Picking up from before, I should elaborate on the black qi from abortion. Two main causes of black qi are filial impiety and abortion. Readers, take note: if you've experienced these, do good deeds—over time, virtue wards off evil.
Back to the matter at hand. After drawing the Yang-Locking Talisman with cinnabar, the ghost recoiled a dozen steps, glaring at me with 悲愤 (grief and indignation). I didn't want to offend wandering spirits—my Five Emperors Coins or kylin windchime could 重创 (重创,severely wound) her, but I needed answers first.
Wind howled at the crossroads, making streetlights buzz. Stray cats scampered, and the old woman's spirit money scattered. Sensing trouble, she asked nervously, "Lad, what did you draw on my back? Was that my daughter?"
The ghost circled us, afraid to approach but reluctant to leave. I soothed her: "Madam, it's your daughter. She missed you. I'm a yin-yang master—tell me about her."
"She's here?" The old woman wept, scanning the crossroads. "Xiu! Show yourself! Mom was wrong—no more pressure. I've aged 20 years in a year, blaming myself daily. Mom is sorry!" Kneeling, she sobbed uncontrollably.
I learned she was under 50 but looked 80. Under the dim light, her wailing was heart-wrenching, reminding me of my parents' deaths. The greatest pain is losing a loved one.
The ghost inched closer. I maintained a stern face—no fear, no pity. I'd visited yin houses and studied Maoshan Sorcery Annals. "Lingering here to harm your mother—let me ask the netherworld messengers how to punish you."
"Spare me, Master! I have a 苦衷 (difficulty)!" The ghost knelt. My bluff worked—earthbound spirits suffer from yang energy and risk punishment. Passing as a master who could report to the netherworld frightened her.
The old woman grabbed me: "You saw my daughter? Where is she?" She knelt again. "Child, Mom failed you."
This scene needed ending—police might intervene. I helped her up. "Madam, let's talk over there." To the ghost: "You too—explain yourself. I can't ignore this."
At the roadside, she pestered me about her daughter. I silenced her, ordering the ghost to speak. Her story was tragic.
Yin Xiuxiu was a local. Her parents divorced when she was 8; her mother never remarried, raising her alone. Xiuxiu excelled—beautiful, talented, a broadcasting major at a TV station. With model looks, she had countless suitors—billionaires, lawyers, doctors—but shocked all by choosing her college boyfriend, who'd taught in Tibet for two years, and she'd waited.
Her mother, traumatized by divorce, twisted her view of love, forcing Xiuxiu to marry "elites." Daily tears and suicide threats ensued. Xiuxiu fled, then returned to steal her hukou book for marriage. Caught by her mother, she raced to the crossroads and was hit by a car on her boyfriend's birthday.
The ghost wailed: "I missed our appointment because of you! I can't find Li Bo. My dream was to marry him, but you stopped me! Li Bo is gone—I die unfulfilled!"