Volume Nine: The Sin of Enchantment Chapter Three: The Real and Fake Ghost Catchers

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“Phoenix, pull up the surveillance footage and get a clear shot of the man’s face,” said someone from the tech department.

“Print it out and start the search. Check not just the victim’s complex, but all the nearby ones as well. We have to find this man—otherwise, he could be the next victim,” Yaoguang instructed.

Thus began a large-scale investigation. Yaoguang led Jiang Yun, Huo Mingkun, and Chen Haixu to canvass the area around the victim’s building. They carried the printed photograph, asking around for a long time, but no one recognized the man. The group exchanged helpless glances, staring at the photo in their hands—how were they supposed to find this person in a sea of people?

Chen Haixu glanced around, his eyes brightening as he dashed toward the central plaza of the victim’s complex. He dove straight into a crowd of elderly men and women chatting in the shade, speaking with them earnestly. After about half an hour, he returned, breathless. “Found out! His name is Sun Qianyuan—people call him Sun Third. He owns a small tavern on the commercial street just outside the complex.”

“You’ve got skills,” Yaoguang praised, and immediately led the group toward the commercial street.

“There it is—Qian Yuan Tavern,” Chen Haixu pointed out the establishment.

“Let’s go,” Yaoguang said, stepping inside. The tavern was small, decorated in a quaint, traditional style, suffused with the faint aroma of wine and smoke. Behind the bar sat a stout man.

“Well, what can I get for you folks?” Sun Third emerged from behind the counter, smiling.

“Boss, we’re not here for drinks,” Chen Haixu replied.

“Ah, then you must be here for information. That’s fine, too. Drinks cost money, information is free,” Sun Third chuckled. “So, what do you want to know?”

Yaoguang observed Sun Third’s friendly manner and thought to herself that with a host like this, no one would believe business was ever slow. The man was a born conversationalist.

“Since you’re so straightforward, I’ll get to the point. Did you happen to pick up a scroll yesterday?” Chen Haixu asked.

“That’s right, I did. Found it under a tree in the residential area over there. I even asked the property office about it this morning, but nobody knew anything. Was it yours? Sorry for the delay,” Sun Third said.

“Would you mind returning it to us?” Chen Haixu inquired.

“Of course, but the scroll isn’t with me,” Sun Third replied with a grin.

“Where is it, then? Please, do tell,” Chen Haixu persisted.

“I took it home, hoping to find its owner and return it. But curiosity got the better of me, so I unrolled it for a look. The scroll gave me an uneasy feeling, so I put it away. Just then, Old Feng from the shop around the corner saw it and asked for it. I said, ‘I found it, you can look at it, but if the owner comes looking, you must give it back.’ Old Feng agreed. See, he even put up a notice about lost property on his shop window,” Sun Third explained.

“And who is this Old Feng?” Chen Haixu asked.

“Oh, an old neighbor—Feng Zhisheng, owner of Elegant Hall on the corner. He deals in antiques and calligraphy. He loves these things,” Sun Third said. “He’s a decent sort, so I left it with him.”

“You said the painting made you feel uneasy. What was depicted on it?” Huo Mingkun asked.

“A woman from ancient times, sitting and combing her hair before a mirror, with a window behind her. That’s about it,” Sun Third described.

“Could it be the Portrait of Consort Yang’s Night Makeup?” Huo Mingkun wondered aloud.

“Don’t be ridiculous—that’s just a legend. Even if it were real, it’d be in a museum. Your imagination runs wild,” Jiang Yun scoffed, giving Huo Mingkun a playful slap.

“I don’t know anything about imperial consorts or makeup. I just know wine. The painting looked fine at first glance, but the longer I looked, the more uncomfortable I felt. I couldn’t make sense of it. Old Feng liked it, so I let him borrow it,” Sun Third said. “Since you’re looking for it, I’ll take you over there, but I can’t guarantee we’ll get it back today.”

“Why not?” Chen Haixu asked.

“Old Feng fell ill—he slipped into a coma for no reason. The hospital found nothing wrong. Neighbors say he’s been possessed. His wife called in an expert to exorcise him today. Come, I’ll take you over,” Sun Third said, already heading out.

“Boss, once we get the painting back, set aside ten pounds of your finest sorghum liquor for me,” Yaoguang called out with a smile.

“You’re a generous lady! No problem. Hey, inside there! Ten pounds of top sorghum in the good bottles—set them aside. I’m stepping out for a bit,” Sun Third shouted to the back and led Yaoguang and the others outside.

They hadn’t even reached the corner when they saw a crowd gathered.

“Make way!” Sun Third pushed through to the front, with Yaoguang and company following. The scene before them gave them quite a shock.

“Whoa, what a setup. Slow down, boss. Let’s take a look—this isn’t something you see every day,” Yaoguang pulled Sun Third back.

“Alright, you’re in charge,” Sun Third agreed.

Yaoguang was momentarily taken aback by the spectacle, then chuckled. Was this some kind of shamanic ritual? If not a fake priest, then surely a charlatan. Before Elegant Hall, a makeshift altar had been set up, laden with all manner of deities—at the top, the Three Pure Ones of Daoism, followed by the Jade Emperor and Queen Mother of the West, and then an array of lesser gods.

“Is the master here to perform a ritual or sell statues? He’s got nearly every god represented. Even the Guishan Temple doesn’t have such a complete lineup,” Jiang Yun remarked in a low voice.

“Exactly, isn’t this an exorcism? With this arrangement, is he planning to invite every deity down from heaven? Who could manage that? Even Master Guishan couldn’t. This is pure nonsense—a complete fraud,” Huo Mingkun chimed in.

Yaoguang smiled and gestured for everyone to keep watching. Below the altar, a long offering table was spread with an abundance of fruits, cakes, whole chickens, ducks, and more—lavish and dazzling in its variety. Yaoguang thought to herself that even her own offerings to the immortals weren’t this sumptuous.

Chen Haixu clicked his tongue at the sight. “The elders say that whether the gods come or not, the offerings themselves don’t matter much—it’s about respect. The effectiveness depends on the practitioner, not the food. Besides, cultivators’ offerings are for their own spirit guardians. Offerings to the gods are made to borrow power. This spread—what, is he worried someone won’t get fed? Or is he just stocking up for himself? Treating the gods like gluttons?”

Yaoguang nodded in agreement, then patted Sun Third. “Boss, these offerings are impressive. No wonder they call him an expert, he’s so generous.”

“You don’t know—the Fengs paid for all this themselves. The expert’s just doing them a favor,” Sun Third replied with a grin.

“That makes sense. After all, the Fengs are hosting. With this much food, they’ll be well-stocked for a while,” Yaoguang quipped.

“You’ve got it wrong. The expert takes all the offerings home after the ritual, handles them personally. He says if mortals touch what’s been offered to the gods, it’s disrespectful. Only he can handle it,” Sun Third explained.

The group exchanged looks—what nonsense. Everyone knew that after a ritual, the food was for the people to eat. Since when did it become a matter of disrespect? Even Yaoguang herself took home whatever the immortals left uneaten.

Chen Haixu whispered, “He doesn’t even leave the offerings. But I guess it makes sense—so much food, he can stock his fridge for ages, all without spending a dime. Not bad.”

Jiang Yun joked, “Even a fly’s leg is still meat.”

Yaoguang didn’t reply, instead bowing her head to send Xuan Chen a message: “Located the scroll. Someone’s impersonating an expert and running a scam. I’m sending you the location—come in plainclothes and blend into the crowd. Wait for my signal.”

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She then sent another message to Yitian: “Bring all the immortals to the location. Stay in the car and await my orders.”

Putting her phone away, Yaoguang continued to observe. In front of the long offering table stood the expert’s ritual altar, draped in fine yellow brocade and crowded with paper effigies of people and horses—everything needed for the ceremony, it seemed. Yet, as Yaoguang swept her gaze over the altar, not a single item emanated spiritual energy.

“This so-called expert is a fraud. Let’s enjoy the show, then bust him. Wait for my signal,” Yaoguang’s voice echoed telepathically in her companions’ minds. The three behind her nodded in acknowledgment.

Around the altar were many meditation cushions. Yaoguang asked Sun Third, “Who are these for? Is everyone supposed to kneel and watch?”

“The expert has many disciples. Whenever he performs a ritual, his disciples act as protectors. He’s made a lot of enemies over the years banishing demons and evil spirits. He’s afraid someone might attack while he’s focused on the ceremony,” Sun Third explained. “He’s very well-regarded around here.”

The four of them were stunned—a street scammer, with enemies? Banishing demons? More likely just trips to the toilet. Yaoguang muttered, “This expert is something else.”

Sun Third chuckled, “Experts have their own style.”

Yaoguang smirked. Even scammers have style, it seems.

“How much does he charge for these rituals?” Jiang Yun asked.

“As much as the client wishes to give, but it’s never a small sum,” Sun Third replied.

“Is this expert often in the area?” Jiang Yun pressed.

“He’s been around for about a year. Claims to come from a mountain, here to gain experience. People say he’s effective,” Sun Third answered.

“Oh.” Jiang Yun nodded seriously, then shot Yaoguang a look: Pure con artist.

Yaoguang nodded back, but couldn’t help admitting to herself: sometimes these fake experts win more hearts than real ones—frauds are often the best at reading people.

Suddenly, seven or eight men dressed in Daoist robes entered from the back of the crowd.

The onlookers buzzed with excitement, exclaiming that the master’s disciples had arrived.

Yaoguang watched. The imitation was almost better than the real thing—serene and benevolent, they sat on the meditation cushions, bowing in Daoist salutation and greeting the crowd: “Boundless Heavenly Veneration.”

Shortly after, murmuring spread through the crowd as a man entered in stately Daoist robes, exuding an air of authority. The throng parted for him. From the door of Elegant Hall, a woman emerged, watching him with desperate hope.

The newcomer was about fifty, with dignified features, a compassionate expression, and a fly-whisk in hand. His attire gave him an otherworldly presence—a striking figure indeed. Yaoguang sneered, covertly snapping a photo and sending it to Guishan: “Old fellow, how does he compare to you?”

“Where did this charlatan come from? He looks the part!” Guishan replied.

“He’s an expert, you know,” Yaoguang shot back.

Guishan replied with a disdainful emoji. Yaoguang chuckled and looked up again.

The man stopped, performed a Daoist salute, and addressed the people: “Boundless Heavenly Veneration.” His polite smile and deep, magnetic voice exuded an aura of expertise.

He spoke with a light, detached air: “As a man of the Dao, I am always compassionate. Normally, I would not interfere with wandering souls. But the benefactor says this spirit is harming her family. I have no choice but to act.” Such a display of benevolence.

The woman repeatedly thanked him, “My husband’s life depends on you, please help us!” She even tried to kneel before him.

The expert quickly caught her, switching to a stern expression. “Under heaven’s gaze, how can we allow spirits to wreak havoc? Rest assured, I will subdue the ghost and restore peace. After today’s ritual, your family will be safe.”

“Wow, what a performance,” Jiang Yun whispered to Yaoguang.

Yaoguang smiled at her young apprentice’s outburst.

But the so-called expert, savoring his role, had no idea that several sharp eyes in the crowd had already marked him, nor could he guess today would be the end of his charade. After his righteous declaration, a disciple immediately brought him a basin of clean water to wash his hands, then another used a peach branch dipped in water to sprinkle him. All the while, the disciples began chanting. Yaoguang listened, quickly becoming annoyed: they were reciting the Diamond Sutra. She rolled her eyes—this is a Buddhist scripture, yet here’s a Daoist reciting it for a ritual. Did he think everyone was an idiot? But, to be fair, chanting scripture in a ritual tone did sound impressive.

The expert muttered incantations as he paced about with elaborate steps—unintelligible, but full of effort. The crowd, naturally, wasn’t quiet. Such a spectacle was bound to spark commentary. One disciple stood and implored, “Master is walking the sacred steps, ringing the bell, communicating with the spirit. It’s draining. Please, everyone, remain silent so as not to distract him and risk harm. Boundless Heavenly Veneration.”

Chastened, the crowd fell quiet, nearly making Yaoguang laugh aloud.

Beside her, Huo Mingkun muttered, “If he hadn’t said anything, I’d never have guessed those random steps were sacred movements. Communicating with a ghost? How—does he just ask, ‘Hey, are you a ghost?’ And that bell—nobody uses the Three Pure Ones’ bell to communicate with spirits!”

Faced with such an absurd performance, the four could only roll their eyes.

Chen Haixu, sharp-eared, listened to the expert’s mutterings with suspicion. “A Daoist chanting the Heart Sutra to commune with spirits? What kind of nonsense is that? Would Buddha approve? Or Guanyin?”

“The disciples are reciting the Diamond Sutra, too. Never mind—Buddha has a big heart, he won’t mind,” Jiang Yun quipped.

Suddenly, the bell fell silent. The expert, with a look of regret, turned to the woman: “Despite my best efforts to persuade it, the spirit refuses to leave, claiming an unfulfilled wish. Benefactor, what shall we do?”

The woman paled in fear, convinced more than ever of the expert’s powers.

He gave her a compassionate look, reassuring her, “Since I have taken this case, I will see it through. I cannot stand by while a spirit harms others. I will expend my own cultivation to subdue this ghost. It pains me to use force, when I would rather show mercy.”

He was playing the role of the compassionate master, but his disciples were not pleased. One spoke up, “Master, you mustn’t! Using your own cultivation, no amount of money can make up for the loss. What if your enemies attack while you’re weakened? What about us, your disciples?”

Finally, the money issue—scammers scam for money, after all.

Their dramatic exchange moved the crowd, especially the anxious woman, who said, “Master, I’ll pay more—just please save my husband and get rid of the ghost!”

“How can I accept?” The expert looked troubled.

The disciple interjected, “Master, I see I can’t dissuade you. Since the benefactor is generous, please go ahead.”

“This is Oscar-worthy. Why be a Daoist—he should be an actor!” Huo Mingkun snorted.

Yaoguang sneered, signaling to the others, then stepped forward, clapping her hands. “Master, you are so compassionate. Madam, the master is renowned far and wide, slaying demons and showing mercy. Since he refuses, why press him? Don’t make things difficult for him.”

Her words darkened the expert’s face, but he maintained his composure. “You have a point,” he replied coolly, signaling to his disciple. The disciple caught on immediately. “And who are you? If something happens to my master, will you take responsibility?” With that, the disciple knelt before the master, wailing, “Master, let’s not do the ritual. Even if we take the money, it’s not worth the loss. We should leave. Don’t risk your safety—you still have us!”

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The expert adopted a sorrowful expression. “But if a spirit is harming people, how can we, as Daoists, ignore the greater good?”

Now, Yaoguang was cast as the villain, a troublemaker amidst these noble master and disciple. The woman snapped, “Who are you to make trouble? Get out!”

“That’s enough. Aren’t you tired of this endless act?” Yaoguang smiled.

The expert’s face fell, but he was not one to accept defeat. He declared, “Miss, I have no quarrel with you. Why disrupt my ritual? In all my years, has anyone accused me of fraud?”

A clever move—using reputation to pressure Yaoguang, making the crowd suspect her instead. Sure enough, people began to turn against her.

Yaoguang remained unfazed, smiling. “Really? What fraud has ever branded himself as such? If you’re not a fraud, then wake Old Feng. If you can, I’ll believe you.”

“Mr. Feng is comatose because he’s been bewitched by a fierce ghost. I was about to exorcise it, but you interfered,” the expert replied, full of righteous indignation.

“Oh, is that so? With what—your Three Pure Ones’ bell? Your bellwork was impressive. And your disciples reciting the Diamond Sutra, you intoning the Heart Sutra—a fine performance. Don’t tell me you don’t know: the Three Pure Ones’ bell is for focusing the spirit; the Diamond and Heart Sutras are Buddhist texts. You’re chanting Buddhist scripture while ringing a Daoist bell, claiming to exorcise ghosts? Do you think Buddha approves? If I were the Three Pure Ones, I’d be furious—how would you borrow Daoist power then?” Yaoguang laughed.

With those words, the crowd began to mutter again.

“And that bell of yours—is it consecrated pure copper? What about your altar, those garish decorations—are any of them actually useful? And those statues—anyone could see you’re just performing. Someone else might think you’re wholesaling them. Even the Guishan Temple doesn’t have such a collection. And your altar cloth—yellow for Buddhists, red for Daoists. Don’t you know that? Are you disrespecting Buddhism, or Daoism? You’re a fraud, nothing more—so stop pretending!” Yaoguang’s words were utterly merciless, leaving the fake Daoist no dignity at all.

The expert’s face twisted in anger. He stepped forward and shouted, “Wretch, how dare you!”

A crisp slap rang out. The expert froze in shock—Chen Haixu had stepped forward and struck him hard across the face.

“You hit me? Is there no law? Striking someone in broad daylight,” the expert sputtered.

“So what if I hit you? I did. For disrespecting Buddha, for dishonoring Daoism, for your shameless scam. How dare you blame me? You’re a lawless fraud and deserve it,” Chen Haixu retorted.

“Someone call the police! Assault in broad daylight!” the disciple shouted.

Huo Mingkun couldn’t help laughing. Call the police? Did they not realize they’d run into the police already?

Yaoguang smiled at the expert. “Master, your ‘how dare you’ shout was impressive. But you clearly have no idea how to do it properly. Yun, show the master what real ‘shouting power’ looks like.”

Jiang Yun smiled, stepped forward, and looked at the expert. Her smile was warm as spring, but her breath sank to her core. “Master, is this how you meant to shout?”

With that, she dropped her stance, breath rooted in her dantian, and unleashed, “Wretch, how dare you!” This shout, steady and resonant, was beyond anything the charlatan could manage. Though Jiang Yun’s skill was still shallow, her shout stunned the expert into silence. He could only gape at her, speechless.

The crowd might not have understood exactly what happened, but Jiang Yun’s shout echoed as if amplified in a theater. Anyone with sense could see that this was no ordinary feat.

At that moment, a man emerged from the crowd and patted the expert. “Master, master, what’s wrong?”

The expert’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “You’re here! Someone’s slandering me—a fraud. Please vouch for me!”

“Who?” the newcomer asked in surprise.

“That person,” the expert pointed at Yaoguang. The man turned, ready to speak—then froze. “Phoenix? Is that you?”

“Professor Zhou? What are you doing here?” Yaoguang was equally surprised—it was Zhou Junbo.

“I got a message saying Master Luo’s ritual was being disrupted—someone needed help. Don’t tell me you’re the one?” Professor Zhou looked skeptical.

“I am. But I’m not here to disrupt—I’m here to catch a fraud,” Yaoguang replied with a smile.

“You’re still calling me a fraud? My reputation! Professor Zhou, tell them—am I a fraud?” Master Luo pleaded, looking distraught.

“Phoenix, is there some misunderstanding here? Let’s just talk this out,” Professor Zhou tried to mediate.

“No misunderstanding. He’s a scammer. Professor Zhou, have you ever seen someone exorcise a ghost by chanting the Diamond Sutra and ringing the Three Pure Ones’ bell?” Yaoguang asked.

“You dare slander me? Are you not afraid of heavenly retribution?” Master Luo retorted.

Yaoguang regarded him coldly, her breath sinking to her core. “Insolence! Petty scoundrel—swindling and deceiving, do you not know the gods are watching?”

Her words, charged with spiritual energy, struck Master Luo like a blow. He collapsed to his knees before her, unable to withstand it.

The crowd was stunned. Murmurs exploded.

Professor Zhou saw Master Luo’s reaction and understood. He let go of the master’s arm in anger. “Master Luo, I trusted you, rushed here at full speed, and you turned out to be a fake. Phoenix is my friend—I know her character. She would never lie.”

Professor Zhou’s reputation in Yecheng was beyond compare. With his words, the crowd turned on Master Luo.

Yaoguang smirked and sent a message. Suddenly, police sirens wailed—Xuan Chen and his team surrounded the area.

Yaoguang flashed her badge. “Police. Xuan Chen, take these frauds away.”

Xuan Chen nodded. The stunned master and his disciples were promptly handcuffed.

“Everyone, keep your eyes open in the future—don’t be fooled again. If any of you were cheated by this fake Daoist, go with the police to file a report and we’ll help you recover your losses. If not, you may disperse,” Yaoguang said, then turned to the woman. “Ma’am, may I see your husband?”

“Yes, yes,” the woman replied, leading Yaoguang inside the shop.

“Now that’s what I call impressive,” Sun Third chuckled, following them in. Professor Zhou, Huo Mingkun, and the others entered as well.