Chapter Sixty-One: The Fortune-Telling Old Man

About twenty minutes later, Shen Huaijing emerged.

She was dressed in flowing white garments that swept the ground, imparting an air of clarity and purity. Draped over her shoulders was a pale lavender sash, and her robe was embroidered with subtle patterns of begonia blossoms. Her long, jet-black hair was loosely pinned with a butterfly tassel, and a sky-blue crystal bracelet accentuated her fair, luminous skin. The light eyeshadow made her fox-like eyes even more alluring, yet her gaze remained as clear as water—like a solitary magnolia in the depths of a secluded valley, evoking a sense of beauty that seemed unattainable.

Fu Chen stared at her, entranced. He had never imagined Shen Huaijing could possess such a side—like a woman from an ancient painting who had stepped into the world, brimming with stories yet so innocent and pure.

If Lin Yiqing was the white moonlight in Fu Chen’s heart, then Shen Huaijing was the cinnabar mark he could never forget.

The makeup artist had sent Fu Chen away earlier just to prepare this surprise for him.

Shen Huaijing, seeing Fu Chen’s dazed expression, stepped forward and waved her hand. "Taken aback by my beauty, aren’t you?"

Looking at her smug face, Fu Chen wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed a deep kiss to her forehead. "You look beautiful."

It was the first time Fu Chen had kissed Shen Huaijing in front of so many people. Her eyes darted around in panic, unsure where to look, and she stammered, "Well... shall we go now?"

Everyone nearby cast envious glances at Shen Huaijing.

The rain outside was gradually easing, though a mist still lingered in the ancient town. Shen Huaijing walked briskly ahead, holding the oil-paper umbrella Fu Chen had bought for her. Fu Chen followed at a leisurely pace.

Yungui Town had stood for centuries. There was a small temple in the town, where, since ancient times, residents would pray for heaven’s blessing before spring planting and autumn harvest. Now, the temple was a historical site, attracting many visitors.

As Shen Huaijing walked ahead, she paused to examine every little trinket, while Fu Chen’s gaze followed her closely, fearing she might disappear into some shop if he looked away.

Soon, she was drawn to a small shop with a sign that read "The Know-It-All Store."

In front of the shop sat an old man with a bald head, stylish sunglasses, and a long beard dangling from his chin. He lounged in an old armchair, smoking a pipe.

Shen Huaijing paused at the entrance, sizing up the shop. The woman selling porcelain nearby smiled at her. "Young lady, that old man is a fortune-teller."

A fortune-teller? Shen Huaijing’s interest was piqued. She rushed over to Fu Chen, excitement in her voice. "There’s a fortune-teller over there—is that one of your investments too?"

Fu Chen frowned. "No. Do you believe in this stuff?"

Shen Huaijing ignored him and dashed up to the old man, calling out loudly, "Sir! Are you not open for business?"

Without turning, the old man rocked his chair and puffed his pipe. "My eyes and ears are just fine! But..."

"I won’t do business with you."

Fu Chen, standing behind Shen Huaijing, heard the old man and his gaze darkened, his voice icy. "I’ll pay ten times your price."

Shen Huaijing looked from Fu Chen to the old man, curious.

The old man slid down his sunglasses and sized them up. To Shen Huaijing’s shock, he was missing one eye—only an empty socket remained, making him look somewhat frightening.

"What do you want to know?"

Instantly, Shen Huaijing felt sure the old man was a charlatan. He’d refused just moments ago, but now that Fu Chen offered more money, he was willing. Clearly not someone to trust.

"We won’t bother," she said. "Let’s go, Fu Chen."

"You decide," Fu Chen said, pressing a hand to Shen Huaijing’s shoulder, his voice low and cold, eyes shadowed.

The old man licked his lips and dropped his casual demeanor. He handed them paper to write their birth dates. His remaining eye scanned them restlessly, making Shen Huaijing uneasy.

They handed over their birth dates. The old man glanced at them, then fixed his gaze on Shen Huaijing’s face and smiled strangely.

"Young lady, did you write yours wrong?"

Shen Huaijing’s heart skipped. How did he know? Anxiety rose within her.

She laughed awkwardly. "I got nervous and wrote it wrong."

Quickly, she rewrote it. The old man glanced at the new slip, and his sole eye gradually became vacant, losing focus—as if possessed.

Instinctively, Shen Huaijing clung to Fu Chen’s arm and whispered, "Fu Chen, maybe we should leave. He’s a bit scary."

Fu Chen’s expression softened. He pulled her closer and murmured, "It’s all trickery. I’m here—don’t be afraid."

After a moment, the old man returned to normal, sniffing and casting sly looks.

"Sorry, this one’s difficult to read..."

"Name your price," Fu Chen responded without hesitation.

The old man stroked his beard, feigning deep thought. "Let’s say, two hundred thousand—flat rate."

"No problem."

Shen Huaijing stared at Fu Chen in confusion. Two hundred thousand for a fortune? Was he out of his mind? Even the nearby shopkeepers gathered, shocked that anyone would pay such a sum for fortune-telling.

A kindly woman called out, "Young man, this old fellow hasn’t got much skill—he can barely tell if you’ll have a headache. Don’t let him fool you!"

Hearing this, the old man grabbed a cane and waved it angrily. "Away, all of you! Don’t interfere with my business!"

Reluctantly, the crowd dispersed.

"Since you’re so straightforward, I’ll be direct. My advice—separate as soon as possible. It’s better for both of you." The old man whispered, glancing around nervously as if afraid someone might overhear.

Before Fu Chen could reply, Shen Huaijing shot back, "Two hundred thousand and you won’t even give a reason?"

"The reason? Haven’t you heard the saying that the secrets of heaven mustn’t be revealed?" The old man’s sparse eyebrows arched.

"Give a reason," Fu Chen said, lips pressed tight, his deep eyes cold and forbidding.

The old man glanced at Fu Chen, then leaned in meaningfully. "You know the reason in your heart. Must I spell it out for you?"

Fu Chen shot up from his seat, eyes icy, and spat out, "Give your account number to Old Liu. You’ll get your money."

The old man laughed heartily, nodding vigorously. Shen Huaijing was bewildered, unable to grasp what Fu Chen meant.

"You have nothing to say to me?" she asked.

The old man took a sip of tea, then leaned close to Shen Huaijing’s ear, his voice chilling. "Leave quickly. He..."

Before he finished, Fu Chen pulled Shen Huaijing from her chair.

He looked at her coldly, eyes like frost. "Don’t listen to the ravings of a madman."