Other people cultivate with spiritual roots. I, Xie Wang, cultivate with academic credits.
My advisor says I’m cursed by Tai Sui and that ghosts and monsters are doomed around me. I think he just wants me to work for free.
At a birthday party that turns into an “all-you-can-eat yang energy buffet,” my classmates ask me to be the formation’s anchor. I fire up my phone and livestream a plea for help to my advisor, then use a lightning talisman to bless my secondhand peachwood sword.
From then on, my academic research takes a strange turn.
A haunted house? I create a “spirit energy frequency statistical model.” The data shows noise pollution is over the legal limit, so I recommend calling the police.
A zombie in an ancient tomb? I put on a loop of legal education videos about the Labor Law and successfully convince it to sign a labor dispatch contract.
Then I uncover the secret of the “Guixu,” and the things crawling out of the deep sea set their sights on me.
At an academic conference, I slap my research report on the table:
“To sum up, what people call ‘spiritual qi revival’ is essentially a high-dimensional energy leak. The solution is simple...”
I pull out a tablet plastered with talismans and open the calculator:
“Step one: build a firewall. Step two: send them a lawyer’s letter. Step three: run a training course to teach them to obey the Public Security Administration Punishments Law.”
After a long silence, the head of the special department says, “Student Xie, your research funding is approved, but there’s one condition...”
“Next time you exorcise a fierce ghost, could you not play the remix version of the Great Compassion Mantra over the campus PA system?”
“Fine,” I say, crossing out “exorcism speaker damage costs” on the bill. “Next time I’ll use a drone to drop anti-fraud flyers that have been blessed. Can I claim that on expenses?”
