Ling Ling thinks the “kids” around her are especially noisy.
As the first god born from chaos and the source of all living things, she awoke in the twenty-first century to hunt ghosts. The Taoist priests around her were skilled, but compared to her, they were nothing.
Gu Mingshe always complains that she can't even hold a compass the right way, but he never notices that whenever he sweats through drawing talismans and chanting incantations, Ling Ling casually says, “You're a bit noisy,” and a sudden gust of air pins the rampaging spirits to the wall. When he's helpless before the river of blood pooling in a haunted house, she frowns and mutters, “The floor's so dirty,” and the blood seeps back into the cracks in the floorboards, leaving no trace.
A vengeful ghost jams up the internet, and she says, “It's a little laggy.” Suddenly, every signal tower in the city reboots at once, leaving the ghost trembling in terror.
Watching this partner who always “gets lucky” at crucial moments, Gu Mingshe wipes away cold sweat and forces an explanation. “I-it must be the formation stirring up strange phenomena in the heavens and earth?”
Ling Ling twirls a strand of hair. The primordial divinity that occasionally flashes in her eyes strikes him as composure. She loves this feeling: making flowers and grass bow, making bricks and stones obey, all as naturally as breathing. Reducing the wicked to their most basic energy with a snap of her fingers is nothing more than taking out the trash.
When the most terrifying supernatural events meet the most unruffled creator god, with a metaphysics expert who's always convincing himself of things, even the scariest nights become a series of spectacular “coincidences.”
After all, who would guess that the girl beside them, who can't even recognize all the talismans, can make all things bow with a wave of her hand and still the forces of yin and yang with a glance?
It looks good, but it's a pity that I don't have a knife.