Chapter 27: No Affinity and Unable to Save

The Red-Clothed Ghost took the milk tea that Chen Ji had bought for him and slurped it noisily as he floated off toward the airport. The System Cat perched on Chen Ji’s shoulder. Unless it shared his vision, it couldn’t see even a trace of him. It took a big gulp of milk tea and chewed on the pearls. 【This little bro’s actually pretty nice!】

【I don’t know if he’s on the weak side or the strong side, but I could detect a bit of his energy fluctuations.】 The System Cat had smeared its mouth with taro mash and licked vigorously at the roof of its mouth. It mumbled through a full mouth, 【That Yellow-Skinned Weasel, I couldn’t detect at all. Nor that snake from before.】

Chen Ji looked up at the sky. The brilliant sunlight bathed his face, making his eyes gleam clear and bright as if they were glowing. He raised a hand to shield his eyes. Then he turned his head and planted a kiss on the System Cat’s round little noggin. 【Alright, it’s rare for us to come to town. Don’t overthink it. Want to go grab some barbecue?】

The System Cat immediately let out a cute, wheedling meow and rubbed its head furiously against Chen Ji’s cheek. To top it off, it took another big slurp of milk tea right from his hand, drawing stares from passersby.

“Hey? Is that cat stealing sips of milk tea?”

“It’s so adorable!”

Chen Ji laughingly scolded the System Cat and quickened his pace to dodge the curious onlookers. At the barbecue restaurant, he explained the situation to the owner and got permission for a private room. He pulled out the cat’s personal bowls and plates from his backpack. This place was fairly upscale; waitstaff handled the grilling the whole time. Chen Ji ordered an especially pricey double-person set meal and split it half-and-half with the System Cat.

The System Cat ate with happy meows, shamelessly rubbing against the servers’ legs. They found it so cute that they comped two extra dishes and even asked worriedly if it would get sick from overeating. Once they heard it could down two jin of meat in a single sitting, they fed it boldly.

After they finished, Chen Ji quietly slipped a digestive tablet into both his own mouth and the System Cat’s. The cat didn’t really need one, but who could resist letting it have hawthorn-flavored ones? To it, they were basically hawthorn candies. If he didn’t give it any, it would throw a tantrum right there.

Chen Ji’s plan was to head to the City God Temple in town after eating, then browse the bookstore. Before heading home, he could swing by the market for some fresh meat.

The village had its own vegetable patches and chickens and ducks. Uncle Liu would bring back game from his mountain trips. But pork, beef, and lamb were trickier. The village didn’t slaughter big animals every day, and folks just bought theirs in town. They’d stock up, cure some into bacon or salt pork, and make it last.

Chen Ji usually ate pre-made frozen dishes, but every now and then he craved fresh meat. A slab of fatback wouldn’t be bad either. He had a generator, after all—even if it wasn’t fully upgraded yet. He could plug in an air fryer, whip up some pork cracklings. Sounded perfect.

Store-bought pork cracklings were either too salty or too greasy. Nothing beat fresh-fried.

The City God Temple wasn’t far from the barbecue joint. Chen Ji strolled over. He had a pack of Big White Rabbit candies in his bag and picked up a bundle of incense sticks at the entrance. Good to go.

The temple was well maintained, with a pair of stone lions standing sentinel at the gate, watching over each other. Chen Ji glanced at them and smiled at their goofy yet lively charm. Deeper inside stood a majestic golden statue gazing down imposingly—the local City God.

A simple incense table and prayer mat sat in front, along with a basic merit box. The gold lettering on the box had faded with age. No burning incense inside the hall these days; you had to use the centralized cauldrons in the courtyard. Nothing like his dilapidated Mountain Lord Temple, where he called all the shots on offerings.

Seeing this, Chen Ji knelt properly and kowtowed before calling it done. He paid respects to the Civil and Martial Judges on either side, as well as the Day Patrol God and Night Patrol God, then exited the front hall.

【Chen Ji, what did you just pray for?】 The System Cat poked its head out of the backpack. 【Peace and safety? Or getting rich?】

Chen Ji paused almost imperceptibly before smiling. 【Both.】

—In truth, he hadn’t prayed for anything.

For some reason, the moment he entered the hall and knelt before Lord City God and the assembled spirits and deities, his mind had gone completely blank.

He hadn’t thought of anything—hadn’t had time to. It was as if, the instant he knelt, he’d become a puppet jerked along by strings. Kowtow once, twice, three times, full prostration thrice, and only when he stood did his thoughts return to his body. Only then did he have space to reflect, realize he’d forgotten to ask for anything, and feel a twinge of regret. Had he been too nervous? Too focused on counting the bows?

Yet it happened the same way with the next deity.

Chen Ji figured since they were gods, they knew everything. Even without a burning desire on his part, Lord City God and the spirits should sense what he needed. Close enough to praying for it all.

The corridors on either side led to the Guanyin Hall and the Wealth God Hall. Chen Ji figured he could kowtow on the way out. He stepped into the courtyard, lit his incense, and bowed all around to the grand main hall ahead. He placed the sticks in the cauldron and headed inside.

The main hall enshrined the City God once more, but this statue exuded greater compassion and mercy. Clad in yellow robes, it held a jade tablet. An incense table and merit box stood before it, flanked by long tables where two Daoists sat.

Chen Ji knelt and kowtowed with utmost respect, almost as if competing with himself. During the first bow, he still hadn’t thought of anything. Only midway through did he remember to pray for peace and tranquility—just for Grandpa City God to rein in those damned monsters and ghosts.

Suddenly, a clear chime rang out, resonant and pure, echoing through the hall. Chen Ji’s spirits lifted. As he rose, he spotted an oracle tube on the Daoist’s table. Glancing sideways, he saw the sign interpretations hanging on the right for fortune-telling.

【Chen Ji, we’re here! Draw a lot!】 The System Cat urged. 【I checked—thirty-one bucks!】

Chen Ji agreed it made sense. He was already here; what was thirty-one more? He approached the Daoist, chatted briefly, scanned to pay. The Daoist was straightforward: “Silently repeat what you want three times in your heart, that’s all.”

Chen Ji thanked him, knelt again before the City God, and silently repeated his prayer thrice. He shook the tube. It was his first time drawing lots; he now understood the TV dramas made it look easy for a reason. He shook several times, the wooden sticks rattling in and out uniformly. Not a single one stuck out.

Chen Ji shook harder a few more times. Abruptly, one lot shot out—only to snap in two upon hitting the ground.

The Daoist glanced over, rose quickly, and picked up the pieces. Chen Ji stood too. “Daoist, what does this mean?”

“No affinity for you today. No use praying; there won’t be a response.” The Daoist returned to his seat and fiddled with his phone. Moments later, Chen Ji got a refund notification.

Even without prior experience, Chen Ji knew this wasn’t a good sign—but lots got dropped all the time. If it broke on his turn, so be it. Probability. Not his fault specifically.

He was already here, no way he’d take the money back. He fished out fifty yuan and dropped it in the merit box, then headed to the back hall—the Matron Hall. He paid respects one by one, left candies on the altar table, doubled back to kowtow in the Guanyin Hall and Wealth God Hall.

When he finally emerged, his first thought was—finally done. All that kowtowing had left him dizzy.

Not the most reverent attitude, but it was the truth.

As he turned to leave the way he’d come, a voice said, “This donor…”

The speaker trailed off midway. His voice was soft, but Chen Ji heard it. He turned and saw the man staring right at him—no phone in hand, no earbuds. It wasn’t a holiday; the front hall held only him and the Daoist. If the man was talking to someone, it had to be Chen Ji.

“Daoist, what did you say?” Chen Ji asked.

Seeing Chen Ji turn, the Daoist studied him carefully for a moment before replying, “Nothing. Fellow Daoist, it seems you’re not suited to visit here. Best not to come again.”

Chen Ji’s brows twitched slightly. Only two kinds of people said things like that: the real deal or a con artist hawking protective charms for “disaster relief.” He wasn’t letting this slide. He stepped forward, eyes alight with pure curiosity. “Why do you say that, Daoist?”

The Daoist frowned, as if reluctant to say more. Chen Ji ventured cautiously, “Did you see something? That’s why I came today… I’ve got these inexplicable things clinging to me. They keep me on edge all the time, and suddenly my eyes started seeing all sorts of weird stuff.”

The Daoist’s frown deepened. After a long pause, he asked, “…When did it start?”

“A long time ago,” Chen Ji said. “The seeing part is recent. After I moved back to my hometown, I ran into a bunch of strange things, and gradually I started to see them.”

“Daoist, is there any way to stop these things from harassing me? A protective amulet or magic treasure? I’ve got money—I’ll buy whatever!”

The Daoist eyed him, seemingly weighing the truth of his words. Chen Ji’s plea and fear were plain on his face. At length, the Daoist asked, “What exactly have you seen?”

“I’ve seen a yellow weasel—with a huge, towering black shadow behind it. Snakes too. And out of nowhere, someone called my name, and I saw a colossal python reaching to the heavens…” Chen Ji didn’t lie a word.

“Where’s your home?” the Daoist pressed.

“Little Azure Mountain,” Chen Ji replied. “Right by Shangyang Village.”

Before the words had fully left his mouth, the Daoist flicked his sleeve. “No affinity. You should go!”

Chen Ji’s hand shot out quick as lightning, grabbing the Daoist’s arm. Disgust was writ large on the Daoist’s face. Chen Ji lowered his voice. “Daoist, you’d better tell me everything.”

The Daoist struggled, but his arm felt clamped in an iron vise, immobile.

The young man stood backlit, sunlight outlining him in a dazzling golden halo. Yet his face lay shrouded in shadow. Beneath refined features, his eyes were dark pools, lightless, exuding a ghostly chill and brooding menace that chilled the blood.

Chen Ji arched an eyebrow, a sly smile spreading across his face. “Daoist Priest, I’m a content creator with a million followers… You wouldn’t want to see the City God Temple driving away worshippers all over the internet, would you?”