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Chapter 136 - 136 130 Paranoid Xie Shang Making Mistakes and
Chapter 136 - 136 130 Paranoid Xie Shang Making Mistakes and
?Chapter 136: 130: Paranoid Xie Shang, Making Mistakes and Rebelling (Second Updated Chapter) Chapter 136: 130: Paranoid Xie Shang, Making Mistakes and Rebelling (Second Updated Chapter) Xie Shang left, and in the very spot where he had just stood, someone else waited, also anticipating someone’s arrival.
The fortune-teller’s gaze locked on, “Lady, why not have your fortune told?”
It was the exact same pitch as before, not a word changed, “Seek fortune and avoid calamity, no charge if it’s not accurate.”
The lady’s surname was Jhiang, and atop her head she wore a luminous, amusement park-exclusive, oversized butterfly knot hairband, let’s tentatively call her Mrs. Jhiang.
Mrs. Jhiang did not approach.
The persistent fortune-teller made a finger-calculating gesture, “Lady, you have been troubled by emotional issues recently, come on, have a reading.”
Mrs. Jhiang hesitated, possibly bored from waiting too long, and went over.
The fortune-teller gestured with both hands, “Scan here.”
“…”
Left on the table next to the red paper and divination slip of the previous customer, untouched, it all seemed quite unreliable.
Mrs. Jhiang scanned twenty yuan.
“What would you like to inquire about, Lady?”
Mrs. Jhiang was torn for a moment, “Let’s go with financial fortune.”
The fortune-teller produced a red paper, “Write your name on this piece of paper.”
Mrs. Jhiang wrote her name.
The fortune-teller then took out his dining companion—a wooden box, “Draw one from here.”
Mrs. Jhiang reached out but then drew back, visibly struggling, her desire for wealth overcome by curiosity about an unknown domain, “Can I change my question? I want to inquire about marriage prospects.”
Once again the fortune-teller directed with both hands, “Scan over here.”
“…”
Mrs. Jhiang scanned another twenty yuan.
The fortune-teller handed her a new red paper, “Write your name again.”
What followed were the same steps.
Taking the red paper, the fortune-teller examined it before taking out the wooden box again, “Draw one.”
Below the bright yellow divination slip, bamboo slips fluttered in the breeze, red tassels swaying, marked with the word “auspicious.”
Mrs. Jhiang looked for the fortune-teller’s expression, which was as jolly as Maitreya Buddha’s.
“Is it a good omen?”
The fortune-teller said, “Lady, you will have a tremendous gain this year.”
Mrs. Jhiang eagerly asked, “What does that mean?”
“You will receive a present.”
A present?
Mrs. Jhiang remained puzzled, “Could you please clarify?”
The fortune-teller mysteriously produced a folding fan from nowhere and with a snap opened it, his face bearing a cryptic smile, “The secrets of heaven should not be revealed.” Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through, blowing away the red paper with the previous customer’s name from the table.
“…”
Mrs. Jhiang felt like she had been conned.
“Youyou.”
The grand name of Mrs. Jhiang: Jhiang Youyou.
Her awaited person arrived, and she stood up to leave the fortune-telling stall.
Guan Sixing handed her the ice cream he had just bought.
She took it and stared at him.
Worried she had been waiting too long, he had run back in haste, sweat on his forehead, his neck reddened from heat, “What’s up?”
“Are you the present?”
“Huh?”
Guan Sixing looked utterly confused.
Yes, perhaps he was, appearing just when she needed him most.
Jhiang Youyou removed the butterfly knot hairband from her head and placed it on Guan Sixing’s, taking his hand proactively, “Let’s go on that.”
He smiled with pursed lips.
“Alright.”
*****
“Xie Shang.”
“Xie Shang.”
Wen Changling called out twice before Xie Shang turned his head.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
But since just now, he seemed preoccupied.
It wasn’t early anymore, Wen Changling led Tongtong, “Where should we go for lunch?”
There were fewer people out and about as it neared lunchtime.
Xie Shang looked around from where he stood, directly ahead was a drink shop, “Changling, I need to go somewhere, you and Tongtong wait for me at the drink shop.”
He was acting oddly.
Wen Changling asked, “Where are you going?”
“Dropped my wallet.”
Wen Changling uttered an ‘oh’, leading Tongtong to the drink shop. Meanwhile, Xie Shang retraced his steps back the way he had come.
Suddenly, a gust of wind whisked a piece of red paper onto Wen Changling’s hat just as she was opening the door of the drink shop, and the red paper fell at her feet.
There was writing on it; after reading the words clearly, she picked it up.
Xie Shang returned to the small fortune-telling stall.
“Sir, why have you come back?”
Xie Shang sat down, “I’m here to interpret the divination slip.”
The divination slip he had drawn was still on the table.
Pushing the QR code forward, the fortune-teller said, “You’ll have to scan again for that.”
Xie Shang paid the money.
The fortune-teller examined the divination slip he had drawn earlier, which featured not words, but patterns—erratic and squiggly.
“Incompatible.” The fortune-teller tsks twice, waving his hand dismissively, “You two are not compatible.”
I shouldn’t have come back.
Xie Shang’s gaze is calm and profound, suppressing all emotion beneath the tranquil surface of his eyes: “What should I do?”
The fortune-teller is about to speak—
A middle-aged woman comes running from a distance, cursing as she runs: “Look at you, charlatan, you still have the nerve to set up your stall!”
The fortune-teller takes off his sunglasses to have a look.
This is not good, he immediately starts packing up his table.
The woman catches up, furiously: “Last year you told me my son would make the honor roll, and I even gave you a big red envelope.” She rolls up her sleeves, ready to fight. “You charlatan, my son has failed for two years in a row, give me back my red envelope money!”
“I never specified which list.”
The woman grabs the fortune-teller by the shirt: “Give me back my money, you scammer!”
The fortune-teller glances at the chair Xie Shang is still seated on, decides it’s not worth it, after all, it only cost nine yuan and ninety cents: “Sir, let’s meet again if we’re destined to.”
He shakes off the woman’s hand and dashes away on his tri-wheel as if flying.
The divination slip with the lowest fortune is rolled away by the wind as the wheel turns.
“Charlatan!”
“Don’t let me see you again!”
The tri-wheel is already far away, the woman stamps her foot in anger, then turns to Xie Shang and says, “Young man, that was a scammer.”
Xie Shang stands up, thanks her, and leaves.
Wen Changling orders a milk tea for herself and Tongtong each, and orders a long-named tea for Xie Shang, the name of which she forgets.
Xie Shang has returned.
She stands up: “Did you find your wallet?”
“I found it.”
“Then let’s go.”
Wen Changling picks up her things.
Xie Shang takes everything in her hands, and a piece of red paper falls from under Tongtong’s backpack.
Xie Shang stops, looking at the paper on the ground: “Where did this come from?”
“I just picked it up on the road.” Wen Changling picks it up, thinking the handwriting somewhat resembles Xie Shang’s, “What a coincidence, it has your name on it, did you write this?”
“Hmm, just for fun.”
This was the name he had written during the fortune-telling.
He takes the paper from Wen Changling’s hand and throws it into the trash can, the hint of unease that had almost settled in his heart suddenly amplifies wildly without warning.
Wen Changling is fixing Tongtong’s hat when she suddenly asks, “Didn’t you change your name? What was your original name?”
“Xie Shang.”
“Which shang?”
Shang as in premature death.
The soothsayer had told him to choose a name that could deceive calamities, to notify the gods and spirits that the Xie family’s fourth son had died young, so the relentless reaper would no longer entangle him.
Condensation forms on the milk tea cup left on the table, turning into droplets.
Xie Shang writes the character for ‘shang’ on the table with water.
“This ‘shang’,” Wen Changling says casually, with a joking tone, “makes you and me quite incompatible. You’re named Shang, and I’m named Changling.”
One suggesting an early demise, the other a long life.
The scamming fortune-teller said they weren’t compatible either.
Always having to go against him.
The rebellious desire deep within and the impulse to make mistakes suddenly burgeon at this moment. Xie Shang maintains control over his emotions and restrains himself: “Let’s go.”
“You didn’t take the tea that was ordered for you.”
“Don’t want it anymore.”
Xie Shang books a reservation on his phone; it will take about half an hour to drive from the amusement park to the restaurant. By the time they leave, the park, which was crowded in the morning, has almost emptied.
The weather forecast shows it’s going to be sunny with some clouds today.
Wen Changling looks at the thick dark clouds in the sky: “It looks like it’s going to rain.” Sitting in the back with Tongtong, she asks Xie Shang, who is driving, “Do we have an umbrella in the car?”
“Yes.”
That’s reassuring.
“Tongtong, stop drinking, we are about to have lunch.”
Tongtong obediently stores the remaining milk tea in her bag.
“Changling.”
Wen Changling looks up, her gaze unexpectedly meeting Xie Shang’s in the rearview mirror of the car.
The speed of the car suddenly increases, the wind rushes in through the windows.
Xie Shang’s voice is like that of a deep, resonant string instrument: “Changling, I’ve already changed my name.”
“Ah?”
Wen Changling doesn’t understand why he’s bringing this up again so suddenly.
His gaze in that moment is stubborn and obsessed, carrying a domineering quality that is so foreign to Wen Changling, an unquestionable sense of invasion: he says, “Our names are not incompatible.”
She realizes belatedly what he’s implying: “I was just talking casually.”
Your offhand remark has already caused quite a storm, Miss Wen.
Xie Shang slows down the car, feeling very uneasy.
That divination slip bothers him, even though he knows it was a scam.
After roughly half an hour, they arrive at the restaurant.
Wen Changling and Tongtong are ordering, while Xie Shang goes to the restroom to splash some cold water on his face.
Next to him, a man washing his hands makes vigorous movements. He’s holding his phone and talking on it. After turning off the tap, he can’t be bothered to grab a paper towel and shakes the water off his hands, then as he turns, he sees someone beside him.
Water splashes onto Xie Shang’s clothes.
The man hangs up, his eyes exuding a sense of superiority, casually and insincerely apologizes: “Sorry about that.” He turns to leave, lighting up a cigarette as he goes.
“Stop.”
Two words, decisive, with formidable presence.
The man turns back, looking into Xie Shang’s eyes. The color of his pupils is different from most people of the East, a faint amber color, which is delicate and attractive but also carries a primal and exotic sense of mystery.
An inappropriate but apt description: Xie Shang exudes something akin to the dominance and suppressive aura of a top-tier alpha. He stands there, unfazed, and without needing many words, he’s enough to make one’s heart race.