Chapter 178: The Shaman’s Shop

The shaman’s shop smelled like a combination of wet dog, expensive incense, and maybe burnt food.

It was tucked into a basement in the old district, a place where the skyscrapers of the modern world felt like a distant memory.

Zhāo Yàn was currently leaning against a shelf full of jars containing things Yàn Shū really didn’t want to identify. Yàn Shū himself was perched on a very tiny, very unstable wooden stool, clutching his notebook like a shield.

“He is late,” Zhāo Yàn muttered, checking his diamond-encrusted watch. “The Ice King is making us wait. Typical.”

“He said he was coming,” Yàn Shū whispered, jumping slightly as a bead curtain rustled. “I just hope he doesn’t bring his legal team.”

Suddenly, the basement door creaked open. Han Shān descended the stairs, looking like he wanted to set the building on fire. He was still in his charcoal suit, but he was disheveled. He didn’t even look at the other two, he just stared at the man sitting behind a low, lacquer table in the corner.

The shaman looked nothing like what Yàn Shū expected. He was a small, wiry man wearing an old shirt and a pair of thick, circular glasses. He was currently busy trying to peel a stubborn orange.

“Ah,” the shaman chirped without looking up. “The last one. The cold one. Sit, sit! Or stand. Your aura is taking up too much space anyway.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Han Shān hissed, looming over the table. “Zhāo Yàn said you have answers. Speak. Why am I seeing things that aren’t there?”

The shaman finally got a piece of the orange peel off and popped a slice into his mouth. He chewed slowly, intentionally, while three men watched him in agonizing silence.

“You’re not seeing things that aren’t there,” the shaman giggled, the sound high and mischievous. “You’re seeing things that were there. And things that are there. Time is a very messy eater, you see. Sometimes it drops crumbs.”

“Stop talking in riddles,” Han Shān growled, his hand tightening into a fist on the table.

The shaman leaned forward, his glasses reflecting the dim light. “You want it simple? Fine. You three are a mess. Your souls are leaking into this world because they’re homesick. You weren’t supposed to be here, but someone, let’s call her a very bored Goddess, decided to see if you could survive without your claws.”

He pointed a sticky finger at Yàn Shū. “The Red Panda. Always thinking, always worrying. You’re the heart, aren’t you? A bit soft, but you hold the glue.”

Yàn Shū flinched. “Red…..panda?”

The finger swung to Zhāo Yàn. “The Fox. Clever, loud, and far too much ego for one body. You’re the one who bites first and asks questions never.”

Zhāo Yàn snickered, crossing his arms. “Hmm. Accurate.”

Finally, the shaman looked at Han Shān. “And the Snow Leopard. Cold. Lonely. Thinks he can freeze the world so it doesn’t hurt him. You were the one who guarded the mountain, weren’t you?”

“Enough of this arrant bullshit!” Han Shān roared. He finally snapped, his fist flying out and connecting squarely with the shaman’s jaw.

Crack.

The shaman spun off his stool, landing in a heap of silk cushions.

“Oh my God!” Yàn Shū shrieked, jumping up so fast he knocked his stool over. “Han Shān! That’s assault! That’s violent! We’re in a spiritual shop, not a boxing ring!”

Zhāo Yàn, however, just doubled over, letting out a sharp, barking laugh. “Nice follow-through, Ice King! I didn’t think you had it in you.”

The shaman didn’t cry. He didn’t even look angry. He sat up, rubbing his jaw, and started giggling again. It was a terrifying, manic sound. “Hehe! Such a heavy paw! Just like the old days!”

He scrambled to his feet, dusting off his torn shirt. “You want the truth? Here it is. You are not hallucinating. That life you saw, the forest, the caves, the woman with the purple eyes, that is a life you lived. Or a life you still live. The choice is up to you.”

“Choice?” Han Shān spat, his chest heaving. “What the hell do you mean, choice? I didn’t choose to have my brain hijacked by dreams of a woman I pay to watch my kids!”

“The choice to remember!” the shaman shouted, suddenly losing his playful tone. He began shooing them toward the stairs, flapping his hands like he was driving away a flock of pigeons. “Scurry! Shoo! You have taken up enough of my afternoon. I have a soap opera to watch!”

“Wait!” Yàn Shū cried, trying to grab his notebook. “What about Bai Yue? Why is she the center of it all?”

“Because you were all in love with her, you idiots!” the shaman cackled, pushing Zhāo Yàn toward the door. “You were her family! Her mates! Her protectors! She was the sun and you were just three very grumpy planets!”

“Her… what?” Han Shān’s face went from pale to a deep, insulted red. “So we’re what? Her harem?”

Zhāo Yàn’s smirk returned, wider and more wicked than before. He looked at Han Shān’s outraged expression and couldn’t help himself. “What’s the matter, Snowball? You don’t like being part of a harem? I think I’d look great in silk robes.”

“I have a child!” Yàn Shū stammered, his face bright red. “A real, human son who needs to graduate high school! I can’t be… a mate! That’s… that’s not in the curriculum!”

Zhāo Yàn rolled his eyes, shoving Yàn Shū toward the stairs. “Don’t we all? I’ve got a kid, Han Shān has two. We’re all in the same boat, Scholar.”

The shaman gave one final, powerful shove. “Choice is the key! Remember together or forget alone! Goodbye! Safe travels! Don’t let the leopards bite!”

Poof.

A cloud of purple smoke erupted from the floorboards, filling the room. By the time it cleared, the shop was empty. The shaman, the table, and the smell of burnt toast were gone. There was only a dusty, abandoned basement with a “For Lease” sign hanging in the window.

The three men stood on the sidewalk of the old district, the modern neon lights of the city flickering above them. The silence was heavy, awkward, and profoundly confused.

“Crap. Just bullshit,” Han Shān muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He looked at his hand, the one he’d used to punch the man, and saw it was trembling.

“So,” Zhāo Yàn said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’re all dreaming of the same woman. We all have kids. And according to the crazy man in the dirty shirt, we’re all supposed to be sharing her.”

He looked at Han Shān, then at Yàn Shū. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m hungry. And I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one going crazy.”

“I need to go home,” Yàn Shū whispered. “Hóng Yè is waiting.”

“Actually,” Zhāo Yàn said, a glint in his eye. “Speaking of children… and Bai Yue… I think we should all go out. Tomorrow. A ’family’ outing.”

“Absolutely not,” Han Shān snapped.

“Oh, come on,” Zhāo Yàn teased. “The kids already know each other. My boy is obsessed with your daughter. The Scholar’s son is probably the only one who can keep them from killing each other. And Bai Yue… she deserves to see us all together. Without the shouting.”

Han Shān looked like he wanted to argue, but the image of Bai Yue’s tear-stained face in his living room flashed in his mind.

“Fine,” Han Shān growled. “One outing. To prove this is all a psychological fluke.”

“Great!” Zhāo Yàn grinned, clapping a hand on Yàn Shū’s shoulder. “I’ll pick the place. Somewhere with lots of space. I have a feeling things are going to get…..wild.”

Yàn Shū just sighed, adjusting his glasses.

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