Urban: Super God-Ring System

C2 – Mysterious Fortune Teller (2)

“Old sir, I’ve written ‘noon.’ Could you tell my fortune?” Wen Huaimu set down his pen and asked with a grin.

“Noon,” the fortune teller murmured, running his fingers over the characters Wen Huaimu had penned. He paused, his face first registering confusion, then his expression shifted to one of solemnity.

Wen Huaimu couldn’t help but chuckle. It was the same routine he’d seen fortune tellers use on television. He was curious to hear what this one would say.

“How peculiar!”

Instead of offering an explanation, the fortune teller continued to mutter to himself.

“Old sir, I’m looking for an interpretation, not a mystery. Is there something wrong with my writing? Should I try again?” Wen Huaimu joked.

Finally, the fortune teller withdrew his hand. Sitting up straight, he asked, “Are you ridiculing me for acting enigmatic?”

“I wouldn’t dare, but I do ask that you read my fortune,” Wen Huaimu persisted, half-hoping to shift some of the day’s awkwardness onto the fortune teller.

The fortune teller let out a light laugh. “The interpretation is quite straightforward. This character typically denotes time, but your writing it now suggests you’re in a foul mood, likely due to an afternoon slight or mishap. It also speaks to your tactful and kind nature.”

“To sum it up, you have a timid disposition. You were probably wronged this afternoon and didn’t dare to stand up for yourself. And now, here you are, seeking my counsel.”

With each statement from the fortune teller, Wen Huaimu’s mouth hung open wider, until it was agape enough to fit a goose egg!

“You must have witnessed my embarrassment!” Wen Huaimu blurted out, standing up with a face flushed red in defense.

“Seen your embarrassment?” The fortune teller chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m blind—I can’t see anything.”

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Mortified and at a loss for words, Wen Huaimu realized he’d blundered into making a joke about a blind man watching a play.

“I’m so sorry!” he apologized, his voice tinged with embarrassment as he took his seat.

The fortune teller, however, was not upset. A smile played on his lips as he said, “I don’t hold it against you. In fact, I have a favor to ask of you. Would you be willing to help?”

“What’s wrong?” Wen Huaimu perked up, his curiosity piqued.

“May I read your fortune once more?”

The request left Wen Huaimu utterly astonished.

“I’d like to use Positioning to divine your future!” The fortune teller’s face was flushed with excitement.

Wen Huaimu’s face twisted with concern. “I can’t afford that.”

“No charge. I simply wish to read your fortune,” the fortune teller intoned solemnly.

“Alright.” Wen Huaimu relaxed. If the fortune-telling was free, he might as well indulge the man.

“Excellent!” The fortune teller eagerly retrieved an ancient turtle shell and three old copper coins from his desk drawer.

“Just give these coins a shake,” he instructed Wen Huaimu, handing over the shell.

“Sure, easy enough!”

Wen Huaimu took the shell and gave it a shake, the coins jingling merrily inside.

After a few shakes, he pointed the tail of the shell at the Eight Trigrams Diagram on the table, and the coins tumbled out, spinning over the symbols.

The coins eventually came to a halt, and the fortune teller caressed them with a trembling hand, visibly moved.

Wen Huaimu waited in silence until the fortune teller, looking drained, slumped back into his chair.

“Sir, does this mean I’m fated for some great calamity?” Wen Huaimu’s mind raced with worry.

The fortune teller shook his head, silent for a beat before pulling a small, delicate object from the drawer. He fondled it for a moment before offering it to Wen Huaimu with a look of deep reluctance. “This is for you.”

Wen Huaimu was speechless.

The fortune teller had refused payment and was now presenting him with a gift. But why?

“I haven’t done anything to deserve this. I can’t accept your gift,” Wen Huaimu said, flustered.

“Keep it. It’s yours. It may be in my possession, but it’s not meant for me,” the fortune teller said, his expression somber.

Wen Huaimu was taken aback. “This is meant for me? Are you sure you’re not joking, sir?”

Without another word, the fortune teller pressed the item into Wen Huaimu’s hand and said firmly, “Take it. Would you really refuse a gift from an old man like me?”

“Thank you,” said Wen Huaimu as he picked up the object, only then noticing it was a ring. The ring was purple with intricate, bizarre patterns etched across its surface.

Curiosity piqued, Wen Huaimu inquired, “Old sir, is there something special about this ring? It strikes me as quite odd.”

“I don’t know,” the old man replied.

“You don’t know?”

The fortune teller let out a sigh. “The reason I gave it to you is precisely because I’m unaware of its nature. It’s no wonder I felt such a surge of excitement today; it seems I was meant to return it to you.” With those words, the fortune teller stood up, abandoning his stall, and walked away without looking back.

“Old sir,” Wen Huaimu called out, at a loss for words. The whole experience felt surreal, as if it were all a dream.