Chapter 2

“Wait. I’ll summon Chen Yulan so we can check directly.”

Master Qin recited an incantation—and actually called Mom up from below.

I rushed forward. “Mom! The master just helped me burn the money. Did you get it? Can you pay your debts now?”

She looked as miserable as ever.

“Nothing. My balance is still 9.9! Wanwan, what are we going to do?”

I turned anxiously to Master Qin. His eyes were closed as he calculated on his fingers.

“Well? Have you found whoever stole her money?”

He opened his eyes, looking grave.

“This is bad. I’ve lost the trail again.”

My face fell. “How is that possible?”

“They must have used some trick. Or an underworld officer is covering for them.” His expression darkened. “This goes deeper than I can handle. If you can wait, my own master will finish his retreat in two months. I could ask him to help then.”

“We don’t have two months!” Mom’s face crumpled. “In a few days, they’ll take my soul to pay the debt!”

While we stood there helplessly, I noticed something stuck to the back of her headstone.

I went around to look. It was a piece of yellow paper.

I peeled it off carefully. Once I saw what it said, everything clicked.

So that was why. No wonder none of the money I burned had reached her.

**4**

A few small words were written on the paper:

*Collection of offerings by proxy.*

The name beneath wasn’t Mom’s.

It was Zhou Guifen.

Mom’s eyes widened. “Her?”

Master Qin took the yellow talisman, looking grim.

“This is an offering-collection talisman. Attach it to the back of a grave, and the offerings and money sent by the living are credited to the named collector first.”

My hands shook with anger. “What gives her the right?”

He was silent for a few seconds.

“If she simply attached it in secret, it wouldn’t hold. But with supporting documentation, the transfer is treated as authorized. That’s why the route couldn’t be traced.”

Wind stirred the cemetery pines.

Standing before Mom’s grave, I thought of her life. She’d never had much money. After she died, all I wanted was to give her a little spending money.

And someone had their eye even on that.

I looked up. “Mom, did she ever make you sign anything?”

She shook her head vigorously. “I never authorized anyone to collect for me.”

Then she thought for a moment, and her expression changed.

“When I first arrived, she took me to join the New Ghosts’ Mutual Aid Association. She said all I had to do was register. I’d get discounts on mahjong, plus rice, noodles, and cooking oil on holidays.”

I drew a deep breath. “Did you put your thumbprint on it?”

She guiltily drew her neck in.

I closed my eyes.

Senior citizens’ groups while alive. Mutual aid associations after death. Mom could never seem to escape a scam dressed up as a friendly favor.

“Is something wrong?” she asked cautiously.

I looked at her. “Mom, you’ve been scammed.”

She froze. Slowly, her eyes reddened.

“I did wonder why she was being so helpful.”

I took her hand.

“She’ll answer for it. I’m not letting this go.”

Early the next morning, I took the evidence to Auntie Zhou’s house.

The courtyard gate was ajar. Her son Zhou Qiang and daughter Zhou Li were sorting vegetables inside. He sat hunched on a low stool with a cigarette in his mouth. She wore a gold bracelet, and her eyes immediately went to the documents in my hand.

“Oh, Wanwan.”

Her smile was thin. “Stopping by on your way back from your mother’s grave?”

I skipped the greetings and slapped the yellow talisman onto the table.

“What’s this?”

Zhou Qiang didn’t even look up. “That’s between dead people. Why ask us?”

Zhou Li smiled too. “Aren’t you a bit young to be indulging in feudal superstition?”

I nearly laughed.

“Your mother’s business has certainly expanded down there. Mahjong when she was alive. Now she runs a loan-sharking mahjong parlor and intercepts other people’s offerings on the side.”

His face darkened. “Watch your mouth.”

“I am watching it.”

I pointed to the name on the paper.

“Collection of offerings by proxy. Zhou Guifen. Why is the money I burned for my mother going into her account?”

Zhou Li threw down the vegetables.

“Your mother liked mahjong when she was alive. She can’t blame other people for losing. Debts have to be paid.”

I looked at her. “My mother owing money and your mother stealing her offerings are two separate things.”

Zhou Qiang snorted. “Who knows if you stuck that thing there yourself? Your mother wants to dodge her debts, so she’s making up ghost stories.”

I took out my phone and played the video.

It showed everything clearly: me writing Mom’s name, burning the paper, and the wind lifting the yellow talisman behind her headstone.