The next afternoon, the property manager led Ajarn Ken up to the 15th floor. Every resident of the floor had crowded into the hallway—a wall of nervous bodies blocking the passage, their whispers hissing like steam as they watched the pair approach.
Zhi Wei stepped out of his unit and studied the man. Ajarn Ken was in his early thirties, wearing a simple tank top that revealed arms and a neck covered in dense Thai script tattoos. His left hand was clad in a white glove. A heavy chain hung around his neck, dangling seven or eight Thai amulets.
Everything about him fit Zhi Wei's image of an ajarn—except for the men's LV crossbody bag slung over his shoulder, adorned with a giant Labubu keychain, the wildly popular designer toy currently trending.
This was... unexpected.
Ajarn Ken pressed his palms together in prayer, his gaze sweeping over the door's surface before he began chanting. To Zhi Wei's ears, the rhythmic verses were clearly Thai scripture—though not a single syllable made sense to him.
The hallway held its breath.
After a moment, Ajarn Ken turned back to the crowd.
"Well?" Uncle Chan from 1505 blurted. "Ajarn, is there a ghost inside?"
Ajarn Ken smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, everyone. There's no ghost here."
Zhi Wei reached into his pants pocket and gripped the blackened talisman. His brows furrowed deeply.
No ghost? Either this guy's power level is trash—or he's just another con artist.
But Zhi Wei noticed the property manager giving him a meaningful look. In an instant, he understood what was really going on—the manager must have instructed the ajarn to say this to placate the residents.
Meanwhile, the crowd began murmuring among themselves.
"Uncle Chan," someone called out, "didn't you swear you saw the ghost with your own eyes?"
Uncle Chan's face flushed red. "I... I..."
"Enough with the stuttering. We all know you like to exaggerate, but scaring everyone with ghost stories is going too far."
Uncle Chan hung his head in silence.
Yet some remained skeptical. "Just because he says there's no ghost, we're supposed to believe it?"
The property manager shot Ajarn Ken a glance, and the ajarn quickly added, "There's no need for suspicion. Jade Residences has excellent feng shui and energy—no unclean entity could linger here. Otherwise, I wouldn't have chosen to live here myself."
The crowd buzzed with renewed discussion.
Ajarn Ken continued, "To ease your minds, I'll perform a simple blessing to strengthen the protective energy and ward off any negative forces. Can someone bring me a bucket of water?"
Uncle Chan squinted. "How big a bucket?"
"The big one," Ajarn Ken said, miming the size with his hands.
"Wait here."
Moments later, Uncle Chan emerged from his unit hauling a large plastic bucket, sloshing water onto the polished granite tiles as he set it down.
The ajarn nodded approvingly. From his LV crossbody, he produced a bundled cloth packet of petals—the kind used for Thai floral blessings—and a single red candle.
He scattered the petals into the water with a flick of his wrist, then set the candle on the mirror-like granite tiles.Its flame wavered upright against the building's stale air.
As the chanting resumed, Ajarn Ken began pacing the length of the corridor.
Zhi Wei seized the moment to sidle up to the property manager. "Blessing ritual or performance art?" he muttered.
The manager's lips twitched but stayed sealed.
"It got into my room last night," Zhi Wei pressed lower. "Sat on my fucking bed."
A muscle jumped in the manager's jaw. "After the ritual," he hissed back. "Your unit. Don't spook them now."
Zhi Wei gave a curt nod and turned back to the ritual.
The ceremony lasted ten minutes. Finally, Ajarn Ken ceased chanting and yanked the red candle upright from the floor. In one fluid motion, he pulled a small bottle from his LV bag, took a swig, and—with a dramatic puff—spewed a roaring column of fire toward the ceiling like some street performer.
Zhi Wei's eye twitched. A circus act?
The ajarn blasted two more fire bursts before clamping the still-burning candle between his teeth. Smoke curled from his lips as the flame died with a hiss.
"It is done." He turned to Uncle Chan. "Got a ladle?"
"Got one." Uncle Chan disappeared again and returned with a plastic ladle.
Ajarn Ken resumed chanting, then began ladling water from the bucket—one scoop after another—onto the hallway floor. Water spread across the granite, carrying petals in its shimmering wake. When half the bucket was emptied, he stopped.
"Wait thirty minutes before mopping," he told the property manager.
"I'll have it handled," the manager nodded.
Turning to Uncle Chan, the ajarn added, "Use the remaining water for your bath. It'll bring good fortune."
The old man's face lit up.
"Uncle Chan, share some with me!" someone called out.
"This is my water now." Clutching the bucket, he retreated into his unit and shut the door firmly behind him.
Some residents began dispersing, while others lingered, hoping for more spectacle.
Ajarn Ken suddenly addressed Zhi Wei pointedly, though his words carried for all to hear: "You look exhausted. Hallucinations often stem from unbalanced energies in one's living space. I should inspect your unit."
Zhi Wei played along. "By all means, take a look."
As he led the ajarn and property manager inside, the remaining onlookers finally drifted away.