.

I skimmed it—it was the usual stuff: if the tattoo doesn’t work, I owe her compensation for psychological damages. I wasn’t worried; the effects were obvious from her daily livestreams. I signed.

“Do you smell something foul?” Little Qi suddenly pinched her nose. “It stinks!”

“Old Liao, did you forget to wash your feet again?”

“No way, I’m very clean.” He lifted his foot and sniffed. “Ugh—actually, it’s not that bad.”

But I noticed something off about the stench—a rank, earthy rot that spread through the room. I looked outside. There, at the door, stood a strange figure in a black robe and a straw hat, every inch of his body concealed except for a pair of cloudy, lifeless eyes.

“A corpse driver from Western Hunan!” I shot Old Liao a look; he understood instantly, hands moving toward his backpack.

“Hey, where’d this stinking beggar come from?” Little Qi shouted at the stranger.

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a string of bells from his pocket and began to shake them. Old Liao hurried to stand protectively in front of Little Qi.

“Fellow practitioner, I am a Daoist of the Qingfeng Temple. What brings you here?” he asked.

“Hmm?” A hoarse, doubtful sound came from the man beneath the straw hat. He stepped aside, leaving the door open.

“Little Qi, you should go. I have other business. Transfer the payment to my Alipay account,” I said, hastily ushering her out.

“Which of you is the inheritor of the yin-yang embroidery?” came a chilling, rasping voice from beneath the hat.

“What do you want?” I summoned my courage and took a step forward.

“I want you to find someone for me.” He removed his hat, revealing a face marked with a terrifying scar.