She Can See Ghosts

Ever since her memories flooded back, He Qing had been unfalteringly practicing a set of Marrow Refining Skill in the school's woods every day, its origin unknown. To the untrained eye, this routine might just seem like a dubious form of Tai Chi, and sometimes the rhythm was quite bizarre. Several old professors from the school had started joining her, saying it had the beat of a square dance...

The real square dance was too fast for those with stiff arms and legs, but He Qing's version was just right. A few casual attempts seemed to smooth their breath. Unbeknownst to them, this was because when He Qing practiced, Spiritual Energy would gather around, and ordinary people would inevitably feel it. That's why a group of six male and female professors ended up joining her every day.

Leader He Qing: ...

After exercising for over half an hour, He Qing finally stopped. She couldn't figure out why her rural upbringing had left her body so impure that even after a year of practice, she still sweated out a great deal of greyish sweat each day, emitting a fishy stench if one got too close. If this had been at the start, she would have seemed like she'd wallowed in a stinky ditch, something anyone would avoid at all costs.

Fortunately, the elderly, by breathing in Spiritual Energy, would also secrete some of it, and with everyone reeking, it no longer mattered.

After the exercise, Professor Lin, who taught Chinese literature, once again marveled, "This body-conditioning Tai Chi is indeed extraordinary; it feels like detoxing after every session. But it only works when we practice together, what a pity. I invited my son to join, but he doesn't believe it."

Professor Li, who taught politics and was a trendy old lady, joined in with a smile, "Exactly, exactly, the kids are too lazy these days, they don't believe it. But my little grandson, he's mesmerized by novels, insisting that what I'm doing is Marrow Cleansing, like some Taoist... Don't laugh, I read one yesterday, it was quite good. They call detoxing 'Marrow Cleansing' in it, and you could even go as far as Foundation Establishment!"

He Qing: Although there is indeed an effect of Marrow Cleansing, the way you put it... still feels somewhat off...

Remembering her purpose for today, she swiftly addressed Professor Lin, "Professor, do you have any old writing brushes at home that you could spare me one?"

Professor Lin couldn't help but wince at the request – this kid, always after his old brushes. They weren't that worn out... Offering her a new one was out of the question, she wouldn't accept it. Sometimes she'd even refuse a brush he'd used only a couple of times and deemed old. Clutching the nearly bald brush that he favored made him almost believe he was a master calligrapher!

Yet the girl's eagerness to learn was undeniable; each time holding his old brush with such reverence, Professor Lin could only grow fonder of her and couldn't bring himself to refuse.

While he was mulling it over, another professor expressed displeasure: "Ahqing, why do you insist on old man Lin's brush? He can write with a brush, and so can we! Come on, I have some at home, and they're in good condition!"

He Qing managed a wry smile; what could she say?

She only wanted Professor Lin's brushes because he had a calm disposition and often wrote articles akin to those of Laozi and Zhuangzi, especially the Tao Te Ching and Zhuangzi. A highly esteemed master's handwriting could grant a spiritual quality to the brush, while the latter could instill a peaceful and natural state of mind in it. Though not as potent as those made from special materials, these old brushes at least possessed some spiritual quality.

As for the other professors, those who taught Marxism, mathematics, and even etiquette... Despite their decades of writing, talisman drawing with a balding brush was already challenging enough, and their work just didn't suit her purposes...

Overwhelmed with options, it was Professor Lin who couldn't stand it any longer and hastily made an excuse to take her back to his house.

"This is the brush I've been using lately. See if you like it. If you do, take it home with you."

Watching the eager student cradle the brush in her hands, Professor Lin's heart swelled with satisfaction, giving her advice, "You've taken three brushes already, your previous ones are all bald and no good for practicing calligraphy. If you really like it that much, you could also gather some materials and have someone make one for you. There's Mobao Square on Zhongxuan Street; you should check it out. They have a wide selection of complete and semi-finished products for custom orders; you should be able to find a brush to your liking."

He Qing nodded in a hurry, who would want to use a bald brush after all, when the ink wouldn't spread evenly.

Mobao Square on Zhongxuan Street was an old store reportedly with a great legacy. However, since it only served regular customers, He Qing had never managed to visit it.

Since Professor Lin said so today, it proves that he is willing to vouch for himself. He Qing's heart swelled with joy, and she thanked him repeatedly, deciding that if she could find any good brushes, she would get some cinnabar and draw some amulets for Professor Lin and the others.

Sure enough, it didn't take long for Professor Lin to send her a handwritten note. He Qing was delighted and hurried out the door straight to Zhongxuan Street.

However, she didn't realize until she left the school gate that it wasn't even seven o'clock yet, and not a single shop on the street was open, which left her feeling dejected. Still, unwilling to give up hope, she headed there anyway, and to her surprise, Mobao Square was actually open!

So diligent!

He Qing entered the shop joyfully. There was another male customer inside, his expression gloomy and his aura very oppressive. Carefully avoiding him, He Qing faintly smelled a familiar yet strange scent.

She suppressed the doubts in her heart and handed Professor Lin's note to the indifferent shopkeeper, "Shopkeeper, I would like to buy a writing brush, do you have any good ones?"

The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man, looked like a Maitreya Buddha. He had been indifferent to the male customer before He Qing came in, but as soon as he saw Professor Lin's letter, he immediately beamed with joy, "Yes, we have everything here... What kind of brush does the young lady want?"

He Qing thought for a moment, uncertain if it was available, but decided to ask tentatively anyway, "Do you have talisman pens?"

The shopkeeper's expression remained unchanged as he laughed, "What kind of talisman pen? A writing brush?"

It seems they don't have any.

Although He Qing had suspected as much, she still felt somewhat disappointed, so she decided to settle for the next best thing, "Then do you have peach wood..."

Wait!

He Qing suddenly looked up, realizing the scent she smelled on the man was of cinnabar—the toxic mercury fumes released when cinnabar is heated! Generally, only certain refining sand techniques would do that; ordinary people couldn't withstand such poison...

Besides, the incense burning in the shop, that subtle yet lasting fragrance, seemed like sandalwood, but in fact, it was Benzoin made from peach wood ash and dragon saliva fragrance, costing roughly thirty thousand yuan per stick, capable of Soul Suppressing and Inviting Wealth while clearing the spiritual platform. Who other than someone in the trade would have the luxury to use it?

He Qing looked at the shopkeeper with a smirk: Fortune comes to one who least expects it, effortlessly!

For nearly two years, she had been searching for a place that had these items, and unexpectedly, it turned out to be right under her nose!

She pointed to the counter, "I want a top-quality talisman pen, cinnabar, Yellow Mounting Paper, and the powdered form of dried black dog blood..."

The shopkeeper glanced at her, not expecting such a seemingly ordinary girl to have such discerning eyes. After thinking it over, he still laid out the items one by one, "A Five Hundred-Year-Old Thunderstruck Peach Wood Talisman Pen, five hundred thousand. A piece of thousand-year-old cinnabar, six hundred thousand. Yellow Paper, ten thousand per cut. Taiyin Black Dog Blood, three thousand yuan per gram."

He Qing: ...

"Are you robbing me!"