Chapter Two: Temptation into Employment

He rose early in the morning and washed up. As he scrubbed his face, Liu Jun, with his clever mind, began analyzing his situation: receiving clients, handiwork, escorting vehicles, communicating between two locations—wasn’t this exactly the foreign trade industry? How astute I am, he thought. He stepped out, bought some soy milk and fried dough sticks, then hailed a cab.

“Driver, take me to No. 89 Zhiyang Road,” Liu Jun said as he climbed in.

“Alright then, buckle up,” replied the driver, a middle-aged man whose familiar, generic face made him seem like someone Liu Jun had seen a hundred times before.

“Young man, you’re heading to the Burning Paper Street for business?” the driver asked.

“Burning Paper Street? Aren’t those all funeral shops? No other businesses there?” Liu Jun asked, curious.

“That’s right, it’s always been a street for funeral supplies—burning paper and all. No other shops,” the driver confirmed.

Hearing this, Liu Jun felt a chill run down his spine; cold sweat trickled down his back. The allure of a high-paying job suddenly lost its shine, and yesterday’s elderly man’s image grew sinister and frightening. Could I really encounter a ghost in broad daylight?

Yet, the temptation of a good salary and the hardship of his current life forced Liu Jun to push down his shock. He reassured himself constantly: It’s fine, maybe the old man opened a new foreign trade shop and chose that location on purpose. The old man didn’t seem quite normal—maybe this is just the sort of thing he’d do.

After a twenty-minute ride, the taxi stopped in front of No. 89 Zhiyang Road. Liu Jun got out and looked up. There was a funeral supply shop with no signboard, only some wreaths and burning paper arranged at the entrance. On the side of the door, a blue sign clearly read: No. 89 Zhiyang Road.

Liu Jun hesitated for a full five minutes. What should I do? It really is a funeral shop. Should I go in or not? Forget it, let’s do this. I’m a healthy blossom of nine years of compulsory education, a staunch atheist—am I really going to be intimidated by this?

Thinking such thoughts, he slowly shuffled toward the entrance. Yes, shuffled… Liu Jun would never admit he was afraid; it was merely that his legs weren’t cooperating.

Inside, he glanced around. Surprisingly, though the shop looked small from outside, it was quite spacious within. Facing the entrance was a long, old-fashioned wooden counter, and behind it stood a large cabinet with many drawers. Ignoring the paper figures, burning paper, and spirit money scattered about, Liu Jun almost mistook the place for a traditional Chinese medicine shop.

“Hey, kid! What are you sneaking around for, peering like a thief?”

Turning to his left, Liu Jun saw two grand armchairs and a classic wooden tea table in between. The old man was seated in one of the armchairs, speaking to him. Clearly, this old man wasn’t normal—who would put grand armchairs in a funeral shop? A sane person wouldn’t think of such a thing.

“Sir, you’re not being honest. You said it was a job in foreign trade—how did it turn out to be a funeral shop?” Liu Jun complained.

“Don’t go slandering me, kid. When did I ever say it was a foreign trade job?” the old man replied.

“You crafty old fox! Then tell me—client reception, I get it; handiwork, okay; escorting vehicles, communicating between two places—how do you explain those?” Liu Jun exclaimed angrily.

“Handiwork is simple enough, isn’t it? See those paper figures? All handmade. Machines just don’t have soul. As for escorting vehicles, some clients need us to follow the hearse. Communicating between two places—well, I dabble in spirit communication, helping clients connect the realms of the living and the dead,” the old man said calmly, stroking his beard.

Three question marks popped into Liu Jun’s mind. Could someone really explain it like that? Machines lack soul—paper figures needing a soul, how terrifying. Spirit communication—has he watched too much anime, summoning giant toads and all that? This old man nearly led me straight into the ditch. He’s sly, deliberately guiding me into a misunderstanding.

“You win, you’re the boss. This cab fare is wasted. I can’t afford to provoke you, so I’ll just leave. Do whatever you like,” Liu Jun said, turning toward the door.

“Hmm, six thousand a month, commission if you do well, and matchmaking included. Tsk, tsk. Wonder who’ll end up with such a job,” the old man remarked, unhurried.

Liu Jun’s foot, just about to step out the door, paused and slowly withdrew. “Look, boss, shall I start right now? Money aside, and matchmaking, whatever. The main thing is, someone’s got to do this job. As the saying goes: ‘If I don’t descend into hell, who will?’ As a model youth of the new century, I have to be highly self-aware.”

“So… do we settle the salary monthly? When do I get arranged with a partner? Is it right after I start?” Liu Jun asked.

“Can’t you show a bit more ambition? The matchmaking depends on your performance. Salary is paid at the end of each month. If you don’t make it a full month, I’ll still count it as one. Generous, aren’t I?” the old man replied with a smile, thinking to himself: This kid is genuine—his shamelessness is kind of interesting.

“So, sir, today is the twenty-ninth. Tomorrow’s the end of the month. Can I come to you for a month’s salary tomorrow?” Liu Jun asked.

“Get out! This month doesn’t count. Go arrange the paper figures! If you keep acting shameless, you’ll lose next month’s salary too,” the old man barked.

What a character! The old man’s personality was truly abrasive, none of the calm or kindness one expects from the elderly.

“No going upstairs. Stay on the first floor. Later, I’ll teach you how to make paper figures and such. In the middle drawer beneath the counter, there’s a stack of paper. Write your name on it—there’s a brush nearby,” the old man instructed.

Liu Jun went to the counter, looked down, pulled open the drawer, took out a sheet of paper, and placed it on the counter. He picked up the brush and, with a flourish, wrote his name. He’d used pencils, fountain pens, ballpoint pens, but never a brush to write his name before. Looking it over, it turned out pretty well.

The old man took the paper and inspected it carefully. Liu Jun didn’t pay much attention—he’d grown accustomed to odd behavior.

“Sir, you said you know spirit communication. Do you draw talismans, like in those movies—one talisman to immobilize a zombie?” Liu Jun asked curiously.

“I know how to draw talismans, but it’s not time to teach you yet. Watch fewer movies, and your imagination won’t be so wild,” the old man said, glancing at Liu Jun.

This old man—why did his words always come with a personal jab?

“So, what do talismans look like? Are they powerful?” Though Liu Jun was a fine, upstanding youth, he couldn’t shake the feeling the old man had some real skills. The old man’s behavior was either that of an escaped mental patient, or he truly had abilities. The mental patient theory wasn’t likely—those grand armchairs were made of pear wood, and Liu Jun had seen such a set while working at a furniture market. The boss treasured it dearly; it was worth a fortune. Ordinary folks couldn’t afford it.

“What do talismans look like? About as messy as your handwriting. The difference is, talismans are unreadable to people, but ghosts can understand them. Yours is impressive—neither people nor ghosts can decipher it,” the old man said, looking at Liu Jun with disdain.

Ha! You’re amazing, you’re the boss, and I can’t afford to provoke you, so I’ll keep my questions to myself, Liu Jun thought, feeling slighted yet again by the old man’s words.