Showbiz: This Isn't the Occult, It's Psychology

Liu Zhengjing has a master's degree in applied psychology. He claims to be the nineteenth-generation descendant of Liu Bowen. His main business: home visits for feng shui consultations, drawing talismans and blessing objects, and resolving psychological troubles. His actual business: moving mirrors, deleting apps, and translating psychological jargon into ghost stories that female celebrities can understand. His rates: 1,000 for a home visit, 500 for a talisman, and 3,000 for a custom talisman. His service motto: Pay me enough, and you're my dear sister. He thought this was how his life would go: making a living with his silver tongue, explaining everything with science, and using mysticism as a sales pitch. Then, on the day he turned twenty-five, he found the camphorwood chest his grandfather had left behind. Inside were a medicinal bath recipe, a hand-drawn meridian chart, and a yellowed letter. After soaking in the medicinal bath, the faint mark that had been on his chest for nineteen years turned crimson. What lies at the end of science? After studying psychology for more than a decade, he had broken down every supernatural phenomenon into theory. But this mark, which changed color, grew warm, and reacted to certain environments, wasn't in any textbook. Seventy percent could be explained by science. The remaining thirty percent would forever lie beyond the bounds of understanding. Liu Zhengjing turned his compass over. The eight characters his grandfather had carved there were still visible: Ask not about ghosts or gods, only about the human heart. He turned the compass back and kept taking jobs.