You Asked Me to Read the Feng Shui, So Why Did I Wipe Out Every Black Magic Practitioner?

One afternoon on Penang’s Muntri Street, Zhang Jiuxuan lounged in a rocking chair in flip-flops, happily sipping iced white coffee. Who could have guessed that this young man, scraping by in a rundown antique shop in the old quarter, was the last purple-robed Celestial Master of China’s Longhu Mountain?

Then one day, the son of a Malaysian Datuk carried a “Four-Faced Fortune Buddha” oozing black blood to his shop and fell to his knees in tears. “Master Zhang, save us! The local exorcists ran away, the Thai ajarn coughed up blood, and my family is about to die out!”