Yielding to her coaxing, I explained, "This is a spirit-inviting feng shui technique. Your friend's unstable pregnancy stems from insufficient 生气 (vital qi). Nine cun deep is where external vital qi converges in the room. High-rises cut off earth qi, but vital qi still circulates—entering via vital spots, exiting via dead ones. Spiders are spiritually attuned insects; old money carries accumulated yang energy. Her hair connects her to the spider, channeling vital qi through the convergence point."
I booped her nose. "Feng shui is subtle—used well, it saves lives; misused, it harms. I shouldn't even be telling you this."
"You're my husband—what's yours is mine." She grinned.
True—this poor fortune-teller had a shop and a lover. I vowed to cherish happiness and never travel for feng shui again. "Don't breathe a word—misuse could bring karma."
"I promise." She swore, and we fell asleep in each other's arms.
The next morning, Zhao Na was gone—unusual, as she'd never risen early in our month together. It was 7 AM. I'd neglected my old home; she disliked bathing there, so we'd lived together. I wanted to call Grandpa, but my texts vanished.
Today was Zhao Zhiyong's 五七 (57th-day memorial). Burning money meant nothing for his soul, but rituals comfort the living. I called the funeral director to arrange it, then posted my number at Yi Zhai.
Meeting Zhao Na at the crematorium, Li Qian skipped the memorial due to her pregnancy. Only we two attended—Zhao Zhiyong had few relatives. Wind whipped ashes into our eyes as we lit incense, which kept snuffing out—he truly couldn't receive the money.
"Strange—so many people here today," I said, scanning the crowd.
"Not really," Zhao Na mumbled, not looking up.
It was as busy as a market. As I added paper money, a hunched old woman in a yellow blouse waved at me, smiling. No one else responded when I gestured to myself—she nodded.
"Grandma, do you need help?"
"I thought you couldn't see me." Her smile remained gentle. "Can you assist me? My son is over there, but I'm scared to walk alone."
She seemed spry, but I offered help. Ash swirled as I helped her, but she asked, "Can you carry me? My legs are weak."
She couldn't weigh more than 100 jin, but the moment she climbed onto my back, it felt like a thousand-pound weight. "Not far—just to the second - last row, the Horse zodiac area."
Sweat drenched my shirt after ten steps. I was no weakling, but her weight crushed me.