I let out a surprised “Huh?” and asked, “Is this going to cost me? If you’re going to charge me a thousand bucks for some vague, cryptic fortune-telling, forget it. Give me something solid, and I’ll pay what I think it’s worth.”
Liu Jianguo had studied the *Maiyi Divine Physiognomy* and memorized it thoroughly. Since business was slow at his shop, he saw my arrival as a chance to practice his craft—a perfect opportunity to put theory into action.
In the world of fortune-telling and face-reading, most practitioners relied on the *Zi Ping Method*, analyzing birth charts, the *Tai Sui* (Year God), and other ominous signs. Blind apprentices, having memorized texts since childhood, could recite them flawlessly even if they couldn’t read. They also had to master works like *Yin-Yang Studies*, *Guiguzi*, and the *I Ching*—once they had the theoretical foundation, their words flowed effortlessly, convincing even the most skeptical.
Physiognomy could be divided into bone structure, body shape, facial features, specific body parts, complexion, beard and hair, and body markings. But the most advanced form was “voice physiognomy”—literally, closing your eyes and listening to someone speak a few words to discern their past, present, and even future lives. Historically, only the legendary female physiognomist Xu Fu had mastered this.
Liu Jianguo grinned strangely. Behind him, paper effigies with rosy cheeks looked just as eerie. He said, “I’ll just take a quick look. I won’t say much—if I reveal too much, the Black and White Impermanence might drag me off for tea, and I’d rather avoid that. Besides, you don’t have to pay me, so you won’t accuse me of trying to scam you.”
I shrugged. “Fine, if it’s free, go ahead.” Liu Jianguo studied me for a moment, then shook his head, hesitating.
Irritated, I snapped, “Cut the act. Spit it out—I’m not some gullible old lady from the market.”
Gritting his teeth, Liu Jianguo said, “Your complexion carries a shadow of gloom. Something bad is about to happen.” I knew a bit about physiognomy myself—not enough to be an expert, but enough to see that Liu Jianguo seemed serious. Still, I scoffed, “Boss, seriously? Couldn’t you say something nice? No wonder your business is tanking. Call me when the paper mansion and effigies are ready.”
With that, I left the *Banxian Funeral Supplies* shop, bought a cheap phone on the way, and took the bus back to Chuhan Avenue. Seeing Brother Jun fixing a car, I asked if he had time for a drink.
Noticing my bruised face, Brother Jun set down his tools. “You get into a fight last night?”
“Nah, just some bad luck—got hauled in by the cops and roughed up a bit. They let me go when they realized I was innocent.”
Brother Jun nodded. “Alright, let me finish up here, and we’ll grab a drink. Should we invite your girl?” He meant Xie Lingyu. I forced a bitter smile. “Nah, just us. Men don’t need women around when they drink.”
Brother Jun chuckled. “Fight with her?”
“Nah, just got some stuff weighing on me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I called Xie Lingyu anyway, curious if she cared. She told me to come home early and hung up. When I mentioned drinking with Brother Jun, she just said, “Don’t drink too much,” and ended the call.
Another wave of disappointment hit me.
Brother Jun invited Zhang Zongbao along. The kid wanted to call his girlfriend, but Brother Jun shut it down—”This is a men’s night.”
We settled into a small eatery. Zhang Zongbao grinned. “Pig kidneys! Gotta have pig kidneys—perfect for stamina after working all day.”
Brother Jun laughed. “You little rascal, always thinking about *that*.” We ordered pig kidneys, stir-fried pork, Mongolian beef, two plates of peanuts, and a braised silver carp, along with two crates of beer.
Not long after we sat down, three men in black suits walked in and took a nearby table. They were grim-faced, behaving oddly—especially the older one, who leered at me like he had designs on my backside. Creepy.
Brother Jun called out to the waitress, “Hey, you think I can open a bottle one-handed?”
The waitress, wide-eyed, hesitated. Brother Jun grinned. “If you don’t believe me, bring me an opener.” Zhang Zongbao burst out laughing. “Master loves messing with waitresses.”
Flustered, the waitress scurried off and returned with the opener.
I downed a bottle, tears streaming. Zhang Zongbao blinked. “Uncle, why are you crying?” (Since I called Brother Jun “Brother,” Zhang Zongbao naturally called me “Uncle.”)
Brother Jun sighed. “Kid, you wouldn’t understand. Even tough men cry when love’s got them trapped.”
Zhang Zongbao tilted his head. “Master, were you ever trapped?”
Brother Jun waved it off. “Let’s not go there. Drink up.”
Zhang Zongbao’s eyes widened. “Ohhh, so you *were* trapped!”
Meanwhile, the three suited men had only ordered a plate of peanuts and two glasses of water. The owner must’ve been fuming—three big guys hogging a table for peanuts. But given their imposing builds, he didn’t dare complain.
Suddenly, two of the men approached our table and bowed stiffly. “Excuse me, Mr. Xiao. Our master requests your presence.”
Following their gaze, I saw the older man smirking, his neatly trimmed mustache giving him away—definitely Japanese.
*Huh. Just last night, my ancestor appeared in a dream, and now a Japanese guy shows up? If only he’d given me lottery numbers instead…*
I sneered. “Can’t he walk? If he wants to talk, he can come here. Or do you Japanese not understand basic manners after all these years of studying Chinese culture?”
The man stiffened. “Our master insists.”
Anger and alcohol boiled in me. I slammed the table. “Don’t piss me off. I’m not in the mood for your master’s nonsense.”
My ancestors had suffered under Japanese atrocities—our village was massacred, and my forebears fought with bloodied swords in the eight-year war. That sword still hung at home. For him to summon me? *The audacity.*
Zhang Zongbao grabbed a beer bottle. “Master, Uncle, let me pour you one. Screw these turtle-egg bastards—who do they think they are?”
A black flash—Brother Jun yanked Zhang Zongbao aside just as I ducked. A cold breeze brushed my forehead. Zhang Zongbao stared, confused, then saw the severed bottom half of his bottle on the floor, beer soaking half the dishes…
Brother Jun erupted. “You dare pull a knife on me? You looking to die?” The suited man held a strange, ancient-looking dagger.
I stopped Brother Jun. “Hold on. I’ll talk to him.”
Brother Jun glared. “That move—slicing a bottle midair—that’s Japanese ninjutsu. Trained from childhood.”
Zhang Zongbao paled. He’d seen *Naruto*—this was real-life shuriken action.
I patted Brother Jun’s shoulder. “Relax. I’ll handle it.” I strode to the Japanese man and kicked out a chair. “Who the hell are you?”
The man smiled. “My apologies. I am Abe Meirikawa, heir to a Japanese Onmyōji lineage. You are Xiao Qi, yes? Quite the impressive figure.”
Zhang Zongbao perked up. “Wait, like *The Young Onmyōji*? Abe no Seimei’s descendant?”
I scoffed. “What do you want? If it’s just to compliment my looks, save it.” I took a swig, belching loudly.
Abe Meirikawa chuckled. “I’ve heard Long Youshui passed his legacy to you. I’m here to propose a business deal. Would you consider it?”
I smirked. “Can I say no?”
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