The Exorcise Evil Spirits category contains many yang-themed tattoos. For Éamonn's case, I decided to give him a Five Emperors' Coins tattoo.
The Five Emperors' Coins refer to copper coins from the reigns of five emperors: Shunzhi, Kangxi, Yongzheng, Qianlong, and Jiaqing. These coins are believed to ward off evil spirits and avert misfortune.
Placing Five Emperors' Coins beneath a threshold can protect against Flying Blade Evil, Spear Evil, Reverse Bow Evil, and Open Mouth Evil.
When tattooed on the body, they can ward off evil spirits and grudges. They can also be wrapped in a Li Shi Feng package or strung together and worn around the neck to increase one's luck. The colors used may correspond to those of the Gods of Happiness.
Bodhi's resentment was more complex than simply residing in the computer. It wasn't enough to just throw the computer away—Éamonn had already been tainted by Bodhi's ghostly resentment. Without the Five Emperors' Coins tattoo, there might still be trouble in the future. And of course, that computer absolutely had to go.
Yang-themed tattoos cost 10,000 yuan. When I explained the Five Emperors' Coins to Éamonn, he didn't dare refuse. Terrified by Bodhi's abuse, he immediately agreed to pay the 10,000, saying he'd scrape together the money even if it meant bleeding his savings dry. He cursed himself for being cheap and ending up with such a cursed object.
I told him he should blame himself—not for being cheap, but for being a keyboard warrior. If he hadn't cursed others, Bodhi's ghostly resentment probably wouldn't have attached to him.
My words left Éamonn dumbfounded. He could only count himself unlucky—3,000 for the computer plus 10,000 for the Gods and Ghosts Tattoo. That one outburst had cost him 13,000 yuan, not to mention the shit he'd eaten and losing his job. Miserable, right? Do you think he'd still dare be a keyboard warrior?
Éamonn slapped himself on the spot and said, "What's the point of cursing others when it's none of my business? I'll never be a keyboard warrior again."
Though he admitted his mistake, he still had to pay. He transferred me 10,000 yuan.
After collecting the money, I led him into the tattoo room. The Five Emperors' Coins would be inked on his back.
The five copper coins design is actually quite a good tattoo, though it's labor-intensive—five coins in total, each with distinct patterns and textures. While all are Qing Dynasty copper coins, they have subtle differences. If not tattooed precisely, the Five Emperors' Coins might lose their effect, becoming no different from ordinary coins.
The tattoo took about two hours to complete, including basic coloring. When I showed him the result with a mirror, Éamonn seemed satisfied. Tattoos featuring copper coins are relatively rare, and getting five done at once is even more uncommon.
After finishing the Gods and Ghosts Tattoo, I ran out of cadaver blood, cremains, and corpse oil. I'd have to buy more from that old man Christoph—another expense.
Don't think I was making a fortune—while the money was decent, it was nowhere near a hundred million, and business didn't come every day.
As Éamonn left, I saw five golden halos emanate from his back. Then a black aura dispersed from his body before completely vanishing.
This must have been Bodhi's ghostly resentment—part of which had tainted Éamonn. I touched the computer too, but remained unaffected since I'm not a keyboard warrior, and Bodhi specifically hated keyboard warriors.
The Five Emperors' Coins worked as intended, cleansing Éamonn of the ghostly resentment. After he disposed of the computer, he should be completely fine now.
This job could be considered successfully completed. With 10,000 in the account, it wasn't bad—in fact, this case had been relatively easy money.
Éamonn had barely left when Moreira showed up. This time he arrived driving a Porsche with a stunning girl—the kind with both perfect body and face, wearing a short skirt that accentuated her charms.
Moreira pulled her inside while shamelessly kissing her. The girl didn't resist, only occasionally pounding his chest and calling him disgusting.
Then Moreira suddenly pushed the girl toward me, making her stumble into my arms.
"Ror, I was wrong before. Thanks to your Five Ghosts Fortune Bringing tattoo, I struck it rich. This car model's all yours—what's mine is yours between brothers!" Moreira said.
Turns out after getting the Five Ghosts Fortune Bringing tattoo, Moreira's luck became terrifyingly good—he won every bet, his stocks soared, and in just two days earned twenty million. He'd nearly cleaned out most gambling dens.
"How's that? Your brother treats you right, doesn't he? Can't say I'm not generous, hahaha!" Moreira lit a cigar while praising himself.
Meanwhile, the car model snuggled in my arms, complaining about Moreira being annoying while pressing herself against me. I pushed her away.
"Moreira, don't say I didn't warn you. If you keep overdrawing your fortune like this, you'll end up a beggar for life. Take my advice and stop now," I said coldly.
"Haha, me? A beggar? With all this money? Winning every bet? You're joking!" Moreira roared with laughter. "Roger, you're really stubborn. I'm rich and you won't even ride my coattails when I'm offering? And now you're telling me to stop? No wonder you'll be stuck in this shitty tattoo parlor forever."
"Fine, don't believe me then. Our paths differ—let's go our separate ways." My expression darkened.
Truly, good advice often falls on deaf ears. I meant well, but couldn't force him to listen.
Moreira tossed his cigar and yanked the car model back. "Never mind, I'll keep her for myself then."
"Disgusting!" The car model slapped Moreira's chest one last time, and the two walked out of the tattoo parlor exchanging vulgar banter. Moreira never came back after that.
Later, I heard rumors about his exploits—how he'd won enormous sums of money, apparently making fortunes through investments. Every stock he bought would skyrocket, earning him the nickname "Stock God." At gambling, he won every single time without fail. There was even an incident where he won so much he bankrupted a casino on the spot. But three months later, all news of him ceased.
The last time I saw him was half a year after that.
There on the street, Moreira had truly become a beggar. Both his hands had been severed—by whom, I didn't know—and with a filthy face, he squatted on the ground begging for sympathy. Few pitied him though; only a handful of dollar bills lay scattered in his bowl.
When I called out to him, he refused to acknowledge me and tried to flee. I caught up anyway, and when he finally looked at me, he burst into uncontrollable sobbing.
The truth was, Moreira's fortune hadn't lasted. In less than three months, he'd lost all his winnings. The cars, the houses—everything was gone. The women who'd clung to him vanished one by one.
Moreira couldn't accept this new reality. How could he return to poverty after tasting such luxury? Accustomed to abalone, how could he stomach pickles? Used to car models, how could he tolerate plain women?
In desperation, he borrowed ten million dollars to gamble again—and lost it all. This time, he couldn't repay the debt. A month later, his creditors severed both hands and extracted a kidney as partial payment.