The Midnight Feng Shui Shop

At 11:50 p.m., the old streets in the western district of Jiangcheng were deserted.

The streetlights flickered, casting the peeling walls in a light that made them look like wrinkles on an old person's face. Wind moaned through the narrow alleys, sending dead leaves and ashes from spirit money swirling along the ground. This street had another name: Yin-Yang Street. During the day, people came and went, buying incense, candles, and spirit money. At night, especially after midnight, it became another world entirely.

The second-to-last shop at the end of the street had a plaque of dark ebony over its door. Three gold-faded seal-script characters were inscribed on it: Feng Shui Shop.

The shop lights were off, and the interior was pitch-black. I sat in the grand armchair behind the counter, listening to my own heartbeat. The old clock on the wall ticked away as its minute hand inched toward twelve.

11:55 p.m.

I got up and walked to the shop entrance. A sheet of yellow paper was stuck to the inside of the glass door, with the opening hours written on it in cinnabar: Zi hour to Yin hour (11:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m.). Most ordinary people would frown at those hours and think the owner was either crazy or a fraud. But they didn't know that some kinds of business could only be conducted at this time.

My surname is Chen, and my given name is Mo. This shop was passed down to me by my grandfather. As he lay dying, he took my hand and said, "Xiao Mo, you have to look after this shop. Someone has to keep certain things in check."

I didn't understand him then. It wasn't until the incident three years ago that I realized what he meant by "certain things."

11:58 p.m.

I reached for the light switch by the door, but didn't