Don't Lie to Your Therapist—She Already Knows Your Fate

Wherever Aunt Zhang was, Uncle Zhang generally didn’t get a word in.

Uncle Zhang sat off to the side, a happy look on his face, watching his wife speak to Wen Ying. "My father-in-law passed away a few years ago. The other day, your Uncle Zhang said my father-in-law was beating him up in his dreams. I thought he just missed him, so I took him to visit his grave, but that didn’t seem to do any good. It only got better after we burned the Yellow Paper we got from you, Little Ying!"

Aunt Zhang seemed desperate to get it all out, so Wen Ying didn’t interrupt her. "That very night, not only did your Uncle Zhang dream of the old man, but I—his daughter-in-law—dreamt of him too! In the dream, he said our family had an heirloom in the old house. He passed so suddenly that he never had the chance to tell us. Your Uncle Zhang went looking for it, and he actually found it! An antiques dealer bought it for three million! Three million! It’s all thanks to you, Little Ying. You’re not just our family’s savior, you’re our lucky star!"

Wen Ying just smiled without saying a word.

"But he said he’s a little short on cash down there and wanted us to burn more money for him. We did as he asked, but your Uncle Zhang got beaten up again! It’s all so strange. Your Uncle Zhang and I were hoping you could take a look for us."

"Don’t worry, Little Ying," Uncle Zhang chimed in. "Your aunt is just really anxious. Just see what kind of medicine is needed and write us a prescription! Money is no object!"

Hearing her husband’s nouveau riche-like comment, Aunt Zhang shot him a glare but didn’t argue.

They had long ago realized that Wen Ying was a sincere kid who would never scam them.

Underworld currency... Wen Ying really didn’t have any of that.

The system was under maintenance, so it couldn’t answer her either. Wen Ying thought for a moment. "How about this: Aunt Zhang, why don’t you buy some joss paper and bring it to me? I’ll see what I can do."

"Yes, yes, of course! You’re a good kid! I’ll go buy some right now. As it happens, there’s a funeral supply shop at the far end of the street, in a more secluded spot. I know the owner’s wife." As she spoke, Aunt Zhang pulled Uncle Zhang away. Wen Ying mulled it over. ’What conditions does something need to meet to be used as currency in the underworld?’

She had tried in her past life, too. She’d managed to make contact, but she died of old age before she ever had the chance to experiment with these things.

In this life, success seemed possible. After all, she was now a Cultivator. All the Merit she earned from treating patients had been converted into Spiritual Energy and absorbed into her body. In fact, that was the very reason she hadn’t gone for a run this morning.

After tidying up the clinic, Wen Ying went online and ordered a new doctor’s coat, one that fit her properly. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

In less than half an hour, Uncle Zhang and his wife returned. Uncle Zhang was carrying a thick stack of joss paper, which he placed on the only table in the clinic.

Wen Ying glanced over. ’Good grief,’ she thought, then joked, "Uncle, Aunt Zhang, these are all one-hundred-million-dollar bills. Aren’t you worried you’ll cause hyperinflation in the underworld?"

The couple heard this and thought it made sense. "I’ll go back and swap them for smaller bills!"

"No, don’t. Once or twice probably won’t be a big issue. This stack is enough. Just leave it with me, and I’ll bring it over to you, Uncle Zhang, when it’s ready."

The couple thanked Wen Ying and left.

Wen Ying stared at the money, a sense of absurdity washing over her. ’I never thought my first time dealing with currency would be quite like this.’

The stack had about a hundred bills. Wen Ying casually pulled one out to examine it.

This joss paper was really just ordinary paper. It was completely unfit to serve as currency in the underworld. When ordinary people burned this kind of money for their deceased relatives, it was basically a wasted effort. The recipients below never got it.

It likely only served to comfort the descendants still living in the world of the living.

But what Uncle Zhang had experienced clearly defied scientific explanation. If Wen Ying wanted to help them, she had to make sure this money was delivered to the underworld, and it had to bear the Zhang Family’s mark.

The mark was the easy part—a descendant of the Zhang Family just had to be the one to burn it. The hard part, ensuring it was actually delivered to the underworld and received, was where Wen Ying needed to step in.

Spiritual Energy and Merit.

It had to be one of the two. For Wen Ying, Merit was far too precious to spend.

As for Spiritual Energy... she didn’t seem to be lacking that at the moment.

’Even though I usually complain about that damn system, I kind of miss it right now. If it were here, it could probably just give me a solution directly. Or maybe I could buy one with reputation value?’

The Yellow Paper the system provided could establish a partial connection, but it wasn’t money. ’I can’t possibly be expected to research and design the underworld’s currency from scratch, can I?’

Everyone knew that the creation of currency involved all sorts of subtle, high-tech processes invisible to the naked eye. The procedures were complex; the slightest deviation could lead to complete failure.

And now, she could only test it herself. ’Come to think of it,’ she mused, ’I should probably burn some money for Grandma Wen.’ With that thought, Wen Ying took out one of the bills and placed it on the table. The ballpoint pen in her hand was ordinary, but she infused it with Spiritual Energy from her body. Then, on the surface of the bill, she drew a pattern—one that looked both simple and complex at the same time.

It looked like a brush pen, but upon closer inspection, one would notice it was different. The instant she finished drawing, a golden light flashed across the pattern, making Wen Ying feel that she had succeeded.

The three-minute drawing left Wen Ying feeling slightly drained. It seemed that establishing a direct connection to the underworld on her own came at a cost.

’I’ll just wait until tonight to see Grandma,’ she decided. Since coming to this world, she had never personally met Grandma Wen. ’But what will I say when I see her?’

’I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. We have to meet eventually, one way or another.’

Wen Ying searched her memories for the foods Grandma Wen liked: roasted potatoes, *baojiang* tofu, and the local specialty, *laoguo*. The roasted potatoes and *baojiang* tofu were easy enough to get; there were little shops on the street that sold them ready-made. But the *laoguo*...

Wen Ying imagined the scene. That night, after burning the paper offerings, she would turn to Grandma Wen and say, "Grandma, want to have some *laoguo* together?"

The two of them sitting around a table, something like a Korean barbecue grill? Plug it in, and the vegetables and meat would SIZZLE in the oil. She’d put out a couple of saucers of chili powder, and once a piece was cooked, she’d pick it up with her chopsticks, dip it in the chili, and pop it in her mouth.

The scene was heartwarming, but... also inexplicably bizarre!

’No, that won’t do, that won’t do at all.’ In the end, Wen Ying prepared the roasted potatoes and *baojiang* tofu, along with a small dish of chili powder.

Night fell. The pedestrians on the street gradually vanished, and the lights went out one by one, leaving only silence.

In her backyard, Wen Ying set up a small, simple altar she had made. On it, she placed incense, some Yellow Paper, and the single one-hundred-million-dollar bill she had drawn on.

There were also three small dishes of food and one dish of dipping powder.

Amidst the swirling incense smoke, Wen Ying lit the Yellow Paper and the special bill, then knelt before the altar.

At midnight, Wen Ying lay in her bed, closed her eyes, and peacefully drifted off to sleep.

Before the altar in the backyard, a kind-faced old woman materialized. She looked at the offerings, sighed, and her lips began to move. "These potatoes taste pretty good. This tofu, though, is only about twenty percent as good as mine. And why is there five-spice powder in the chili mix? A hundred million? Is the girl afraid I won’t have enough money to spend?"