Siheyuan: I Really Don’t Know How to Play the Exorcist

Lu Zhaochuan woke up at forty-three and found himself back in Beiping in 1946.

His body was twenty-four, six foot one, strong as an ox, and able to eat and fight.

No System, no pocket dimension, and certainly no sign-in shop.

Luckily, he still had a few trades to make a living.

Even better, he had a distant cousin named He Daqing.

And following behind He Daqing was a twelve-year-old boy.

“Uncle, I'm He Yuzhu.”

Lu Zhaochuan fell silent.

The good news was, he'd arrived early.

Yi Zhonghai wasn't First Master yet, Liu Haizhong wasn't Second Master, Yan Bugui was still young, and nobody even knew where Qin Huairu was.

Lu Zhaochuan had no intention of changing the world.

He wouldn't fight for a house or a job, go fishing or hunting, or waste his days squabbling with a bunch of neighbors.

He just wanted to find a job, fix up his little courtyard, get married, and make a decent life for himself.

Until a rumor began circulating through the alley.

He could see ghosts.

He could summon gods.

And he could talk to the dead.

Lu Zhaochuan shook his head when he heard it.

“Superstition is no good.”

“How could there be ghosts in this world?”

That very night.

A thief who had stolen his neighbors' life-saving money had just crawled into bed.

A ghostly voice suddenly sounded outside the window.

“One yuan...”

“Two yuan...”

“Three yuan...”

At daybreak the next morning,

every last coin of the stolen money appeared in the middle of the courtyard.

Lu Zhaochuan squatted by the doorway with a bowl of noodles.

Watching the courtyard fill with people burning incense, he fell into deep thought.

“Wait.”

“You actually believe this?”