Chapter Twenty-Seven: An Unyielding Prophecy

I smiled without replying, taking Yue Qianling by the hand as we walked away. After a short while, she suddenly stopped, looking at me thoughtfully.

"Eighteen yuan… Move a little forward! You—you knew from the start he would lose money, so you gave him eighteen yuan. You also knew something would fall behind us, which is why you told him to sit farther forward! You… Can you really predict things?!"

I shook my head and replied with utmost seriousness, "What are you talking about? He was the one reading my fortune, not the other way around. How could I have known anything in advance?"

Although I didn’t admit to anything, Yue Qianling’s expression was full of astonishment; it was clear the events just now had left her utterly bewildered.

"Young man, please wait!" A deep and resonant voice called from behind.

I turned around to see Zhao the Half-Immortal, panting as he hurried over. Beside him stood an old man, short and as thin as a monkey, his back hunched so much I couldn’t see his face clearly.

“Sixth Brother, it’s this young man,” Zhao the Half-Immortal pointed at me.

He replied in a voice as loud as a bell, unmistakably the one who had just called out to me, "Though the Ghost Market is a place for all kinds of people, and has been for over a hundred years, chaos cannot exist without rules. This market has its own order. You saved Zhao the Blind with just a few words, didn’t even leave your name, and walked away—aren’t you showing too little respect for this place?"

I gave a faint, polite smile. “My surname is Qin, my given name is Yanhui. I’m just here with a friend to wander the Ghost Market. If I broke any rules, I ask for your forgiveness.”

"No hurry, the night is still young. The best goods haven’t even been put out yet. Sit down and have some tea before you leave." There was a certain authority in the hunchbacked old man’s voice, as if his words were law.

There was a tea stall in the market, serving large bowls of tea. Tired shoppers would sit, drink tea, chat, or handle antiques. Though it was still before dawn, the tea stall was bustling.

After a moment’s thought, I followed him in with Yue Qianling. Everyone inside seemed to know the old man; they all greeted him with respect, clearly someone of importance.

"Sixth Great-uncle, you’re here early!"

Just the name alone was impressive. Yet, following him in, Yue Qianling scrutinized the frail old man and saw nothing extraordinary about him.

Once he sat down, I finally saw his face—gaunt yet glowing with health, the space between his brows full and bright, the features of someone blessed with good fortune. As he reached for tea, I understood why he was called Sixth Great-uncle—his left hand had six fingers.

"Young man, how old are you this year?"

"Sixth Great-uncle, you’re too polite. No need for such formalities…"

"Who’s being polite? You, a stranger, come here and start meddling in the Ghost Market, making a scene in front of all these people. You slap Zhao the Blind in the face, that’s the same as slapping me, and slapping me is slapping everyone here. In the old days, you’d be lucky to walk out alive. By our rules, it’d be a Mile of Red. You know what that means?"

"Why do you talk like that?" Yue Qianling protested loudly. "I respected you because you’re older, but you don’t act your age! Who did we bother? He did the fortune-telling, we paid him. What trouble did we cause?"

"When did women get to speak in the Ghost Market?" The old man’s tone was light, but his gaze was sharp as a knife. He glanced at Yue Qianling. "No one leaves until everything’s clear."

"W-what’s a Mile of Red?" Yue Qianling, cowed by his presence and the way everyone deferred to him, sat down again.

"It’s a market rule," someone in the stall explained solemnly. "Everyone in the Ghost Market lines up for a mile, each with a wooden stick. If anyone is caught reporting to the authorities or causing trouble, they must crawl through that gauntlet, getting beaten below the waist. If they crawl out alive, they’re lucky, but most end up battered and bloody, leaving a red trail behind—hence ‘Mile of Red.’"

I knew this was mostly to scare us. No one today would beat a man publicly like that, nor would anyone crawl a mile on their own. Still, given the situation, unless I gave them a good explanation, we wouldn’t be leaving. Yue Qianling was now too frightened to speak.

"Twenty-one. I’m twenty-one this year," I answered calmly.

"Have you ever heard the name Yan Six-Fingers?" The old man lifted his left hand as if by accident, the sixth finger glaringly obvious.

"No… I truly haven’t," I replied sincerely.

"Yan Six-Fingers… I’ve heard of him," Yue Qianling suddenly said earnestly. "When I was little, my father spoke of him often. Around the Nine-Eyed Bridge Ghost Market, Yan Six-Fingers was a master. People said his skills in fortune-telling, palmistry, physiognomy, and feng shui were all exceptional. In the past, everyone wanted him to read their fate. Later on, people stopped talking about him—maybe because fewer believe in these things now." She stared at his left hand in astonishment. "You… you must be him—Yan Six-Fingers!"

"Yan Tongshou, that’s me. Yan Six-Fingers was my old name. I retired decades ago, left these arts behind. Yet tonight I run into a genuine peer. Qin Yanhui, this old man has been idle for years, but tonight, let’s have a little contest—see if you’re a mule or a horse, let’s take a proper look. If you can hold your own, you’re Zhao the Blind’s benefactor; if not…" Yan Tongshou set his tea bowl down with a heavy thud.

"Let her go first. I dare not compete with a senior. Since this all started because of me, I’ll bear the consequences. She has nothing to do with it," I said, indicating Yue Qianling.

"You’re young, but you have a sense of loyalty. Well done," Yan Tongshou smiled blandly. "But you chose the wrong place to play the hero. No one here bargains with you."

"Then I won’t leave! Let’s see what you can do to me. I’ll have you know, my father is—"

I quickly tugged at Yue Qianling’s sleeve. The Ghost Market was a nest of snakes and dragons; her father, Yue Leiting, was a man of the underworld. If any of his enemies found out she was his daughter, things could turn ugly. I could escape, but keeping her safe would be a real challenge.

Yan Tongshou ignored her, sipping his tea leisurely. "Let’s be civil before anything else. Zhao the Blind embarrassed himself with his half-baked skills—don’t take it to heart."

"Zhao the Blind? But… he’s not blind," Yue Qianling asked, puzzled.

"There’s always someone stronger and wiser. It’s arrogance to swagger about with shallow knowledge in the Ghost Market, boasting even before masters. Isn’t that being blind?" Yan Half-Immortal sat beside us, head bowed low.

"In front of the real thing, there’s no need for lies," Yan Tongshou said. "The fortune slip was: ‘A beauty graced in red, let not your heart be troubled. Peach and plum bloom morning and night, good fortune stands before you.’ The slip was drawn by you—how did you predict his fortune today?"

"There was a dark line between his brows, a sign of disaster from above. A sore on his Lan Tai meant loss of wealth. Swelling on the food store indicated quarrels; the earth store collapsed, the woods in disarray—an omen of misfortune," I replied confidently.

Yan Tongshou turned to Zhao the Half-Immortal, then nodded. "I didn’t expect you to deduce fortune or calamity from the twelve palaces of his face at a glance. If not for your reminder, I wouldn’t have noticed."

"The slip read: ‘A beauty graced in red, let not your heart be troubled. Peach and plum bloom morning and night, good fortune stands before you.’ It wasn’t I who drew it; he accidentally dropped it. Fate arises from appearance—I merely interpreted the slip using the signs from his facial features," I said calmly, smiling.

"Then how did you know he would have to pay exactly eighteen yuan? And how did you deduce that moving forward half a step would save him from the falling brick?" Yan Tongshou asked, frowning as he sipped his tea.

"‘A beauty graced in red, let not your heart be troubled.’ His earth store collapsed, the woods were in chaos—a sign of misfortune. There were porcelain wares beside him, one painted with a lady. It meant he would break the porcelain, the shards falling into his lap."

People began to whisper among themselves. Zhao the Half-Immortal, half in disbelief, felt around his chest and, to everyone’s amazement, pulled out a shard with a lady’s broken face painted on it—it must have flown into his clothes when he fell.

Everyone watched, stunned. Even Yue Qianling was speechless with shock.

"His Lan Tai had a sore, a sign of lost wealth. When he showed me the slip, he absentmindedly scratched it and broke the skin. A sore brings ruin—his loss was inevitable. ‘Peach and plum, morning and night’: peach means ‘demand,’ plum is eighteen. Eighteen yuan, to be demanded at dawn," I said lightly, taking a sip of tea.

Zhao the Half-Immortal stroked his beard in amazement, his expression changing to one of sincere admiration.

"And the last line, ‘good fortune stands before you’—the dark line between his brows foretold disaster from above. Good fortune was not a person, but a direction; stepping forward would avoid calamity."

Yan Tongshou mulled over my words, then set his tea aside and examined me closely.

"How old did you say you were?"

"I don’t know exactly. By the old man’s reckoning, I’m twenty-one this year."

Yan Tongshou frowned, then his lips curled slowly into a bitter smile. He shook his head with a sigh.

"Twenty—just twenty years old. I’m seventy-six this year. My life has been wasted. They call me Yan Six-Fingers, say I’m a master of the arts—but after more than seventy years of practice, I still can’t match a twenty-year-old boy. Wasted, all wasted."

"He… did he really get it right?" Yue Qianling asked, her mouth agape.

"To judge fortune and misfortune at a glance—such skill, even I, Yan Six-Fingers, am ashamed," Yan Tongshou replied, his voice heavy with regret. Then, turning to Zhao the Half-Immortal, he said, "From now on, put away your Iron-Mouth Predicts All signboard. You’re not worthy. He is the true Iron-Mouth."