Chapter 10: Trouble Stemming from the Fortune Teller

Leaning on a green bamboo stick must be a blind man, because fortune-tellers are usually blind; it is said that only when the eyes are blind can the heart see clearly. Such fortune-tellers are nothing but the products of people’s pity and their muddled minds working together. This nameless and shopless fortune-teller also matched most of Su Ziceng’s imagination; he was half-blind, one eye still darting about looking at her, while the other was like a shattered rainstone, the eye socket filled with the luster of blindness. His dry, eagle-hook nose and date-colored lips were snidely pouting towards Su Ziceng, his mouth incessantly muttering, "Tsk-tsk, someone who should have been covered by a coffin board has actually crawled back out." Seeing such an eerie and abnormal person, Su Ziceng hesitated again, only to regain some of her wits upon hearing the phrase "coffin board," realizing this man had some renown. Su Ziceng pondered and looked towards the backyard behind him, only for him to use his thin body to block the door, which then closed with a "clap" like a coffin board being sealed shut. "Truly ill-mannered, having a good pair of eyes always looking where they shouldn’t; sooner or later, it will shorten your lifespan," the Yuhua Eye glared at her, and the bamboo stick forcefully pushed her outwards, as if afraid she would soil his storefront if she stepped in again. Above her ankle, in addition to the cool touch of the bamboo, a dark mark was now added. Seeing Su Ziceng’s whole body seething with anger, the fortune-teller became even more presumptuous, taking a step forward and grabbing her right hand. Only then did Su Ziceng remember that she was still wearing the "Red Love" ring on her hand. In a poor area like the Sixth District, where not a drop of fortune could be seen, it was unavoidably eye-catching. The green bamboo stick was inverted, and with a stroke of the Yuhua Eye on her hand, "You won’t live past twenty-five," he said, his voice heavy as if a hammer were striking those iron nails on a coffin lid, each hammer blow seeming to strike the soul away. Everyone who came to him for a fortune would have one of two reactions after hearing his words: some would be eternally grateful, treating him as if he were a living deity. Others would sob and weep, as if he had instantly turned into the King of Hell’s soul-reaping messenger, with a single sentence snatching souls and spirits away. The hand of fine skin and gentle flesh, showing richness but also a hint of frailty, did not immediately retract. Its flesh was an even red, very healthy, not hinting at sickness or death. The owner of the hand did not react like most people and instead observed him with a complex expression, as if it was all too familiar. In that rainstone-like eye of the fortune teller, several unusually colored Yuhua patterns rolled about, and he indeed had seen that expression before. Nineteen years ago, he had come across a pregnant woman from a wealthy family with the same expression. "You?" The Yuhua Eye unconsciously blurted out, as he had wanted to ask the pregnant woman then, but the young woman had quickly retracted her step to go inside, urging the person beside her to leave quickly. His impression of the pregnant woman was profound, not just because she was different from the others, but also because he saw in her companion’s eyes, for the first time, a gaze that didn’t believe in fate and refused to admit defeat. The man accompanying the young woman used to consult him from time to time afterward, asking about matters of fate, and he didn’t know why the frequency of these visits gradually decreased until, eight years later, he learned the man’s name from a newspaper: the chairman of the Su Group, Su Qingzhang. And that other woman who disliked speaking, up to today, would still frequent this place. Unlike Su Qingzhang, she preferred to seek him out in the Sixth District, and when he inquired why, the woman with the surname Chang said, "Here, you and I are more at ease." Indeed, the Sixth District let people feel more at ease. Although the sky here was dimmer than the outside, darkness often served as the best camouflage. "Your fortune-telling is inaccurate." Su Ziceng looked at the line marked by the bamboo stick on her hand, commonly referred to as the lifeline, abruptly stopping at an awkward point, as if it were an unmarried woman of age, caught between, seemingly at risk of being choked to death by the surrounding clamor for marriage. "At least thirty-five." Su Ziceng wished she could turn into a groundhog and dig up the graves of the fortune teller’s ancestors. She had seen inaccurate fortunes before, but there was no excuse for blind predictions; he had actually shortened her life to just thirty-five years, abruptly deducting a decade. "Not allowed?" Yuhua Eye seemed to be stabbed in the sore spot, his scrawny shoulders drooped slightly, and he said, "I’ve calculated that today you’ll face a great calamity. If you can’t get through it, you’ll never make it in life." With that, he pushed Su Ziceng out the door without further explanation. The door that was immediately closed left a crackling laugh, and looking from the outside in, one could see Yuhua Eye’s frustrated figure walking back inside. "Wait, you haven’t told me..." Su Ziceng’s voice was shut outside the broken door, desperately trying to squeeze through the crack, then growing fainter, "Do you know Chang Mei?" On the distant open ground, an alarm continuously shrieked. Su Ziceng, with no other option, decided to head back and had just reached her car when she inhaled sharply. The Ferrari, soaked in the evening hues, lost its boisterous and impressive daytime state. It looked like a melted summer ice cream, with its wheels collapsed and flat on the ground, next to which lay a scatter of hastily abandoned crowbars and wrenches, clearly after a failed wheel-stealing operation that maliciously left the tires deflated. Looking at her beloved car with only four awkward-looking hubs left, Su Ziceng turned around and gave all the houses of the Sixth District a crude gesture. The pager in her pocket started ringing inappropriately, sounding somewhat like a tragic chorus of ‘the wind howls, the rain falls, and Su Ziceng cannot return home.’ Damn the era when even mobile phones didn’t exist yet. After what seemed like an endless number of turns, Su Ziceng finally found a public phone booth and dialed back home. "Are you rebelling?" From the other end of the phone, Su Qingzhang’s scolding pierced her eardrums, and Su Ziceng rolled her eyes. Daquan University’s response was indeed swift. "I have invited a bunch of school board members for dinner tonight, and I expect you to arrive at 'Junhao First-class' by eight o'clock to apologize." The phone was abruptly hung up with a "snap." Su Qingzhang was always like this, only allowing a half-finished sentence from others, with no room for further explanation. "Eight o’clock." Su Ziceng checked the time; it was nearly six already. She hastily pressed down another residential number, mumbling to herself, "Yishao, hurry up and return my call." After a long wait with no call back, Su Ziceng redialed, her eyes turning red in the fiery sunset. After a good three tries, there was still no response. Out of options, she had no choice but to dial Chang Chi’s pager number. Chang Chi was quick to respond and called back immediately. Before Su Ziceng could ask, she spoke hurriedly and anxiously, "Tell Su Qingzhang that I don’t want to go to 'Daoquan University.' I haven’t decided on a new university yet, and also, I’m now in the Sixth District with a blown tire. Send a tow truck..." The sound from the telephone cut off, and it wasn’t clear if it was in the moonlight or sunlight that her change ran out. On Chang Chi’s end, she calmly hung up the suddenly silent phone and did not call back. Secretary Wang entered, asking anxiously, "Miss Chang, have you made contact with the young lady? The chairman is pushing again." "No, I can’t get hold of her either," Chang Chi replied, a trace of venom flickering in her eyes.