Volume One, Chapter 1: I See a Dark Shadow Over Your Brow

Beneath the park's pedestrian overpass, amidst a cluster of phone screen protector stalls, there stood an incongruous table. Draped over it was a bagua diagram, atop which lay a few copper coins and a plate of incense ash. Beside it stood a sign boldly inscribed with four characters: "Fortune Telling and Fate Reading."

A small folding stool was placed at the stall, where a girl who appeared no older than eighteen or nineteen sat, calling out loudly, "Fortune telling and fate reading—if I'm wrong, you don't pay!" Her voice cut through the quiet hum of the surrounding vendors, drawing many passersby to glance her way.

They were drawn not only by her lively calls but also by her striking appearance. Ying Yuwei wore a pale green dress that hung softly around her calves. Her black hair, smooth as silk, fluttered in the breeze. Deep, clear eyes and crimson lips framed a face that was captivating—her flushed cheeks hinted at her spirited effort in calling out, giving her the allure of a beguiling enchantress.

Yet, in her calls there was no hint of seduction; her bright, clear eyes met each onlooker sincerely as she offered them her copper coins. "Have your fortune told—if I'm wrong, no charge."

Most who passed by paused, captivated by her voice and beauty, only to shake their heads regretfully upon noticing the fortune-telling sign, deciding not to stop. In their minds, such a beautiful young girl either must be naive, believing in superstitions, or was simply a charlatan seeking to deceive.

All afternoon, Ying Yuwei had called out beneath the overpass, yet not a single coin had come her way. Frustrated, she toyed with the copper coins in her hand, muttering to herself, "At this rate, when will I ever earn enough for tuition? Does the school accept IOUs?"

Nearby vendors, seeing her plight, couldn’t help but approach and chat. “Little miss, it’s the modern age now—people believe in science. No one’s going to believe in this,” said a woman with a slight accent, stepping forward.

This was Aunt Zhou, a new vendor who had recently set up a stall beneath the overpass. She came because her son worked at a nearby construction site and she sold boxed lunches there.

Just then, another stall owner nearby gently pulled Aunt Zhou aside, lowering his voice. “Auntie, you don’t know the whole story about this girl.”

Curious and puzzled, Aunt Zhou followed him aside. He sighed deeply as he explained, “This girl was abandoned by her parents since she was little. An old Taoist priest took her in. She grew up under his care, but now even he has given up on her.”

“She’s still just a high school graduate. University tuition isn’t cheap, and a girl this young doesn’t have much skill—she’s just trying to get by.”

“She’s all alone in this world, struggling to make a living. She’s a good kid,” he added with a sigh.

A flicker of regret crossed Aunt Zhou’s face. Why had she spoken so harshly moments ago?

Though Ying Yuwei never knew her parents, her master had never neglected her. She was the ninety-ninth generation disciple of the Celestial Master’s Sect, and the sole inheritor of the Celestial Master tradition in this generation.

A Celestial Master, often called a feng shui master, was not just any geomancer. The highest-ranking Celestial Masters could divine fortunes by interpreting winds and waters, mid-level ones were versed in the subtle nuances of yin and yang and the eight trigrams, while the lowest simply wandered aimlessly.

With the passage of time and the rise of science, many true teachings and texts of Celestial Masters had been lost. Today, most who claimed the title were of the lowest rank, having learned only superficial tricks and often resorted to fraud. Hence, fortune-telling was widely disbelieved.

But Ying Yuwei was the only legitimate successor of the Celestial Master tradition in her generation.

Aunt Zhou’s gaze softened as she looked at Ying Yuwei, who sat low, toying with the coins and pondering what to eat that evening. Her brows furrowed slightly in thought, a pitiful image that stirred Aunt Zhou’s sympathy.

A beautiful face was a double-edged sword; not only did it attract men, but even Aunt Zhou found herself drawn in, wanting to smooth away the worry lines upon the girl’s brow.

Moved by compassion, Aunt Zhou stepped forward. “Little one, tell Auntie’s fortune.”

Aunt Zhou herself did not believe in fortune-telling, but she felt sorry for Ying Yuwei—an orphaned girl with no means, just trying to make a living. She wanted to help her business a little.

Hearing someone request her services, the previously listless Ying Yuwei immediately perked up.

“Please sit, Auntie, don’t mind the humble seat,” Ying Yuwei said, pulling the little stool from beneath her and placing it near Aunt Zhou’s feet, while she herself stood.

It wasn’t that Ying Yuwei didn’t want another stool; the one she had was a special promotional gift for her first customer—it cost only one yuan then, but when she tried to buy another, the price was fifteen yuan, with no discounts. She preferred to save where she could, as long as her customers had somewhere to sit.

Aunt Zhou’s heart ached at this—this girl even skimped on buying a simple stool, which spoke volumes about her hardship.

With a warm smile, Aunt Zhou said, “No worries, little one. Just tell me about my son’s future.”

Ying Yuwei flipped the copper coins in her hands. When all three landed on the table, she was about to interpret the result when suddenly a child on a skateboard rushed by, colliding with the table’s corner. The table jolted, and the coins clattered to the ground.

It had rained the previous day, and water had pooled in low spots beneath the overpass.

The coins rolled into a puddle.

Ying Yuwei’s eyebrows knitted tightly, her expression shifting drastically.

The coins’ faces represented yang, their backs yin; the original reading was two yang flanking one yin—a most auspicious hexagram.

But the child’s collision had knocked the coins into the water.

The upper trigram was Li (fire), the lower Kan (water).

Water and fire clash—this is the hexagram Wei Ji, meaning “Not Yet Completed,” a sign of great misfortune.

“Auntie, has your son been acting strangely lately?” Ying Yuwei asked, looking intently at Aunt Zhou.

Just as Aunt Zhou was about to answer, a man in his thirties wearing a grey coarse cloth outfit and a yellow safety helmet approached the stall. He looked like a worker freshly off shift from the construction site.

“Mom! What are you doing here?”

Turning with a bright smile, Aunt Zhou said, “This is my son, Zhou Dawei,” introducing him to Ying Yuwei.

Upon seeing Zhou Dawei, Ying Yuwei’s heart jolted. An intense aura of malevolence emanated from him, a dark energy subtly visible between his brows.

Such a heavy aura of ominous energy usually belonged only to the dead, yet Zhou Dawei was clearly alive—there was only one explanation.

He was destined for a sudden, untimely death.