Chapter Twenty-Six: The Invitation

I asked Mengya to bring a clean towel from the kitchen, then picked up the green barn-shaped container and gently poured out some of the ash inside. Taking a pinch of the ash in my fingers, I brought it to my nose and sniffed, frowning at the scent before returning the ash to its original spot and wiping my hands.

“Xiao Shao, you say this is incense ash?” I smiled, adding a touch of mystery to my words.

Xiao Shao froze, cold sweat breaking out along his hairline. He stammered, “W-what else would it be, if not incense ash?”

I glanced at Mengya. That girl really had nerves of steel—her face was calm, as if nothing had happened at all.

“Shao, this is cremation ash,” I said, staring into Xiao Shao’s eyes and enunciating every word.

He gasped sharply. “Cremation ash?!” He hesitated for a moment, shock written all over his face.

I nodded. “If what you’ve told me is true, I’d wager your cousin is already dead. The ashes in that barn are what remains of his entire family.”

“No, impossible. I don’t even know that little boy!”

Mengya let out a cold laugh, her gaze mocking as she looked at the ashen-faced Xiao Shao. “Ah, Shao, you’d better go find yourself some shaman or spiritualist to get rid of this bad luck.” She chuckled again.

Xiao Shao looked on the verge of tears. I quickly moved to his side, patting him on the shoulder.

“Brother Shao, I think Mengya has a point. This isn’t something we can solve ourselves. Besides, ghosts are never as frightening as people.”

Just then, the sound of Buddhist chanting rang in our ears. I took out my phone to check, and saw it was a call from one of the big shots in our circle, Yang Puchao.

“Qiutong, are you free? Let me treat you to a meal,” Yang Puchao’s hearty voice came through the phone.

“Sure, Xiao Shao is with me,” I replied. Xiao Shao used to work for Yang Puchao, but left because Yang was notorious for his stinginess.

“Oh, Xiao Shao’s there too? Perfect, come both of you,” Yang sounded delighted.

“All right, we’re on our way.”

Xiao Shao drove us in my Cadillac to the Antique City. We went to the second floor, where the elevator opened directly in front of a shop. In the window stood a massive Taihu stone—none other than the “Layered Peaks” once owned by the famous “Over the Clouds Pavilion.” On either side of the entrance, Tang Dynasty stone lions bared their fangs, exuding an aura of fierce majesty.

I walked to the door and pressed the bell.

“Ding-dong, ding-dong.”

As the chime faded, a stunning woman dressed in black appeared from within the shop. Her beautiful features bore a striking resemblance to the celebrity goddess Dilraba, her figure perfectly proportioned—curves where they should be, slender where they should be. Her long legs, clad in black stockings, were especially alluring, sparking endless imagination.

“Master Qiu, you’re here early,” the enchantress greeted me with a dazzling smile, her beauty almost suffocating.

“Sister Xue, could you let us in?” I said.

Li Xiaoxue, Yang Puchao’s chief public relations officer, was famous for her seductive looks and superb social skills, which had left more than a few wealthy businessmen utterly beguiled, spending untold sums on her behalf. Rumor had it, though, that getting even a touch of her was harder than reaching the stars—her background, it was whispered, was frighteningly powerful. As for whether there was anything between her and Yang Puchao, nobody knew for certain.

Xiaoxue regarded my serious expression and snorted, “Still playing the upright gentleman, are you? I just can’t get through to you.” She opened the electronic door, and as she saw Mengya behind me, she gave a sarcastic little laugh, her tone playful and teasing. “Oh my, Mengya’s here too? Long time no see, you’ve gotten even prettier.”

Mengya met her mockery with a cold laugh, staring at Xiaoxue with such icy indifference it seemed her gaze might split apart.

I could almost see sparks flying between the two women—this could get out of hand fast. I hurriedly reached out, trying to stave off the impending “battle.”

Xiaoxue gave me a shove, her voice sharp with indignation. “Tell me, who’s prettier, me or her?”

I nearly spat blood in her face. This woman’s jealousy truly knew no bounds. I managed an awkward smile, lowering my head.

“Hey, Xiaoxue, are you going to let them in or not?” came a hearty call from inside.

A slightly plump middle-aged man emerged from the store. He had a sly look, a hooked nose, and bloodshot eyes—he looked for all the world like Gargamel from the Smurfs. He was a little hunched, his belly bulging out in an almost comical way.

It was Yang Puchao. I seized the opportunity to change the subject: “See, see? Mr. Yang’s been waiting for us.”

Yang Puchao took in the situation at a glance and grinned. “I was just making tea, wondering where Xiaoxue had gone off to. Come on in.”

I nodded without paying further mind to the two “fuming” women, and followed Yang Puchao into the tea room with Xiao Shao. Xiaoxue and Mengya both snorted and tossed their heads, trailing in with a haughty air.

Inside, a strikingly beautiful woman sat on the sofa, dressed casually in a sports tank, denim shorts, black stockings, and athletic shoes. She didn’t have Mengya’s classic beauty, nor Xiaoxue’s sultry allure, but resembled a Korean actress from TV, her face cool and expressionless.

Yang Puchao sat beside her; we took our seats opposite, while Xiaoxue and Xiao Shao brought chairs to the other side of the tea table.

The woman next to Yang Puchao kept her eyes fixed on me, her expression tinged with sorrow and entirely devoid of joy.

“Puchao, who is she?” I ventured.

Yang Puchao beamed with pride. “Beautiful, isn’t she? That’s my new secretary.”

I sighed inwardly. Secretary? More like a mistress. How could such a beauty end up with a creature like him? I couldn’t tell if I was jealous or just uncomfortable.

She continued to look at me, her eyes filled with a sadness that seemed desperate to pour out.

After a moment, Yang Puchao noticed our silent exchange and chuckled. “Yu Xi, this is the famous handsome antique dealer, Qiu Tong. Why are you staring at him?”

She replied coolly, “My name is Zhang Yuxi. Pleased to meet you, Master Qiu.”

I nodded, then turned to Yang Puchao. “Puchao, you’re eating tender grass at fifty, huh? The red flag flying at home, and the colorful banners fluttering outside.”

He grinned lecherously. “Not at all, not at all. I can’t keep up with you young folks,” he said, glancing at Zhang Yuxi.

I pressed my palms together in mock prayer. “Wishing you good health.”

My teasing made him even more talkative. “Don’t say that. Old Wu is sixty-eight and still goes out to hire girls, two at a time! He’s so insatiable they avoid him, saying his business is exhausting. The old guy doesn’t even need to move.”

I quickly cut him off, waving for him to stop with the bawdy stories.

Zhang Yuxi sat beside him, her face as impassive as ever, occasionally glancing at me from the corner of her eye. Worried Yang Puchao might notice, I deliberately shifted my gaze away.

“Brother Puchao, you didn’t call me here just to talk about this, did you?” I smiled.

Yang Puchao waved his hand. “No, I just wanted to catch up with old friends.”

Xiaoxue snorted. “That’s right. Master Qiu never even gives us a call anymore—he’s too busy enjoying himself alone.”

Her words caught me off guard. This woman never let up. I laughed and stuck out my tongue. “Xiaoxue, what pleasures am I hogging all for myself?”

She didn’t answer, just tossed her head and snorted again.

Xiao Shao, by now revived, laughed. “Xiaoxue, don’t go painting Master Qiu as some lecher. He’s not that kind of man.”

I spat. “Back from the dead, are you?”

We were bantering like this when Zhang Yuxi, sitting quietly to the side, suddenly wiped tears from her eyes. The movement was subtle, but Yang Puchao noticed.

“Yuxi, what’s wrong?” he asked, touching her back.

“It’s nothing. Just some dust in my eye,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes and falling silent once more.

Looking at the fragile Zhang Yuxi, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pity for her and sighed again.

“Hey, Xiao Shao, you’ve been gone from the company for half a year now. How’s business?” Yang Puchao asked.

“Ah,” Xiao Shao sighed, but I picked up the conversation.

“Wouldn’t you know it, he ran into a ‘vengeful ghost’ on his first day out collecting,” I said teasingly.

“What? A ghost?” Yang Puchao, who didn’t believe in the supernatural, was nonetheless startled.

Xiao Shao, who had just “come back to life,” instantly wilted again at the mention.

Seeing his ashen face, I gave Yang Puchao a quick summary of the situation. He gasped and wiped sweat from his bald head.

I thought to myself, “You’re scared of everything—must be all that bedroom excess.”

Ancient texts say that excessive indulgence depletes the kidneys, and without enough kidney energy, a man becomes timid and easily frightened.

“That’s not scary?” Yang Puchao said, eyes wide.

I chuckled. “Stop glaring. You’re scarier than any ghost right now.”

At that, everyone laughed—everyone except Zhang Yuxi, who remained expressionless at Yang Puchao’s side. I thought to myself, maybe she’s just naturally stoic.