Ding—
Ye Zhishu completed the payment and finally turned her head toward the source of the voice.
Across from the “Return” shop, there were two or three small stalls, all offering fortune-telling. Ye Zhishu had noticed them earlier but hadn’t paid much attention.
The woman who had shouted was around fifty years old, though her appearance made her seem older. Most of her hair was already silver, tied up, and her clothes were old and worn. She wore simple black cloth shoes.
In front of her was a makeshift stall built from a small wooden board, covered with a floral tablecloth. Beside it stood a milk-carton sign with “Fortune-telling” written in charcoal.
The old Taoist wore a patched gray robe. His long silver hair was tied up with a wooden pin, giving him a faint aura of otherworldly detachment.
But compared to a nearby middle-aged Taoist in a pristine robe with complete tools and a composed demeanor, he looked like a charlatan.
Facing the woman’s shrill yelling, the old Taoist stroked his long beard, his wrinkled face calm and sincere.
“Respected lady, I do not deceive you. Your son passed away ten years ago. Continuing your search is in vain. Life is short—do not bring suffering upon yourself any longer.”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
The woman went into a frenzy, pointing at him, eyes bloodshot. “My son isn’t dead! He… he was kidnapped! He’s still alive! He must be alive!”
The surrounding crowd murmured.
Ye Zhishu focused and finally understood the situation.
The woman’s name was Wu Fang, from a neighboring village. Twenty-three years ago, her three-year-old son was abducted, never to be heard from again. Wu Fang and her husband fell into deep despair, dedicating twenty years to searching for their son.
Three years ago, Wu Fang’s husband fell seriously ill and passed away. The loss devastated her, affecting her mental health.
But she never gave up searching for her son.
Today, for some reason, she had suddenly come to the street, pestering the old man to give her a reading.
Everyone in the street knew the old man was a fraud. None of his predictions were pleasant. If not for his distant relation to the shop owner, he might have been beaten long ago.
As expected, the old man simply looked at Wu Fang and declared her son dead.
Wu Fang had searched for her son for over twenty years. Hearing this, anyone would be furious—and she nearly lashed out at him.
Ye Zhishu glanced at the old Taoist, then at Wu Fang’s face.
She shook her head slightly. The old Taoist had not lied: Wu Fang’s son truly had passed away.
Just as Wu Fang reached out to scratch the Taoist’s face, the middle-aged Taoist next to her spoke up:
“Ms. Wu, this old man is a fraud. Do not believe him. I just gave you a reading—your son is alive and well, with everything he needs.”
Wu Fang froze, eyes brightening. “Master, are you serious?”
The middle-aged Taoist sneered at the old man, then smiled warmly at Wu Fang.
“Of course. My readings have never been wrong.”
“Yes, Master Liu is renowned on Antique Street for his accurate fortune-telling. Not like that old man named Guan, who only spreads misfortune. A few days ago he even predicted I’d have a violent accident. Ridiculous!”
“…”
Ye Zhishu watched as Wu Fang calmed down, then walked to Master Liu’s stall, extending her hand for a reading. At the same time, she glanced at the old Taoist.
The old man shook his head, sighing, stroking his beard. Leaning back in his chair with eyes closed, he seemed accustomed to this kind of scene.
Ye Zhishu raised an eyebrow, noticing Wu Fang had already taken out her phone, ready to pay via QR code. She prepared to leave. Everyone has their own fate—Wu Fang had been warned by the old Taoist but refused to accept it. That was her karmic path; Ye Zhishu would not interfere.
Two steps out of the shop, a sudden bang—Wu Fang, who had been sitting calmly, fell to the ground.
Foaming at the mouth, she lost consciousness.
The onlookers, who had been dispersing, froze.
“What’s wrong with her? Did she have a seizure? Someone call an ambulance!”
“Looks like epilepsy? Oh my, why must Wu Fang’s life be so tragic?”
“Huh? Isn’t Master Liu skilled in medicine? He helped me with a back problem recently!”
“Me too! Master Liu, please help Wu Fang! Saving a life is worth more than building seven pagodas!”
Everyone turned toward Liu Jun.
“Uh…”
Liu Jun wiped sweat from his forehead. Seeing Wu Fang, eyes closed, pale, body convulsing, he cursed under his breath.
He knew nothing of real medicine! His Taoist certificate had cost him three hundred yuan online, and the prescriptions he gave were nothing more than ordinary tonics—useless for serious illness.
“Eh? Where did this little girl come from? What’s she doing?”
“Little girl, don’t make things worse!”
While the crowd murmured, a slender figure pushed through and knelt beside Wu Fang.
The old Taoist, who had just called 911, looked up. The girl’s sharp black eyes narrowed, sizing up the situation.
Ye Zhishu squatted by Wu Fang, holding a bottle of alcohol and a set of silver acupuncture needles—all borrowed from the “Return” shop.
“You and I were never meant to meet, but coincidentally, your illness is one I can treat. If we were fated not to meet, consider this fate. I only hope that once you wake, you can see clearly and move on, free from past burdens.”
Ye Zhishu spoke softly, only for Wu Fang to hear.
Though Wu Fang’s eyes remained closed and her body convulsed, her mind was clearer than ever. At Ye Zhishu’s words, her eyelids twitched, and a warm tear slid down her cheek.
Everyone thought she was insane, but she knew the truth—her son had most likely died long ago.
Seeing this, Ye Zhishu knew Wu Fang understood. She lowered her gaze, calmly sterilized a needle with fire, and inserted it at Wu Fang’s Mingmen point.
The old Taoist’s expression changed drastically. He sat upright, eyes fixed on Ye Zhishu’s actions.
Meanwhile, at the end of Antique Street, a black Bentley quietly stopped.
The sliding door opened.
Two men, about twenty-five or twenty-six, stepped out. The elder one wore a perfectly tailored black suit, with sharp features and the aura of an elite leader.
“Brother, is your intel reliable? Is that Xuanxu Taoist really here?”