Supernatural Academy 3

Kapitel 3

After hearing their doubts, the wealthy Mr. Fan waved his hand and said, "I have investigated everything you have said. In my whole life, I have done nothing but think about how to find this silver."

My contempt for him deepened. He'd done nothing his whole life but make money. What a parasite! Why don't you do something useful? You Shanxi people are so good at business, trading tea and silk to Mongolia and Russia, running banks, money exchanges, pawnshops, and loan sharking—you have more money than the imperial treasury! How did such a fool like you emerge?

After finishing his rant, the fool looked at me expectantly and said, "You've hit on the nail on the head of Zhongxi Township, so you must have some ability. Why don't you help me figure out if that sum of money actually exists? If so, where is it hidden?"

"Oh my god. You've been searching for sixty years and still can't find it, and I've never even been to your house, how would I know?" But then I looked at those pairs of longing eyes before me, so bright and green, they didn't look like hungry wolves anymore, but more like Persian cats, just waiting for someone to pet them, to give them some hope. Looking at them, and thinking of myself, a wave of sympathy washed over me. Suddenly, I remembered something and asked, "You all know about the Marquis of Xixiang's heart ailment, right? It's no secret anymore. It's not like someone's hidden silver is unknown even to their sons and grandsons. Why don't you tell him?"

The ghosts remained silent, embarrassed. But the wealthy Fan, being the first to beg me, shamelessly said, "He has such a bad temper, we all keep our distance from him. Whenever he catches us, he either beats or scolds us, so everyone avoids him. We're all ghosts, who can put up with his temper? We can't leave anyway, so we'll just drift along like this."

I utterly despise them. Even after they've become ghosts, they're still so petty. Chinese people love to fight amongst themselves; it's an old habit they can't shake. I gave a cold snort and said, "That's where you're wrong. Saving one person is one thing; how could you just stand by and watch?"

The ghosts nodded vigorously, saying, "Young master, you're right." Master Fan said, "We are but mortals, how can we compare to you, a celestial being forged by Nuwa? The moment you arrived, we knew you were extraordinary; you can surely save us from eternal despair. Young master, what about my silver?"

I was flattered so much that I felt like I was floating on air. Looking at the plump man in front of me, I thought of his house and the money that had disappeared. Suddenly, I remembered a riddle and recited it: "A hemp house, a red curtain, inside lives a plump man."

The chubby man remained oblivious, while I was struck by my inspiration and felt like jumping up. I cleared my throat and said calmly, "A hemp house, a red curtain, a brick floor. Haven't you ever thought about prying up a piece of the land where your old master's north-facing house, main room, accounting office, and study are located?"

The wealthy Master Fan stared blankly at me, unable to understand for a moment. The ghosts beside him were also silent, all watching him. I hated him for not giving me face. If he had laughed three times like the Third General and then vanished without a trace, wouldn't that have made my small stature seem even more imposing? But he didn't. He simply slapped his forehead, brushed off the snow-white sleeves of his robe, wiped away non-existent sweat, covered his face, and cried.

The ghosts and I were confused, unsure if I was right. Just as I was about to laugh it off and regain my composure, I heard the wealthy Master Fan sobbing and patting his chest, saying, "I should have known! I should have known! It turns out I've been sleeping on millions of taels of silver every day, walking on millions of taels of silver. The floor of my bedroom was painted black with lacquer, and the chair legs had worn away a piece of the lacquer from where the chairs sat under the window, revealing a bit of silver-white underneath. I thought the light coming in from the window reflected off it and made me unable to sleep, so I covered it up with ink. It turns out... it turns out..."

He cried so hard he nearly fell into the fog, lost his balance, tumbled over, and disappeared.

Zhu Maichen, a man from humble beginnings

We stared at the spot where he disappeared, and no one spoke for a long time.

It's really that simple? Two ghosts have already left this infinitely vast and eternal place, one laughing, one crying, laughing and crying all at once.

I was terrified. Having been here for so long, this was the first time I'd ever been truly frightened—by myself.

When ordinary people possess the power of life and death, they experience a sense of weightlessness. They can decide who lives and who dies at will; no wonder history is full of tyrannical rulers—it's far too easy. A word, a glance, a gesture, a step, and a person vanishes before your eyes. Anyone who displeases you is doomed. With such power in one person's hands, it's no wonder trouble arises.

My mind raced. Taking advantage of their staring blankly at the white mist, I quietly slipped away from the horde of ghosts. Just how many persistent ghosts were there in this place? If they all surrounded me, could I handle it? My little bit of cleverness was about to run out. If I couldn't satisfy them, wouldn't I be left in a miserable state, neither alive nor dead? Just being pestered by them and listening to their complaints would drive me crazy.

I hadn't gone far when the ghosts spotted me. They yelled and chased after me in the direction I'd fled, shouting all the while. I could hear them calling me "Little Brother," "Immortal," "Brother Stone," and "Great God," which gave me goosebumps all over my body, and I don't know how many I shook off along the way.

As I ran, I wondered, "I wasn't exactly an important person in my previous life, was I? Why am I able to save people from suffering and rescue ghosts from their predicaments here? At most, my father was the president of a listed company, and with a stomp of his foot, a financial crisis would erupt in Southeast Asia. I was born with a golden key in my left hand and a silver spoon in my right, surrounded by auspicious clouds and fragrant aromas. But surely that doesn't make me a savior? I'm not living out a ghost story version of The Matrix, where Mr. Anderson, a lowly IT company employee, becomes Neo, or The One."

It's really baffling.

I ran fast, they followed closely, and ghosts kept joining the ranks of followers. I felt like the first-place winner in a marathon, or Forrest Gump from *Forrest Gump*, leading the pack, afraid to stop. But my fear was different from theirs. The first-place winner was afraid of losing the gold medal, Forrest Gump was afraid of not finding the answer, but I was afraid that stopping would cause a stampede, turning me into a carpet for the ghosts. Such stampedes are commonplace; every year, countless pilgrims die on the pilgrimage to Mecca, creating countless piles of flesh and countless carpets. A carpet? Is that fun? You think it's Tom the cat from Disney cartoons? Run over by a steamroller, flattened like a sheet of paper, then automatically rolled up, unfolded, its fur shaken, and in the blink of an eye, it's a hero again… that good cat.

Merciful Guanyin Bodhisattva, merciful Guanyin Bodhisattva, save me! I promise I will never speak nonsense again. If there is a next time, I will be careful with my words and actions and will never say or do anything reckless, causing trouble for myself or you.

As if hearing my cry for help, Guanyin Bodhisattva appeared immediately. Dressed in white robes and a white veil over her head, she floated over and stopped in front of me. I looked at her with deep admiration. She was indeed just as I had seen countless times in paintings and temples, a middle-aged woman with a full face and a slender figure, her eyes lowered and a smile playing on her lips—truly an image of gentle compassion.

When I saw her, I breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly hid behind her, saying, "Goddess Guanyin, please save me! Tell them to stop chasing me! If I keep running, I'll run into some green-eyed, red-haired demon in a foreign land!" I almost slapped myself after saying that. Why can't I ever be serious? All I ever say is nonsense.

She smiled slightly and opened her arms to the horde of ghosts following behind. Upon seeing her, the ghosts stopped and looked at her with a hint of wariness. I was secretly delighted, thinking to myself, "So even you have fears."

She turned to look at me and said, "I have heard that a new girl has recently arrived who has the ability to be reborn and reincarnated, so I came to see her."

I was embarrassed and stammered, "It spread so fast? This just happened right before my eyes, how did it reach your ears?"

She smiled and said, "There is no secret here at this time. Let it spread with the mist and permeate the surroundings."

It turns out the fog beneath my feet also functions as a radio wave, which is quite convenient. I remembered that sometimes in the summer I wear a tight dress, and if I don't bring a bag, there's nowhere to put my phone, but I can't go out without it. What if I'm out having a good time with someone and can't find them? I nodded in agreement, saying, "Of course, you have excellent reception skills, you're well-informed, and you arrive quickly." That's practically a given. With so many people in the world, and people praying and blessing us every moment, how could she not be quick and responsive? Speaking of which, ever since I became a ghost, I've unconsciously developed a deep and unwavering belief in these gods and bodhisattvas. If someone had told me these things before I died, I would have definitely said they were brainwashed by Falun Gong.

I tugged at her sleeve and said, "Sister Guanyin, have you come to help me reincarnate? Was my death unjust?"

Before Guanyin could answer, the group of bored ghosts burst into loud, grating laughter, a laugh so awful it made the hairs on everyone's bodies stand on end. How dare they be so insolent before Guanyin? Could this woman not be Guanyin? Of course, what would Guanyin be doing here? Inspecting work here should be within the scope of Yama, the King of Hell's duties. I realized this immediately; I knew this woman in white had also come to beg me. Just as I was about to slip away, she grabbed my wrist.

She said with a smile, "Wronged? Yes, I regret it."

Seeing her beautiful appearance and gentle demeanor, I nodded and said, "That's for sure." Of course, that's for sure. Who here isn't wronged? Who has regrets? Those who aren't wronged or regretful either reincarnate to start a new life or accept their fate's punishment. But why are those ghosts afraid of such a pitiful, wronged soul? Is she also a very famous wronged soul?

I started guessing her identity. What famous women died dressed in white? I racked my brains but couldn't figure it out, so I asked, "How did you die?"

Suddenly overwhelmed with grief, she transformed from a gentle woman into a madwoman. She wailed and cried, laughing and sobbing, singing and dancing. She gestured wildly, listing who had wronged her, who had bullied her. Her cries were heart-wrenching, her songs beautiful. Her weeping made my own heart ache, her laughter was so loud it was jarring, like hearing fingernails scraping glass. Even the ghosts clenched their teeth in shock at her laughter and tears. It was only after this outburst that I realized she was utterly insane. No wonder the ghosts kept their distance; she was simply unbearable.

Unfortunately, I couldn't hear a word she was singing, otherwise I could have figured out who she was. She cried for a while, sang for a bit, stopped for a pause, her madness vanished, and she became that gentle, sorrowful woman again. She asked me, her face clouded with grief, "I have already confessed my remorse, why won't he forgive me? Twenty years of poverty and hardship together, is it all worth less than a single hair's breadth of loss of chastity?"

I was driven to the brink of a nervous breakdown by her nagging, and rubbing my temples, I asked, "Who are you? If you don't tell me who you are, how am I supposed to know if you're innocent or not, if you regret it or not? What are your unfulfilled wishes?"

I thought she would be like Tianhuang Xiaoxing, unaware of her own identity, or like Fan Dacaizhu, remembering who she was but not where the important things were hidden. But when I asked her who she was, she suddenly froze, covered her face with her sleeve, and said painfully, "First I was the wife of Maichen, then the wife of a butcher. Even if I hang myself, I cannot wash away the humiliation of this insult."

I didn't understand at first, so I glanced at the group of ghosts to see what they could suggest. The ghosts looked at me with disdain, one saying she deserved it, another saying she brought it on herself. I couldn't stand seeing a group of men bullying a woman, not even ghosts, so I shouted, "Shut up!" Seeing my anger, they paused, then obediently shut their mouths. This shows the old saying that the wicked fear the poor, and the poor fear the reckless. Of course, the reverse is also true. I was wicked, and they were desperate. They begged me, so I had no choice but to back down and stop attacking the white-clad madwoman, this fallen dog.

Of course, women will help women. I said to her, "Explain it in more detail so I can understand."

She simply repeated what she had just said: "First I was the wife of Maichen, then the wife of a butcher. Even if I hang myself, I cannot wash away the humiliation of being splashed with water."

I pondered for a moment, then said gently, "So, you are Zhu Maichen's wife, I understand now. What are you doing here? Is there something you wish for? What do you want to know?"

The biography of Zhu Maichen in the *Book of Han* states: Zhu Maichen was poor but loved reading. He once gathered firewood to sell. Carrying a bundle of firewood, he would walk and recite his lessons. His wife, carrying a load on her back, followed him, and repeatedly stopped him from singing in the roadside. Maichen sang even louder. His wife, ashamed, asked to leave. Maichen laughed and said, "I will be rich and noble when I am fifty, and I am already over forty. You have suffered for a long time; wait until I am rich and noble, and I will repay your kindness." His wife angrily said, "People like you will eventually starve to death in a ditch; how can you ever be rich and noble?" Maichen could not persuade her to stay and let her leave. Later, Maichen went to the capital to submit a petition and was appointed governor of Kuaiji. Upon his arrival, he mobilized the people to clear the road. County officials and over a hundred carriages escorted him. He saw his former wife and helped her clear the road. He ordered the last carriage to take her to the governor's residence, placed her in the garden, and provided her with food. After a month, his wife hanged herself. Maichen then summoned all his old friends and treated them to food and drink, repaying all those who had shown him kindness.

When I called her Zhu Maichen's wife, she was overwhelmed with shame. She covered her face with her sleeve and said softly, "I have already confessed my remorse, so why will the world not forgive me? Maichen provided me with a garden and food, which was already an insult to me. Later generations even fabricated the story of 'splashing water before the horse,' making things up out of nothing and spitting on my face. I was born without purpose, and I will die with even more shame. Now that I have met a fairy, I wish to seek enlightenment."

So she came to me to relieve her psychological stress. I took her hand and we walked slowly together, trying to comfort her with my modern feminist perspective: "Sister, you didn't do anything wrong. It's just that he's petty, vindictive, and resentful. You made the right decision to leave him. Think about it, you've endured twenty years of hardship, chopping and selling firewood with him. Did he ever thank you? He only said that the fortune teller predicted he'd be rich and powerful by fifty, but people aren't gods. How do you know if the fortune teller's prediction was true or false? How do you know he'll definitely live to fifty? You didn't mistreat him at all. He should have just chopped firewood properly, but he insisted on reciting his lessons while walking, making a fool of himself for passersby. You were absolutely right to tell him not to spout off sour poetry in public. He should do what he's supposed to do; selling firewood should be done properly. He wouldn't listen. He's stubborn and inflexible, with a touch of pretentious pedantry, looking down on working people. Everyone else is selling firewood and vegetables, but he's the only one making an exception. Isn't that showing off?" He wouldn't listen, saying he'd repay your kindness when he became rich and powerful. Husband and wife are one; what kindness is there to speak of? It's nothing more than deep affection and love. You treated him with affection, yet he talks about repaying kindness—clearly, he's a fool. With this kind of person, divorce is divorce; don't worry about him. Even if he does become the governor of Kuaiji someday, he'll go his own way, and you'll go yours; you'll have nothing to do with each other anymore. But he hypocritically invites you to live in his new home, letting you witness his petty, nouveau riche face. From peasant to official—the ruse of these "phoenix men" is always so ugly. He'll make you regret it, using subtle tactics to force you to commit suicide—more ruthless than a robber. This person is so narrow-minded, yet he's educated and an official; he holds all the power. How could you possibly be his match? Dying at his hands would be unjust and regrettable. Unjust because you were no longer husband and wife, yet you still had to endure his mistreatment. Regret because you didn't recognize his ugly intentions sooner; otherwise, why would you have died?

She listened intently, and I wasn't sure if she understood everything I'd said. But she clearly grasped the main ideas and gist of this feminist manifesto—no wonder she'd lived with an educated person for twenty years; she was good at focusing on the essentials. She asked, "I don't need to regret, I don't need to feel ashamed?"

I nodded and said, "No need. There are plenty of foolish people in the world, how can you reason with them? If you were unfortunate enough to encounter them in your past life, you can get rid of them after death, why should you be ashamed and trapped by them?"

Her worried expression vanished, replaced by a faint smile. She bowed slightly, and just as she was about to rise, she was carried away by the mist.

Armani and Ferragamo

When I delivered that women's manifesto, I already guessed this ending. As soon as she disappeared, I looked up at the ghosts to see what they thought. I stopped running. Where could I go? The fog here could transmit messages; hiding was pointless. They'd been here for so long; finding me would be a piece of cake. At first, I was just a ghost drifting around because they didn't want to show themselves in the fog and were too lazy to bother with me. People die and become ghosts every day; if they all came to say hello, how could they possibly keep up? And the fact that I saw Emperor Xiaoxing wasn't because I was lucky; it was because he was determined to leave and was waiting for new ghosts to appear. As long as I caught a new ghost and told him who he was and how he died, I could leave this ghostly place.

Haha, what a awful place! We often describe a bad place as a "ghost place." Isn't this place exactly that?

The old ghosts in this godforsaken place stared at me with their green eyes, looking confused, angry, hesitant, and bewildered. I guessed I'd offended them with what I'd just said. After all, China is a patriarchal society, and they wouldn't listen to my unorthodox words anymore. But they'd witnessed my "powers" firsthand, which put them in a dilemma, leaving them undecided. Should they pretend not to hear and continue asking me for help, or, for the sake of their male pride, criticize me mercilessly?

I smiled softly, turned and floated away, then recited in a long, melodious voice: Spring dreams scatter with the clouds, flying blossoms drift with the water. A message to all children: why seek idle sorrow?

He recited it several times, then stopped, turned back to the group of ghosts who had fallen more than ten steps behind, and asked: "Have you ever seen a man around forty years old, with a braid and clothes similar to the wealthy Fan from earlier? He was a scholar, exceptionally talented and unparalleled in the world. He wrote a book called 'The Story of the Stone'."

The ghosts shook their heads, all saying they didn't recognize him and had never seen a ghost of such age and attire before. Seeing me speaking to them, one ghost couldn't resist stepping forward and asking, "Who are you, and what kind of riddle are you spouting? What you said to Zhu Maichen's abandoned wife is utter nonsense. Starving to death is a small matter, but losing one's chastity is a great matter. What's wrong with a woman who can't be content with poverty and uphold her virtue, who would throw water before a horse? This woman disregarded wifely virtue and shame, choosing to be abandoned and remarry. Zhu Maichen provided her with a garden and food, treating her well. She hanged herself out of shame. What does that have to do with Zhu Maichen? Why do you accuse Zhu Maichen of being unrighteous?"

Those around him nodded vigorously, saying he was right, that he spoke well, that Zhu Maichen was very ambitious, and that the woman deserved her misfortune. They said that if it were them, they would have been lenient by throwing water at the horse's head.

I knew it was impossible to persuade them, and I didn't want to stoop to their level. I couldn't be a Zhuge Liang, engaging in a battle of wits with a group of scholars. But I'm a mischievous, witty, and talkative modern little devil. Having read countless brain teasers, dealing with their dull minds was a piece of cake. I chuckled to myself and said with feigned seriousness, "Indeed. Starving to death is a small matter, but losing one's integrity is a great one. I am spreading heresy, and you must not be cowardly and join me in this evil. Our paths are different, so let's part ways." Glancing at their gloomy faces, I felt smug and couldn't help but add, "And whatever you do, don't follow me!"

They really didn't follow. I shook them off so easily, turned around, laughed, and started walking. I hadn't gone more than a few steps when a man in a suit came out in front of me. He was dressed head to toe in Armani, trying too hard to be elegant, but he was incredibly tacky. And there he was again, with that neatly folded white handkerchief in his jacket pocket.

I was really happy to see him, so I went up to greet him and said, "You're back from your workout?"

When he saw me, he looked helpless and pointed to the horde of ghosts behind me, saying, "What are they trying to do?"

I said with a grin, "Same as you."

He nodded and asked, "How many have been helped to pass on their lives?"

I admired his uncanny foresight very much, and I snapped my fingers triumphantly, saying, "Three."

"And then?" he asked, frowning. I then realized that he really did like to frown. He was such a carefree and happy person in life, how could he become a thinker after he died?

"Then I said Zhu Maichen was a 'phoenix man' (a man from a poor background who achieves success), which offended them. They almost stoned me to death, if they have any here. I was originally looking for Cao Xueqin, have you met him?" I asked hopefully.

He sighed and said, "How could Cao Xueqin be here? A man like him is a reincarnation of the God of Literature, who, after surviving a tribulation, has returned to his celestial position."

At first, I found it hilarious and laughed uncontrollably. The idea of a literary or martial star descending to earth was something I often heard in old novels, but I never expected to hear it from someone like this. The movie star sounded like a Taoist priest; it was indescribably funny, and I laughed until my stomach hurt. He watched me laugh like a madman and smirked. I figured I was just a fool in his eyes, so I laughed even harder. Then, suddenly, I thought it might actually be true, and I clapped my hands, saying, "Wonderful! Wonderful! So that's how it is! Ah, what a pity!"

He seemed to fully understand my rambling words, yet he asked, puzzled, "In your eyes, is the ending of 'Dream of the Red Chamber' more important than anything else? More important than being reborn as a human, more important than escaping a predicament?"

This guy is a complete idiot, that's for sure. But I patiently explained to him: "Scholars have three regrets: first, that crabapple blossoms have no fragrance; second, that shad has too many bones; and third, that *Dream of the Red Chamber* is unfinished. Scholars only think about trivial matters. Li Bai said: 'Heaven and earth are the inn of all things, and time is the passing guest of a hundred generations. Life is like a dream, how much joy can one have? We should enjoy ourselves while we can, don't you understand? I'm already here, and I can't leave, so why not fulfill my wishes and satisfy my curiosity? This place has no future, and I'm just sitting here anyway, so I might as well find something to do to pass the time. Do you think I should start a company to make money, or continue my master's and doctoral studies? If I had a mahjong set to play, I could probably get by for three to five years."

Seeing that I was starting to ramble on again, he frowned even more, his brows almost forming a line. "Can't you think about how to get back?"

I feigned surprise and said, "Really? Then what about them, them, and them?" I pointed to the ghosts that had been following me for ten feet, "Didn't they think about it? Some have thought about it for ten thousand years, some for decades or even centuries, and which one of them figured it out? Just now, only three of them left thanks to me." I was doubtful again and asked him, "You're saying that no one has ever successfully performed a ritual before me? Am I the first one in ten thousand years?"

He rolled his eyes at me and said, "You really have no manners. Do you think you're some kind of reincarnated immortal? Ghosts who can enlighten wronged souls appear here from time to time. Once they've enlightened a certain number of them, they can leave on their own. I only came to find you because I heard about such things. Otherwise, why would I listen to your nonsense?"

I said awkwardly, "I didn't think I was the first one in history, otherwise why would I ask you? By the way, why don't you go and enlighten other ghosts? If you fill your quota, you can leave too, right?" Damn it, even being a ghost requires occupying a certain market share, how truly keeping up with the times.

He said, "I can't. Not everyone can do this, but I don't know who exactly can."

But I understood and said, "Hmm, I get it. This is also a profession, and you need a certain talent to do it. For example, you can act, and I can study. Then you become a star, and I become a bookworm."

He suddenly grabbed me and asked, "I'm a celebrity? What kind of celebrity?"

I quickly shook off his hand and said, "Let go, let go, why are you pulling and tugging? You're used to it, you don't accept anyone, you can hug and kiss anyone. I'm a pure and innocent girl, I'm not used to having intimate contact with men."

He released my hand and stared at me with such intense gaze, a gaze so intense it could practically fry an egg, that I almost thought he was in love with me. He said, "I'm a celebrity? What celebrity? You really know me? What's my name, and how did I die?"

I mentally scorned him twelve times, and said dismissively, "Just look at your clothes, and I know what kind of celebrity you are. Why bother asking me?" Okay, I admit, I was deliberately messing with him. Who told him to act so well? You're a big star, do you really need to put on such a performance in front of a ghost like me?

He glanced at his clothes, puzzled, and asked me, "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"This guy's so stupid," I clicked my tongue twice and said, "Your clothes are Armani. Male celebrities wear Armani like uniforms; everyone wears the same thing, and it's all so bland. Don't you remember that? Your shoes are Ferragamo. Faye Wong makes shoes specifically for big stars; it's one of a kind, with no other lasts available. Don't you recognize the logo on those shoes?" After saying that, I stared at his face, watching his expression. Would he stare wide-eyed in disbelief, or would he frown and doubt that I was talking nonsense?

He raised an eyebrow, blinked, pursed his lips, coughed, and asked casually, feigning composure, "Really?"

I laughed heartily and clapped my hands, saying, "As expected of a big star, that series of movements was absolutely perfect and a feast for the eyes. From now on, I'm your fan. It's so lonely here since you don't have any friends or family or a fan club."

He seemed to know I was teasing him, and actually became quite shy. After a pause, he asked, "So, what's my name?"

I stopped teasing him and replied, "Your stage name is Luo Yi, but your real name is Luo Jialiang. Your fan club is called 'Yi Fans' or 'Yi Mian'. You died on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month last year, at the age of thirty-two, in your mansion that cost you a million yuan to renovate. Your housekeeper didn't find you dead until she went to work at ten o'clock the next morning. And it was a natural death; no one was with you. Your agent and nanny didn't know what had happened to you, and eventually even the police got involved. To be honest, your death wasn't tragic, but your aftermath was quite tragic. To find out the cause of your death, you were... you know. But speaking of which, they were really good to you; they put your favorite clothes and shoes in your burial. If they had taken those clothes and sold them on Taobao, and kept the shoes for themselves, what could you have done, right?"

Once I started talking, I couldn't stop. I got carried away and blurted out everything. He became very uncomfortable and said angrily, "Since I'm so rich, I must own more than just Armani and Ferragamo. I don't know how many of them have been swindled from me."

I clapped my hands and exclaimed, "So you're the one who knows everything!"

Mahjong, Pai Gow, and Playing Cards

Hearing me praise him like that, he got angry, and his good temper seemed to have vanished. He snapped at me, "You're the fool!"

I got angry too and yelled back, "You're the idiot! Why don't you just give up being a star? What are you doing? You have so much money to spend on lawyers, do you have too much money? And your messy romantic history, changing girlfriends faster than clothes, and all kinds of brands, don't you understand 'better to have none than a bad one'? Don't you understand 'keeping yourself clean'? Don't you understand 'being single-minded'? Don't you understand 'being devoted to one thing'? Don't you understand 'being single-minded'? You're an moron."

No one had ever insulted him like that before, and he couldn't take it anymore. His eyebrows shot up in anger, and he yelled, "What's it to you? Do you need to know everything? We're guarded at the door when we eat or go to the toilet; we can't even pick our noses. Sometimes, if we just talk to someone a little longer, it's written as if we're getting close to someone and about to get married. Aren't you tired of this?" He finished his rant in one breath, and this was exactly the Luo Yi I'd read about in the newspapers. His previous gentleness had vanished completely. Ah, this guy really does have a split personality.

I said with a smile, "Keep going, keep going. You'll soon remember who you are and how you died. You don't need to beg me; you can save yourself."

He was jolted awake by my cold water, quieted down, covered his face, and said, "Why did I speak so fluently? It was like it just popped out of my mouth automatically?"

I felt incredibly sympathetic. "Because you really do say it that way." Then I asked, "How much do you remember?"

He thought for a moment and said, "Not many. At least of the women you mentioned, I can't remember the names or faces of any of them."

I laughed gleefully, "So you don't love any of them. You heartbreaker, you really live up to your nickname 'heartthrob.' I was wondering why you were so affectionate in the movies, it was all a lie!"

"What movies have I acted in?" he asked me curiously.

"Hmm, let me think. In 'The Legend of Autumn Wind,' you played the middle-aged man, caught in the middle, competing with the kind-hearted older brother and the beloved younger brother for a woman, and you won. In 'Love Returns to the Past,' you played a kind-hearted older brother, competing with the playboy younger brother for the same woman, and you won again. In 'The Sting,' you played a master thief, competing with your sworn brother for a woman, and you eventually won again. And in 'Fleeting Clouds,' you were competing with your wife's first love for her affections, and after finally winning, your daughter died, and you left heartbroken, leaving your wife devastated. It was this movie that made you a superstar, winning awards left and right, and making you a heartthrob in the eyes of female movie fans."

My description left him speechless, clutching his cheek as if he had a toothache, and gasping for breath as he said, "Have I never played a normal man? All I do is lovey-dovey stuff, not a single masculine film?"