"To cure a sickness of the mind, you need medicine for the mind. In your case, Uncle Zhang, we need to conduct a form of deep hypnosis. You need to meet your father in your subconscious and speak with him directly. This kind of hypnosis requires a special medium, which you'll have to purchase."
"How much?"
"One thousand yuan."
"Done. I've sent the money."
After Uncle Zhang sent the money, he watched as Wen Ying pulled a thick stack of Yellow Paper from a drawer beside her chair—the kind used specifically for tomb-sweeping and ancestral offerings.
The corner of Uncle Zhang's mouth twitched. 'If the medium for this "hypnosis" is Yellow Paper,' he thought, 'then I think I get the gist of it.' He'd burn the paper, offer some incense to his father, and then—presto—he'd dream of him...
'The field of psychology is truly vast and profound,' he mused sarcastically.
