My family has been in the spiritual cleansing business for three generations.

My grandfather was a celestial master, living a pure life. After exorcising spirits, he only accepted two sweet potatoes as a token of gratitude.
By the end of his life, he was poor and destitute.

My father learned from his experience and switched to Feng Shui for the wealthy.
But because of his blunt mouth, he criticized rich houses as ugly as broken jars, so he was blacklisted in the profession.

Now, in my generation, I, Tô Diệp, decided to reform exorcism.
Exorcism is also a service industry. The client is king, and the spirits are the risk management objects.
I don’t use wooden swords to hack and kill indiscriminately. I use standardized procedures and logical thinking.

Today, I went to the Tần Corporation to interview for the special assistant position, with a salary of 100 million per month, and instant bonuses per shift.
The requirement: solve problems that science itself cannot handle.

The hallway was crowded with all kinds of masters: Taoists, exorcists, even a guy in a suit holding a Bible.
The air was thick with the cheap scent of incense mixed with strong perfume.

I sat in a corner, pulled out my notebook, and recalculated the formula for mixing talisman ink.
The traditional mixture of cinnabar and black chicken blood had unstable consistency.
I just discovered a way to add a little chemical solvent to make the ink dry faster, increasing the spirit-calling power threefold.

“Hey, did you come to the wrong place, girl?”
A young Taoist sitting next to me smirked, holding a brass Feng Shui compass spinning wildly.
“The yin energy here is heavy. A delicate girl like you might wet your pants and get sick at home.”

I glanced at his compass and then at the ceiling, saying nonchalantly,
“Your compass is spinning not because of yin energy, but because you’re sitting directly under high-voltage power lines. The alternating magnetic field is interfering with the needle. Physics class, remember?”

The Taoist froze, his face red with embarrassment.

I continued in a calm voice, loud enough for the hallway to hear,
“Also, that talisman in the master’s hand over there is industrial-printed; the ink hasn’t even dried yet. The spirit accompanying that woman in the corner isn’t her guardian but an aborted fetus from years ago.”

The hallway fell silent. The masters began sweating nervously and avoided my gaze.

At that moment, the interview room door burst open, and a shaman crawled out, his pants wet, stammering, “Ghost, ghost, it’s not afraid of talisman 44.”

I put away my notebook, adjusted my glasses, and walked straight past the trembling crowd into the chairman’s office.

The office was wide but cold, like a morgue.
I frowned, not out of fear, but because the Feng Shui layout was terrible.

To the west, a floor-to-ceiling window was blocked by curtains. The White Tiger was lifted.
To the east, an empty fish tank stood. The Azure Dragon’s wing was broken.
The main door faced the desk directly—a hidden Yin formation disguised as modern interior design.

Whoever sat in that chair would suffer: mild illness at best, fatal consequences at worst.

“Are you not afraid?” a hollow voice asked.
I looked up and saw a dark figure hanging in the air, hair disheveled, dripping thick black fluid onto the expensive wooden floor.

I sighed, pulling out a tissue to clean the stain. Imported wood, five million per square meter. How would I explain this to accounting?

The female ghost froze, screeching, and lunged at me to strangle.
Her long, black claws carried dense death energy.

I didn’t dodge. When her claws touched my collar, I raised my hand and pressed a business card between my index and middle fingers, slapping it onto her forehead.

No explosion, no blinding light. The ghost froze midair as if paused.
She gaped, struggling, but her limbs were stiff.

I pulled up a chair, crossed my legs, and calmly analyzed,
“Your death was caused by someone advising you to wear that red dress on the night of the ceremony, right?”

Her white, decayed eyes shed two streams of blood-tinged tears. The rage melted into overwhelming resentment.
She nodded repeatedly, still stiff.

“Alright,” I snapped my fingers, releasing the card. She fell to the ground, curling up.
Justice must have a head and an owner. I don’t exterminate her, because that would be immoral, but she was wrong to scare people here.

I pulled out a contract. I would perform a ritual to clear her grievances and identify the culprit, in exchange for her acting as a night security guard in the office for three months. Any intruder attempting to steal or spy would be scared into unconsciousness.

The ghost, confused, nodded. For the first time in three years, she was recruited.

A hidden door behind the bookshelf opened. A tall man in a sharp suit stepped out. His face was pale, but under my celestial vision, he shone like a living torch.
This was a rare body type in legend: extreme Yang energy, capable of sustaining a Daoist. He was wealthy because of his Yang energy, but physically, it burned his own life force.
He was the perfect power bank for a practitioner like me.

He glanced at the ghost obediently sitting in the corner and then at me.
“I know this Feng Shui trap,” he said bluntly, bypassing formalities.

I smiled, adjusting my glasses,
“This Yin formation requires a buried conduit in the floor. Removing it is easy. But exposing the mastermind behind it? That’s the challenge.”

I stood and walked to him, extending my hand,
“Mr. Tần, I don’t just exorcise ghosts. I can flip this chessboard for you—but my service is not cheap.”

He smirked slightly.
“Salary is fixed as advertised, but I have one condition.”

“Every day, I need to hold your hand for 15 minutes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

I looked him in the eyes, nonchalantly,
“To charge. You have excess Yang energy; I lack spiritual power. It’s mutual benefit. Science calls it energy balance.”

He was silent for a moment, then reached out. A warm, strong current surged through me, revitalizing every meridian. It felt better than full-topping bubble tea.

He whispered in my ear, “But if you can’t deal with the one behind this, I’ll deduct your pay directly.”

I smiled brightly.
“Don’t worry. My family has three generations of credibility. There’s also a lifetime warranty.”

He frowned as I pulled out a set of peculiar tools: insulated gloves, lab goggles, and a glass bottle with a pale yellow liquid.

“What are you planning to do with my floor?” he asked.

I fitted my goggles and answered coolly,
“This Yin formation is like a malignant tumor in the building’s Feng Shui system. Surgery is required. That marble tile under your desk is the central point. The conduit must be exposed to identify the mastermind. I’ll remove it safely.”

I instructed his security team to wear protective gear. Five minutes later, three muscular guards lifted the tile. A foul, black stench surged up, and the room temperature dropped sharply.

Under the wet soil was a decayed ebony box, wrapped in red threads like blood, with a golden talisman on top.

He looked grim. “What is that?”
“It’s an Eastern version of Pandora’s Box,” I replied.

Using metal tongs, I lifted the box. It was infused with mercury and spiritual energy accumulated over three years. Touching it could cause inflammation, hallucinations, or hospitalization.

Inside was a crude cloth doll, pierced with pins and marked with eight characters in black ink.
He glanced at it coldly—it was my Ba Zi chart, perfectly accurate.

I explained: the doll linked the maker to him via hair and nails, so any harm to the doll would inflict him, and burying it in a Yin location would bring misfortune.

“Burn it,” he said.

I shouted, pushing his hand away,
“Are you crazy? It contains synthetic polymers; burning releases deadly dioxins. Spiritically, burning it suddenly would backfire.”

“How will you handle it then?” he asked.

I smiled like a mad scientist and shook the bottle of yellow liquid:
“This is Aquaria, a strong acid I prepared, with sea salt and blessings. Chemically, it dissolves gold and platinum. Spiritually, the sea salt has extreme Yang energy for purification.”

I poured the solution over the doll in a stainless steel tray.
Hissing and bubbling, the doll and the box corroded within two minutes, leaving a harmless black puddle.

I removed my goggles and faced him.
“The quantum link is severed. Feel lighter?”

He inhaled deeply. The oppressive weight of years vanished. His eyes shifted from skepticism to deep, inscrutable insight.

I handed him a notebook to track the results.

Later, a beautiful, ethereal young woman entered the office in a flowing white silk dress, her hair long and black, wearing a jade pendant emitting a cold aura.

I observed her with celestial vision: outside, elegant; inside, dark energy swirled around her third eye.

She placed a bowl of soup on Tần’s desk, glancing at me with hostility.
“Is this the new assistant? Looks ordinary.”

I smiled warmly,
“I’m not a master. I’m a physicist and environmental energy consultant for Tần.”

She laughed scornfully. “Physics? Here we deal with spiritual Feng Shui. My master will descend today to review the office layout.”

A white-haired man entered, carrying a fly whisk.
He glared at the hole I dug yesterday, stroking his beard,
“Who dared disturb the central dragon vein? This is the dragon’s eye. Digging it blinds the dragon, scattering wealth.”

Tần looked at me as if saying, “Your turn.”

I presented the building’s 3D structural blueprint, explaining the central position was actually the third elevator shaft, not the tile I disturbed. I showed a 3D diagram: energy is conserved; my excavation only removed a harmful object.

Lâm Uyển secretly touched her jade pendant. A small dark child-like shadow shot toward me.
I pretended not to notice, but my right hand activated a small ultrasonic device.
The frequency was 20,000 Hz, inaudible to humans, unbearable for spirits.

The child ghost shrieked, trying to trip me. I crouched, holding a lollipop, and offered a special incense-flavored candy to bribe it.

The ghost eagerly accepted. I instructed it: “At tonight’s banquet, do the opposite of what your former mistress tells you.”

The ghost obeyed, becoming my tiny unpaid agent.

At the celebratory banquet, she tried to sabotage Tần, but I blocked her with a service cart. She collided with lobster, sauce splattering, her pristine dress ruined.

I explained science: reaction produces equal and opposite force. She caused harm, she got harmed—Newton’s Third Law.

The crowd laughed. Tần quietly sipped wine, amused.
“From now on, anyone mentioning superstition in my presence meets her,” he said.

That night, on the ride home, Tần said,
“Lâm Uyển was just a pawn. The real threat is the one behind her, targeting our hot spring resort project.”

I patted my bag. With science on our side, whether ghost or ghoul, we control the situation.

At the construction site, the terrain emitted unusual ground vibrations—like the pulse of the land.
Under the limestone, hollow caves created low-frequency resonance. Workers experienced anxiety and nausea, mistaking it for supernatural phenomena.

We inspected the largest foundation pit. Using a flare gun, I illuminated the bottom: hundreds of ancient coffins, lids opened, skeletal corpses in armor—dry cadavers capable of movement, known in folklore as jiangshi.

I handed Tần a large industrial foam gun. The target: immobilize the corpses with fast-setting polyurethane foam mixed with glutinous rice and garlic juice, setting in three seconds upon air contact.

I shouted, “Don’t aim for their heads! Brain shrinkage occurs!”

“He’s useless, just shoot the knees, hips, and elbows.”

“Why?” Tan Huc asked while pulling the trigger.

A stream of white foam shot out, sticking to the legs of a Jiangshi charging toward us.

Grade eight mechanics—while shooting, I explained, my hands as swift as a professional marksman. The Jiangshi moved via rigid joints, functioning like levers. If you fix the arm joints, the leverage is nullified. Without joints, they’re just pieces of rotten wood.

Tan Huc is a business genius, high IQ, he understood immediately. He changed tactics, instead of fighting hand-to-hand, he used a glue gun to seal the monsters’ joints.

Hiss… in just 10 minutes, the scene became a bizarre art installation. Dozens of aggressive Jiangshi frozen in place by the foam, striking all sorts of poses. Some raised legs to kick, some opened mouths to bite, all immobilized. Easier than I thought.

Tan Huc blew the gun barrel, smirked arrogantly: “Don’t underestimate them. I changed the fuel, these minions are just warm-up, the boss isn’t even out yet.”

Suddenly, the ground shook violently, a deep growl reverberated like thunder from the earth. From a pile of coffins below, a heavy brass coffin shot up and crashed before us, dust flying. The lid flew open, a giant over 2m tall emerged, wearing intact armor, skin steel-like and dark purple, a red talisman on his forehead: Jiangshi King.

I swallowed hard. This one was an iron Jiangshi, steel-like skin. Normal bullets wouldn’t pierce, even my foam couldn’t hold it. The Jiangshi King roared, charging at me at a truck-like speed. I rolled aside; the spot I had stood in was punched through, hole the size of a bowl in reinforced concrete.

To Diep: “Tan Huc, don’t get near, your Yang energy is strong, but this one’s a millennium of hatred, you’ll be poisoned if you touch it.”

I took a handful of magnetic beads from my pocket. Usually kids play with them, but these were neodymium permanent magnets, high intensity. I threw them at the Jiangshi King’s feet; it stepped on the beads, slipped, and fell face-first. Opportunity.

I shouted: “Boss, Tan, take your shirt off!”

“What?” Tan Huc froze, thinking he misheard.

At this moment, I couldn’t help laughing. “Shirt off! Use your bare Yang back to pin it, quickly!”

The magnetic beads couldn’t hold it long, Tan Huc clenched teeth, tore off his expensive shirt, revealing a chiseled chest and six-pack abs.

Wow, masterpiece. He leapt onto the Jiangshi King’s back, it struggling to rise. Sizzle… as he landed, the sound was like meat roasting over coals, black smoke rising.

The Jiangshi King screamed in pain. To it, Tan Huc’s body was hotter than lava, pure Yang energy burning through steel skin and evil energy inside.

Tan Huc grimaced in the heat but didn’t let go, locking the monster’s neck.

To Diep: “Wait, loading data, I’m on the iPad connected to a fly cam, UAV overhead, target coordinates locked at 105.23, 21.01. Pure quicklime kg, I drop it. The fly cam releases a bag of quicklime hitting the Jiangshi King’s head, almost hitting Tan Huc. Bag bursts, white dust enveloping the monster.”

Tan Huc jumped: “Quick!”

I rolled away, threw a 5-liter water bottle on the lime. Exothermic reaction, a white smoke column erupted, extreme heat. The Jiangshi King was roasted in a portable lime oven, crackling, then reduced to dust.

I ran to help Tan Huc, his body covered in lime and sweat, but eyes still blazing.

To Diep: “Your exorcism method is really costly.”

He coughed. Fly cam, chemicals, and making me take my shirt off. I dusted him off, feeling his muscles to… recharge. Heh, effective, boss sees, science is truth.

But my smile faded. The ground beneath us cracked. The lime explosion and the Jiangshi activity collapsed the CAS cave ceiling below.