"At first, when I said I wanted to return it, you refused no matter what. Now that someone's offering a high price, you're suddenly willing to take it back? I've seen shameless people before, but never anyone as shameless as you," a middle-aged man in his forties said angrily.
The shop owner retorted, "Weren't you the one pestering me just now to return it? Now I've agreed, and you're the one refusing? I think we both know who's really shameless here."
"Today I'm not returning it—what can you do about it?" the man snapped.
"If you don't return it, try leaving this store today!" The shopkeeper wasn't one to be intimidated; his neck stiffened as if ready to fight.
Watching the scene unfold, I was speechless. I quickly slipped over to Uncle Huzi's side and whispered a few words in his ear. A mischievous grin spread across his face.
He cleared his throat, walked up to the pair, and said with a chuckle, "Gentlemen, stop arguing. I was just joking earlier. How could I possibly spend that much money on a shroud someone dead has already worn? You two were arguing so fiercely, I just came over to watch the show."
The two men, faces flushed from arguing, froze in confusion at his words.
The shop owner's face darkened. "What's wrong with you? You're playing games in my store?"
"That's right, I'm playing around. I was bored—got a problem with that?" Uncle Huzi curled his lip.
With his towering frame—over six feet tall—full beard, and rugged face, he looked like the spitting image of a fierce Zhang Fei. One glance told you he wasn't someone to provoke.
Although the shop owner was full of resentment, he didn't dare direct it at Huzi. He muttered instead, "Fine, go play somewhere else. Stop bothering me while I'm doing business."
The customer, however, perked up. He slapped the shroud down on the table. "Boss, weren't you going to take it? Pay me!"
"I told you—shrouds worn by the dead can't be returned."
"Didn't you just say you'd take it back? Now you're refusing again?" the man shouted.
"I said no, and I mean it. Now get lost!" The shop owner waved him away like shooing a fly.
I glanced at the customer and noticed something was off—his forehead was ashen, and a faint but distinct aura of malevolence clung to him.
Given my line of work, I'm very sensitive to such signs.
The two of them fell back into their loop—one insisting on returning, the other refusing—and the shouting began again.
Following my earlier instructions, Huzi looked at the shopkeeper. "You're sure you won't take it back?"
The shop owner gave him an impatient glance. "Not taking it. Now hurry up and leave, stop causing trouble."
At that, Huzi turned to the customer. "How much did you pay for this shroud?"
"A little over three hundred. When I got home, I had my late father try it on—pants were too short, couldn't even wear them properly. I can't just fob something like that off on my father, so I came to return it. But the boss here's unreasonable and refuses to take it back."
"Here's a thousand yuan. It's yours—give me the shroud." Huzi handed over the cash.
The man's eyes lit up instantly. He snatched the money, overjoyed.
The shopkeeper, seeing this, was left speechless—he had, after all, just refused to take it.
So Huzi took the shroud, and we left the store together.
As we reached the door, I called out, "Sir, wait a moment."
The man stopped, looking puzzled. He quickly shoved the thousand yuan into his pocket, as though afraid I might take it back.
"What is it?" he asked warily.
"Forgive me for asking, but how did your father pass away?" I asked politely.
"Died of illness. Why?" he replied.
"Nothing. I'm a feng shui practitioner, and you might need my help in the future. Let me give you my number—if anything happens, call me anytime."
I borrowed an eyebrow pencil from Guo Xiaotong, scribbled my number on a napkin, and handed it to him.
He stuffed it carelessly into his pocket, giving me a look like I was crazy, then turned and left.
Once he was gone, Guo Xiaotong asked, "Young Master Wu, what's wrong with that man?"
"Hard to say. I think something's wrong with him. In the next few days, he might run into trouble. I might be able to help," I said thoughtfully.
We had our shroud, so we returned to the car.
Huzi checked other shops to see if we could get a second shroud that had been worn by the dead, but this time luck wasn't on our side. After scouring the entire funeral goods market, we didn't find another one.
Still, one was enough. I could go alone if necessary.
Sitting in the car, I sniffed the shroud. A thick aura of death clung to it—it had definitely been worn by the dead.
But there was more—an overwhelming resentment embedded in its fabric, far beyond the ordinary.
It seemed I was right—the man trying to return it was indeed in trouble.
If nothing unexpected happened, he'd contact me within three days.
I only hoped he hadn't thrown away my number.
If he had, he might not even survive.
On the way back, Guo Xiaotong brought up Liu Wenhao, the man who'd brought Master Zhou to her home earlier.
Liu Wenhao's father was a business partner of her father, Guo Ziping. Their business in Yanbei City was extensive.
At a family gathering, Guo Xiaotong had met Liu Wenhao. From then on, he began pursuing her.
He was tall, handsome, and charming—but when she learned more about him, she discovered he was a womanizer, always chasing skirts. From then on, she avoided him.
Unfortunately, he clung to her like a stubborn leech, which made her despise him. That explained her attitude today.
She warned me that Liu Wenhao had influence in Yanbei City, with connections in both legitimate and shady circles, and told me to be careful.
After all, earlier today I had caused him no small trouble—two of his front teeth had been knocked out under the influence of the resentful spirit controlling Master Zhou.
I didn't take it to heart. My master, the "King of Feng Shui," wasn't a man without clout—having him at my back meant I had nothing to fear.
By the time we returned to the Guo family villa, it was already dark.
Guo Ziping had the servants prepare a lavish dinner. After eating and drinking our fill, it was late.
His health was fragile, and after eating, he became drowsy, though it was clear he didn't want to sleep.
Eventually, unable to resist, he let me help him to his bedroom, where he changed into the shroud that had once been worn by the dead.
Do you want me to also keep character and cultural localization adjustments in future translations so it feels more natural for Western readers while preserving the supernatural tone? This would make the flow feel more like an English novel than a direct translation.