Feng Shui magic

Li Chengfeng bound dried rice stalks into a crude effigy, embedding Ye Wuming's clipped nails and hair into its torso. A yellow talisman bearing Ye Wuming's birthdate fluttered against the doll's chest as he chanted:

"*Heaven curses, Earth curses, Eight Directions' soldiers bring curses…*"

The incantation slithered through the dimly lit shop. Ye Mengyao shivered, the air thickening with an oppressive chill.

Li Chengfeng's fingers flicked. The talisman ignited, ashes cascading onto the doll. "Done."

Miles away, Ye Wuming jolted mid-swig of whiskey, ice sloshing in his veins. He dismissed it as a draft.

---

**The Final Stroke**

Li Chengfeng drove a **coffin nail** through the doll's groin. Ye Mengyao averted her gaze, cheeks burning. "How… *graphic*."

"The curse needs an anchor." He placed the effigy before Guo Pu's portrait. "Ancestor Master, vengeance is served."

The portrait remained silent, though its eyes seemed to glint with approval.

Ye Mengyao's phone buzzed—a summons to the Ye Corporation.

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**Corporate Ambush**

The office reeked of bourbon and ambition. Ye Wuming lounged in Ye Gucheng's leather chair, his gaze predatory as Ye Mengyao entered.

"Miss Ye." He twirled a letter opener. "How… *obedient* of you to come."

"What do you want?"

He rose, liquor-laden breath hot against her neck. "You. On that couch. Now."

Ye Mengyao recoiled. "You're insane! We're *family*!"

"Family?" Ye Wuming laughed, cold and jagged. "Your father's ventilator plug… your aunt's morphine drip… all *accidentally* disconnectable." He tossed a hospital remote onto the desk. "One button. Two funerals. Your choice."

Her knees buckled. The room spun.

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