He Ji Restaurant was located in Anren Ward of Chang’an. The place was small, just enough to fit five or six tables. The owner, He Baojin, lived with his family in two simple rooms behind the shop.
When He Baojin first arrived in the capital, he started with a small street stall. Thanks to his skill and quick thinking, within just two or three years he had saved enough silver to rent a proper storefront. However, after searching for several days, he still couldn’t find a suitable place. Good locations were too expensive, while cheaper ones were far too remote. The worry kept him from sleeping well for days.
Just then, he heard about a shop for rent in the eastern part of the city. When he went to check, he found that not only was the area lively, but the rent was surprisingly low. This made him uneasy—could such a good deal really exist?
The middleman who introduced the place stroked his beard knowingly and said, “No need to rush. There’s a reason the rent is so low.”
As it turned out, the owner had two conditions. First, the entire property—including the two-story building, a small courtyard, and two rear rooms—could be rented, but the second floor would be reserved for the owner’s personal use. Second, since the shop would be used as a restaurant, if the tenant could prepare three simple meals a day for the owner, part of the rent could be deducted.
He Baojin hesitated. The second condition was easy enough—making an extra portion while cooking wasn’t a problem. But the first condition… having a stranger living upstairs might lead to trouble in the future.
The middleman reassured him that the owner did not reside in the capital permanently and only used the place occasionally. Otherwise, the rent would never be so low.
After two more days of consideration and looking elsewhere, He Baojin found nothing better. In the end, he paid the deposit and rented the shop.
Even on the day the contract was signed, he never met the owner.
Half a year after the restaurant opened, the second floor remained empty. Just when he thought the owner had forgotten about the place entirely, one morning a carriage stopped outside, and a Daoist nun stepped out.
She wore a lotus-green Daoist robe and claimed to be a religious practitioner. But to He Baojin, she looked nothing like the Daoists he had seen before. Most Daoists were thin and austere, yet she was tall and graceful. Their demeanor was usually solemn, but her eyes were lively, and she seemed to smile even before speaking. Instead of the usual attire, she wore an unfamiliar style of robe and had her hair pinned with a silver hairpin.
She presented the property deed, which proved authentic. So He Baojin helped carry her belongings upstairs.
Later, his wife quietly pulled him aside and whispered her concerns. The woman introduced herself as Qiu, a disciple from Jingxu Mountain—though neither of them had ever heard of such a place. His wife worried that the woman might be using the identity of a Daoist as a cover for something improper.
“Don’t talk nonsense,” He Baojin scolded in a low voice. “She’s the owner. She doesn’t need to do anything like that to make a living.”
Still, even he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He had heard stories in the city—young, pretty women posing as Daoist nuns while secretly engaging in illicit activities. The more he thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed.
That night, he barely slept, resolving that if she truly turned out to be such a person, he would rather lose money than continue renting the place.
Fortunately, the next day his wife returned from the market with good news. Jingxu Mountain, it seemed, was a highly respected place—even the Emperor had visited it. That finally eased his worries.
A few days later, there was finally movement upstairs.
Early one morning, the street-facing window on the second floor opened. A yellow cloth sign was hung outside, listing services such as fortune-telling, interpreting divination slips, bone-reading, character analysis, matching birth charts, palm reading, feng shui, and predicting fortune or misfortune.
Beside it stood a banner with four bold words:
“Never a Wrong Reading.”
The bold claim drew attention from everyone nearby. After all, in all of Chang’an, few fortune-tellers would dare make such a statement.
Soon, curious people began coming to test her abilities. And He Baojin noticed something strange about Daoist Qiu—she worked entirely on her own whims. Whether she accepted clients depended solely on whether her window was open. If it was closed, she would see no one.
Even stranger, her fees varied wildly. The same person could be charged different amounts on different days, and different people asking the same question would pay different prices.
At first, He Baojin thought such a business wouldn’t last long. Yet somehow, the more mysterious and unconventional she was, the more customers she attracted.
Within just two months, her fortune-telling shop had gained quite a reputation in Chang’an, with some even paying large sums just for a reading.
One noon, Qiu Xinran received a female guest. She had divided the second floor into two rooms: an inner bedroom and an outer sitting room for female clients. Because it was quiet and private, many noblewomen preferred coming here.
The guest was a young lady from an official family, accompanied by her maid, seeking to know her romantic fate.
After accepting five taels of silver, Qiu Xinran interpreted her fortune.
“Have you been betrothed yet, miss?”
The young lady blushed. “Recently, several proposals have come, but nothing has been decided.”
“According to this reading, your marriage should be settled next spring.”
The girl hesitated before asking softly, “Can you tell which family it will be?”
“That, I cannot,” Qiu Xinran replied with a smile. “Do you already have someone in mind?”
The girl sighed. “Marriage is decided by parents and matchmakers. It’s not up to me.”
Just then, a commotion rose from outside.
Someone shouted, “They’ve returned from beyond the passes!”
Moments later, thunderous hoofbeats approached, and cheers erupted:
“The Marquis of Dingbei has returned!”
The news spread instantly, stirring the entire city.
Curious crowds flooded the streets, eager to catch a glimpse of the famed general.
Even the young lady couldn’t resist and rushed to the window.
Qiu Xinran froze when she heard the name. Only when the sound of hooves grew closer did she move to look outside.
A formation of cavalry rode into view, led by the Marquis of Dingbei. To everyone’s surprise, he looked young and refined rather than rough and imposing. Under the sunlight, he wore silver armor with a red sash, his features elegant and striking.
Cheers followed them all the way through the streets. Women leaned from windows, tossing fruits and handkerchiefs in admiration.
Qiu Xinran gave a bitter smile. After today, this man would surely become the dream of countless young women.
As the procession passed below, the young lady beside her accidentally dropped her handkerchief.
At that moment, the general looked up.
Across the crowded street, their eyes met for a brief instant.
Qiu Xinran felt her blood run cold.
But just as quickly, he looked away—as if it had meant nothing at all.
Soon, the sound of hooves faded into the distance. The handkerchief lay trampled in the street.
The crowd followed the departing army, and gradually, the street returned to its former calm.