Supernatural

In the unluckiest year of my life, a wandering Daoist priest came to town.

He gave my father an idea: have me worship a Household Guardian Immortal to suppress my bad luck, and maybe I would live past the age of ten.

My father was a rough man who had made his fortune in troubled times by the barrel of a gun.

He called his adjutant over and did the math for him. “One Household Guardian Immortal keeps her alive to ten, two keep her alive to twenty, and twenty keep her alive to two hundred. Right?”

The adjutant counted on his fingers. “Marshal, your math is absolutely correct.”

My father hardened his heart and rounded up all the pigs, cattle, and sheep from miles around as offerings.

“My damn girl is going to live ten thousand years!”

That year, my father rode into the old mountain forest on a pig with me and took eleven Household Guardian Immortal into our household.

He flew into a rage. “Damn it, that’s still one short of the twelve zodiac animals!”

Later, who knew where he bought a Daoist boy from, but that made the twelfth.

Everyone in my family had sickly bones.

My eldest sister coughed three times for every three steps, spat blood every third day, and fainted every fifth.

My brother’s bones broke at a touch—one a month, seven or eight times a year.

I alone had a head of iron and a body of bronze.

I could ram a peach tree with my forehead to bring down the fruit.

The tree shook, the peaches fell, and I was perfectly fine.

When I was seven, an eminent monk passed by.

One look at me, and he blurted out: “Bronze skin over bone.

A demon born.”

I couldn’t be bothered to listen.

I charged him headfirst and knocked him flat on his back.

It took him ages to wake up.

When he did, he laughed instead of getting angry and asked my parents: “Would you have your children live long lives, sound in body and bone?”

“Take one bone each from your eldest daughter and your son.

Nurture them beside your youngest daughter’s heart, then cut them out when she turns eighteen.”

“Your eldest daughter will then rise like the sovereign moon, and your son will be the richest man in the realm.”

My parents trembled.

“And this girl?”

The monk held my wrist, half closed his eyes, and chuckled out a little song: “No future as a human.

As a beast, she’ll have plenty of room to roam.”

During an intimate moment, I accidentally scratched the tattoo on my boyfriend’s back, and he suddenly flew into a rage.

Feeling deeply wronged, I went to an emotional support livestream that night to talk about what happened.

The audience chimed in one after another to defend me, suspecting that my boyfriend’s feelings for me had changed.

Only the Host asked with a dead-serious expression:

“That tattoo on your boyfriend’s back-is it a bottle?”

I am a Jiangshi.

My bones have hung on an ancient tree in the wilderness for over two hundred years, absorbing all the Moon Yin Energy.

The Night Patrolling Deity said that if I endured until the thirteenth day of the fifth month in the Ji-Mao year, my Cultivation would reach Indestructible Bone, and I could become a Spirit Monster, free from the Heavenly Dao Reincarnation.

I was quite pleased with myself, already pondering which spot in the mountains I should choose for a Cave Abode to become the Deer Cottage Immortal.

But then, a Flower Picking Scholar returning home for a funeral passed through the wilderness and ordered my bones to be taken down from the tree and buried in a pit.

He buried me…

Buried me…

Damn him, he’s dead for sure!

In the dead of night, I received a phone call. The caller ID showed it was my husband. With a voice of utmost gravity, he told me that I would die at two o’clock in the morning.

But right now, he was clearly lying right beside me, fast asleep.

I was the legitimate daughter of an illustrious clan, mild by nature and untouched by worldly desire, and I should have become the sacred monk’s disciple at the imperial temple, spending my life before an ancient Buddha and a solitary lamp.

For the sake of prestige, however, my parents insisted on marrying me to the eldest son of a ducal household—a well-matched libertine notorious for his debauchery.

Before I left, the monk heaved a long sigh and gave me a fragment of the Buddha’s bone, warning me to wear it at all times and never let it leave my body.

After I entered the Zhu household, my husband first brought home a concubine, then took a proper wife, but I did not mind, and my husband’s aunt praised me for knowing my place.

When my husband molested a colleague’s female relative and the Censorate denounced him, I did not mind, and my husband’s aunt praised my sweet temper.

My sister-in-law kept control of the household accounts, claiming that someone as pure as I was should never sully herself with the stink of money.

My mother-in-law demanded that I wait upon her morning and night and handle every task myself, so that I might become a model noblewoman.

At an imperial banquet, the Grand Empress Dowager took a fancy to the Buddha’s bone at my breast and demanded it for herself.

My mother-in-law hurried to tear it from my neck and offered it up with both hands, fawning shamelessly.

At last, I smiled in deliverance.

Twenty years, you damned bald donkey—let us see how you plan to keep the evil inside me chained now.

My younger sister stole the man I was supposed to marry, and the empress’s public reprimand seemed to destroy what remained of my future.

Then my sworn rival arrived to laugh at me—and I heard the thoughts behind his smug smile.

She could have spared herself all this trouble by marrying me.

So I asked him, in front of everyone, if he would.

The next instant, his face turned scarlet.

The parents of a missing boy came to me for help. They wanted me to find their son.

But every sign pointed to the boy already being dead-while his heart was still beating.

I cultivate the Way of Detachment, but I don’t prove my enlightenment by killing a husband—I temper my mind by getting cheated on.

After three cultivation partners betray me in increasingly absurd ways, every heartbreak becomes a breakthrough, until I ascend on the spot and discover just how useful infidelity can be.

I was in a rush to get home that night, so I hailed a taxi.

The driver asked me, “What do you do for a living, young lady?”

“I’m a fortune teller,” I replied. “Scary accurate, too.”

The driver gave a short laugh. “Well then, can you tell mine?”

“Sure.” I turned my head and stared intently at his face.

He had the features of a truly wicked man.