I am a full-level celestial master, you let me enter the strange talk of rules?

Qin Ming paused for a moment, then lowered his head, as if he had thought of something.

He remained silent for a while, as if processing the information. This meant that it was not Qin Ming who placed the order for the Taoist priest, but the mysterious Qin Ming.

Qin Ming then looked up, a hint of expectation mixed with uncertainty in his eyes: "Is it resolved? How do I need to cooperate?"

Zhang Yangqing nodded: "It's been resolved, but do you remember where your old house in Qin Family Village is? Take me there."

Zhang Yangqing concluded that Qin Ming's consciousness still existed only because the strange consciousness had not erased Qin Ming's consciousness.

Zhang Yangqing sensed that this strange consciousness was very strong and had many methods.

That's why the strange consciousness just now said that Zhang Yangqing, this 'little Taoist priest,' couldn't deal with him.

Of course, the eerie consciousness didn't realize who the young Taoist priest beside it was in disguise.

Zhang Yangqing was too lazy to expose him, so he let him finish his act and leave on his own.

If Zhang Yangqing were to say it aloud, this powerful, eerie consciousness might become interested, challenge Zhang Yangqing to a fight, and refuse to leave, which would be quite troublesome.

When Zhang Yangqing made his move, he also had to consider not harming Qin Ming; one can imagine the difficulty of this level of difficulty.

So when the eerie consciousness left on its own, Zhang Yangqing didn't stop it.

Although Qin Ming was still somewhat confused, perhaps due to his trust in the Taoist priests of Longhu Mountain, or perhaps due to his trust in Zhang Yangqing as a person, he did not ask any further questions, got on his motorcycle, and started the engine.

Zhang Yangqing got on, and the motorcycle sputtered and drove into the mountain road.

The moon was still there, having crossed the hillside and hung in the sky on the other side.

The night breeze brushed against my face, carrying the coolness of the mountains and fields.

Qin Ming was also very outgoing and started chatting with Zhang Yangqing about various topics.

He said the barbecue in his county was especially delicious, made with homemade sauce. He also mentioned a very skilled teacher at the county's middle school who consistently ranked first in the county in every exam. He recounted how he and his classmates used to catch fish by the river when he was a child.
Zhang Yangqing had actually heard all of these things before.

The exact same tone, the exact same wording, the exact same pauses and laughter.

Because just now, that strange Qin Ming said the same thing, word for word.

This seems to be Qin Ming himself chatting with a stranger, speaking in his usual manner.

But Zhang Yangqing didn't interrupt him, and continued to respond "enthusiastically," as if he had never heard these stories before.

After what seemed like an eternity, the motorcycle bumped along the rugged mountain road for nearly an hour before finally stopping in front of the old house in Qinjiacun.

The old house is a traditional brick and gray-tiled house built on a hillside, backed by a bamboo forest and facing a dry riverbed.

The house is not big, with three main rooms and two side rooms. The courtyard wall is made of broken stones, and some parts have collapsed. It is temporarily surrounded by a bamboo fence.

The gate was made of wood, the door panel was blackened, and the door knocker was made of iron, covered in rust.

Zhang Yangqing stood in the courtyard, looked up at the surrounding mountains, then looked down at the terrain beneath his feet, his brows furrowing slightly.

The feng shui layout here is indeed problematic.

It's not man-made, it's natural.

The mountain slopes too steeply, the watercourses break off too quickly, the energy cannot gather, and it disperses too slowly.

Like a funnel, spiritual energy enters but cannot be retained, while malevolent energy enters but cannot escape. Over time, this forms a natural "gathering place of yin".

Such places are most likely to attract the strange and evil spirits.

Unfortunately, the old house was built right in the center of this "funnel," like sitting in the very middle of a trap.

Qin Ming's possession by evil spirits was not accidental, but inevitable.

Even if that strange consciousness wasn't targeting him, something else would have come knocking on his door.

Zhang Yangqing took out a few copper coins and a small compass from his cloth bag, walked around the yard, selected a few spots, and buried the copper coins.

He removed a few more stones from the courtyard wall, rebuilt the gate to face the direction, and used a compass to adjust the angle.

Finally, he pasted a talisman on the gate of the courtyard. The talisman was decorated with runes for suppressing evil spirits, and the ink was not yet dry.

It wasn't a major project; it was just adjusting the feng shui layout of the area.

Negative energy cannot enter, while spiritual energy can remain; over time, it will naturally become clean.

Of course, Zhang Yangqing doesn't need these; he can learn them with just one glance.

However, he is currently playing a young Taoist priest, so he still needs to act convincingly.

Qin Ming stood aside, watching Zhang Yangqing busy himself, not knowing what to say, and just kept thanking him.

His tone was sincere, and his voice was soft, as if he were talking about something very important.

"Thank you, Taoist priest," "Thank you for your hard work, Taoist priest," "I'm sorry to have troubled you to make this trip," he said many times, each time with a hint of embarrassment.

His gentle and sensible nature was fully embodied in him.

Zhang Yangqing waved his hand, put away the compass and copper coins, and tied the cloth bag back to his waist: "Alright, there won't be any more evil spirits here from now on, and you won't appear at the old house for no reason anymore."

Qin Ming bowed deeply to express his gratitude. The two left the old house, and the motorcycle drove back onto the mountain road.

The sky was just beginning to lighten, the east was turning a pale white, and the moon, large and round, was still hanging over the western mountains, not yet fully set.

The night breeze has dissipated, and the air is filled with the unique dampness and coolness of the early morning, mixed with the fragrance of grass and trees and the scent of earth.

By the time we got back to the county town, it was already broad daylight.

The streets began to fill with pedestrians: elderly people doing morning exercises, young people rushing to work, and children carrying schoolbags to school.

The breakfast shop opened, and the aroma of steaming hot buns, fried dough sticks, and soy milk wafted down half the street.

The market also became lively, with people slaughtering pigs, selling vegetables, and the sounds of bargaining rising and falling.

Everything is the same as yesterday, yet it seems like nothing is different.

Qin Ming pushed open the door to his house. His grandmother had already gotten up and was walking unsteadily toward the kitchen to start a fire and make breakfast.

When she saw Qin Ming standing at the door, she was stunned for a moment, then her eyes reddened. She took Qin Ming's hand and looked him up and down, as if to make sure he had returned safely.

After watching for a while, she nodded, her voice trembling with tears: "It's good that you're back, it's good that you're back."

This was her real grandson; she waited all night without closing her eyes.

She didn't know where her real grandson had gone, or when he would return. She dared not call, dared not ask, and dared not show too much worry.

She was afraid that if she spoke up, her grandson wouldn't come back, so she just waited.

Qin Ming helped his grandmother sit down and said he would go prepare breakfast.

Grandma waved her hand, telling him to rest, saying the porridge could be heated up and the vegetables could be stir-fried; she wasn't so old that she couldn't move.

Grandma went into the kitchen; the pot on the stove was still cold.

She opened the thermos; the porridge was still warm. She then opened the lunchbox, which contained dishes that Qin Ming had prepared in advance yesterday, along with a few steamed buns.

She was about to pour the porridge into the pot to heat it up when she suddenly noticed a note stuck to the inside of the lunchbox lid.

The note was folded and stuck there with transparent tape; you couldn't notice it unless you looked closely.

Grandma peeled off the note and unfolded it.

She knew a few words, not many, but she recognized all the words on the note.

The note read: Grandma, this may be the last time I cook this meal for you. Thank you for taking care of me all these days. After I'm gone, please take good care of yourself.

Grandma read it word by word. When she saw "I won't be around anymore," her eyes welled up with tears. When she saw "You must take good care of yourself," she choked up silently.

She clutched the note, tears streaming down her face.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating her gray hair, her wrinkled face, and the back of her withered hands.

The note was crumpled in her hand; she didn't unfold it or smooth it out, just held it there.

She knew, in fact, she knew all of this: the person who was carefully playing the role of her grandson under her gaze was still worried about whether she would be able to have a hot meal at the last moment.

That person wasn't her grandson, but he wasn't that bad either.

Perhaps the enigmatic Qin Ming had already planned this ending.

He may have realized this as well.

He just wanted to return the Qin Ming that Qin Ming's grandmother wanted to her.

After all, he wasn't the real Qin Ming; the love he received was all charity from his grandmother.

Otherwise, at that time, Zhang Yangqing would have said that the strange Qin Ming had learned the gentleness in Qin Ming's bones, and that the strange Qin Ming did not want to cause trouble for his grandmother.

In the alley outside the door, Zhang Yangqing leaned against the wall and sighed.

He didn't go in, offered no comfort, and gave no explanation.

Zhang Yangqing simply took out his phone, opened the Daomen APP, found Qin Ming's order, and clicked the "Complete Task" button.

The page redirected and a "Task Completed" message popped up.

Zhang Yangqing turned off the screen, put his phone in his pocket, and turned to walk out of the alley.

Under the sycamore tree at the alley entrance, an orange cat was squatting on the wall licking its paws, sunlight filtering through the gaps in the leaves, creating dappled patterns.

Not far away, the owner of the breakfast shop was packing up; the oil in the pan had cooled down, and the steamer was empty.

An elderly woman selling vegetables rode past him on her tricycle, her basket filled with vegetables that she hadn't sold yet.

Everything was the same as usual, but it seemed like something was added and something was missing.

There was one more completed order, one more grandson who returned to his grandmother's side, and one less eerie girl who had learned gentleness but whose whereabouts were unknown.

All that remains of it in this world is that note and that cigarette butt lying on the concrete road.

(End of this chapter)