I, Ling Yue, the foremost master of the mystic arts, open my eyes to find myself in the body of Shen Qingxian, a modern psychology PhD who has returned from overseas.
Looking at the diagnosis of “severe anxiety” on a patient’s chart, I sigh and tell them, “You’re not sick. You’ve rented a house with baleful energy.”
I casually draw a House-Protection Talisman and hand it over. “Put it in your bedroom. If it doesn’t work in three days, you get a refund.”
My rich second-generation friend rushes into my home, dark circles under his eyes. “Qingxian! My variety show is doomed! All the guests have bailed!”
I take in the black qi swirling between his brows and leisurely brew some tea. “There’s something unclean on your set.”
His knees go weak, and he clings to my leg. “Sis! You’re my own sister! Save me!”
At the live variety-show set, inside a gloomy old mansion, a popular young actress is playing up her sob story for the cameras.
I walk straight to an old wooden cabinet in the corner and tell the director, “Dig up the warding object buried in there, and filming can continue.”
The top-tier star blocks my way, his tone mocking. “Dr. Shen, this is a science show.”
I look at him and smile faintly. “Mr. Lu, have you been having nightmares every night? Do you dream of a woman in red?”
His face turns deathly pale in an instant.
[The livestream chat explodes.]
