The moment Wei Jun stepped out of his room and into the dining table, he found his mother and grandmother already seated at the table.
That was all there was to their household—just the three of them, living in an ancient temple filled with layers of mysticism that clung to its walls like stubborn vines. The rest of the Wei family had been smart enough to stay away from what they considered a circus of supernatural absurdity.
But Wei Jun? He was trapped.
"What took you so long?" His mother's voice held a sharp edge of impatience. "The food is getting cold. You do know what happens if you let food sit too long on the table, right?"
Wei Jun sighed. He knew where this was going.
"It becomes an offering for the ghosts," he murmured under his breath.
He slid into his seat, prepared to endure yet another breakfast sermon laced with superstition.
Across the table, Grandmother Wei regarded him with her single sharp eye. The other had clouded over years ago—based on her, a consequence of decades spent warding off evil spirits. The reality? Cataracts. But try convincing her otherwise.
"You had another nightmare, didn't you?"
Wei Jun froze, his chopsticks hovering above his rice.
His grandmother's intuition was unnerving. He hadn't mentioned the nightmares to anyone, yet here she was, stating it as fact.
"… Yeah," he admitted reluctantly.
Grandmother Wei nodded knowingly, as if confirming some unseen cosmic balance.
This was his life.
A family of mystics, ghost-hunters, and exorcists. His mother, his grandmother, and now, as fate would have it, him. To the outside world, the Wei family was legendary—people came from far and wide to buy talismans, request ghost banishments, and seek spiritual guidance. Even the walls of their home were adorned with protective charms, each one pasted on like wallpaper.
Wei Jun? He wanted nothing to do with any of it.
Based on family lore, the Wei lineage had spent centuries standing as guardians of the spiritual realm, maintaining harmony between the living and the dead. Generations ago, they were revered as divine protectors, ensuring that restless souls found peace instead of haunting the mortal world.
Yet, with time, belief in the supernatural had faded. The modern era had little room for folklore and ancient rites. And yet, the Wei family continued their traditions, performing the same rituals their ancestors had—whether anyone believed in them or not.
There were two major rituals upheld within the family.
The Qinghun Ji—the Festival of Guiding Souls—was performed once a year on the first full moon of autumn. It was said to help wandering spirits find their path to reincarnation.
Then there was the Fengyin Li, the Ritual of Sealing. Every month, the family reinforced spiritual barriers to prevent malevolent forces from entering the temple grounds. It was a duty passed down through the generations, and during these occasions, the extended family always returned home.
Wei Jun had spent his life resisting all of it. He rejected the notion of spirits, dismissed talk of realms beyond the living. Yet, there were some things even he couldn't deny.
The Wei bloodline carried an undeniable gift.
Every member was born with a unique ability: the sight to perceive ghosts, the sense to read auras, the power to intervene where ordinary humans could not.
And now, despite all his skepticism, it was happening to him too.
Wei Jun had been a rational, scientific-minded man all his life, but ever since his seventeenth birthday, strange things had begun to happen. He saw flickers of movement in empty spaces, heard whispers where there should be none. He dismissed it as exhaustion, stress.
But by the time he turned twenty-five, the whispers had become voices. By thirty, the shadows had taken shape. And now, at thirty-five, he could no longer ignore the truth.
The worst part? The family curse.
No male child born into the Wei family had ever lived past seventeen.
He was the only exception. The one miracle.
Or the next tragedy waiting to happen.
Yet, despite all this, Wei Jun still refused to participate in exorcisms, refused to embrace the family trade.
Breakfast continued in silence—until his grandmother broke it.
As she collected the empty bowls, she began to hum.
It started off innocently enough—a soft, nostalgic tune from an old folk song. But then, she began singing.
"One bowl of porridge, two pairs of chopsticks … But why is my grandson still eating alone?"
Wei Jun choked on his tea.
His mother, not to be outdone, stood up and carried the plates to the sink, her voice joining in the melody.
"The rice is here, the dishes are ready~, but why does the table still feel empty?"
And then, the final betrayal.
Bao Bao, his ever-loyal dog, barked four times.
"Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!"
Even without understanding the words, the intent was clear.
Oh great deities above, grant my master a miracle—a wife, a husband, a ghost, anything at this point.
Two metaphorical arrows lodged themselves into Wei Jun's back.
His appetite vanished.
He had been so focused on dodging their supernatural nonsense that he had completely forgotten about the other family obsession.
Marriage.
His mother turned to him, face utterly serious. "I don't care if it's a woman, a man, a spirit, or a demon—just bring someone home already!"
Wei Jun abruptly stood, grabbing his empty bowl.
"I'm leaving."
And with that, he made his escape.