Chapter Thirteen: Divination
Analyzing the situation, it was clear that the reason lay in yesterday’s clash with the First Madam. Enraged and humiliated, she must have sought out this fortune-teller to deal with him. Yet the First Madam hadn’t anticipated that his cultivation had advanced, and the fortune-teller’s attempt on his life had failed. Instead, he had even tracked down the person behind the attack.
He watched as the fortune-teller ahead of him turned into a remote alleyway, a place devoid of people. Shangguan Chuanyun immediately thought, “What a perfect chance.”
He hurriedly led Shangguan Qingyun in pursuit. The fortune-teller, suddenly alert, sensed something and spun around. Seeing a youth with a child chasing after him, he relaxed at once. Although the older boy carried a sword, he was still just a youngster.
Puzzled, the fortune-teller asked, “And you two are...?”
Shangguan Chuanyun clasped his hands in greeting, feigning awe, and replied with mischievous admiration, “Might you be the matchless master of divination, all-knowing of the heavens and the earth, able to read the past five hundred years, the present, and the next five hundred years?”
As he spoke, Shangguan Qingyun, though finding his brother’s act odd, played along as a dutiful younger sibling, putting on an expression of adoration and delight as he gazed at the fortune-teller.
With that, the fortune-teller’s wariness melted away. So these were admirers. He had encountered fans before, but none so flattering. The words were music to his ears. Swaggering, he lifted his chin and said with pride, “Indeed, I am the humble Taoist. What might you young gentlemen need of me?”
Seeing the fortune-teller had dropped his guard, Shangguan Chuanyun drew two gold ingots, each the size of a child’s fist, from the bundle beside his sword case and said, “My brother and I have long heard of your great renown, Master. Our names are insignificant, but we’ve come today especially to request a divination for our future.”
The fortune-teller was about to refuse—after all, he had earned the Crown Prince’s favor and was to be introduced to the Emperor himself, with boundless prospects ahead. He had intended to give up fortune-telling altogether. Yet the sight of those two gleaming gold ingots dazzled him, the visual impact striking his very nerves. Had he not come to the capital seeking wealth and power? Power was almost within his grasp, but these two ingots were worth at least ten taels of gold—over a thousand taels of silver! He couldn’t earn so much in a year. The fortune-teller fixed his gaze on the gold.
Shangguan Chuanyun noticed the man’s interest and further dispelled his suspicions by patting the sword case on his back and continuing, “As long as your reading is accurate, and you can help us with a few small matters, you’ll never find us stingy.”
Shangguan Qingyun nodded in agreement.
The fortune-teller was clearly tempted. Shangguan Chuanyun stepped forward and pressed the gold into his hands, saying, “This bit of gold is surely nothing to you, Master, but we’ve long admired you and offer this as a token for your tea.”
The fortune-teller took the two ingots and squeezed them, recognizing them as solid gold by their weight and texture—no doubt, the real thing. Suddenly, he felt at ease. To gain such windfall so easily filled him with delight, though he tried hard to maintain the stoic demeanor befitting a master, his face stiff and twitching as if on the verge of a fit.
It was hard to blame him. After years in the capital, he’d had no connections to high officials, no capital for a shop, and had survived by telling fortunes on the street. At first, he’d struggled to eat three meals a day, but eventually, with a few tricks, he’d made a name for himself. Only recently had life improved. The job last night had only netted him a hundred taels of silver.
He glanced at the black, intricately patterned case on Shangguan Chuanyun’s back, eyes lighting up. Even the case alone looked valuable, let alone what it contained. At last, he spoke, “If you gentlemen don’t mind my humble abode, please come in, and I shall divine your future in earnest.” He gestured invitingly.
“Thank you, Master,” Shangguan Chuanyun replied.
He led Shangguan Qingyun after the fortune-teller to his home at the end of the alley—a small courtyard with just two rooms, somewhat dilapidated, evidence that the man’s fortunes were modest.
Once seated, the fortune-teller produced three copper coins. “If you wish to know your future, that is my greatest expertise. Allow me to cast the divination.”
Shangguan Chuanyun observed the coins—bright yellow, gleaming with a faint halo. He used his aura-seeing technique and saw the coins radiated dazzling golden light, their righteous energy filling the room. He was puzzled. How could such a righteous artifact be owned by someone of dubious intent? The nature of a cultivator’s tools often revealed the owner’s character. An artifact of this caliber took at least ten or twenty years to refine, and those years must be spent upright and virtuous. Why, then, would such a person stoop to accepting a bribe or using magic to harm him?
Shangguan Chuanyun wondered if he had made a mistake.
He examined the fortune-teller’s level with his aura-sight: within a three-zhang radius, a mysterious field prevailed, much like the level of a Minor Pill practitioner. Yet the fortune-teller himself lacked the solid presence of a true Minor Pill adept—the aura felt unstable, as if held together by external force.
The fortune-teller held the coins, muttering incantations as he shook them thrice in the air, then tossed them upward. The coins spun with a humming sound and landed on the table, bouncing a few times before coming to rest. He arranged them, murmuring calculations and counting on his fingers.
As the coins spun through the air, Shangguan Chuanyun saw ripples of light, the whole room bathed in gold. Truly, this was no ordinary artifact. His doubts grew: could there be some misunderstanding in the attempt to harm him? Someone with such a righteous tool surely shared its upright nature and wouldn’t kill the innocent without cause. If there was a misunderstanding, he would clarify it; otherwise, if conflict arose, it could only end in death.
As a cultivator of the Sword Immortal path, he knew well that indiscriminate killing damaged one’s virtue and heart and was ultimately self-defeating. He was not ignorant of the way of cultivation. In his past life, he had read many chronicles of immortals; all were upright, open-hearted, and in tune with heaven and earth. He had never heard of an immortal who was fanatical or inhumane. Those who strayed from the right path invariably met disaster, ending in ruin or even utter annihilation.
After a moment of calculation, the fortune-teller’s eyes widened as he looked at Shangguan Chuanyun.
Startled, Shangguan Chuanyun wondered if the reading had truly revealed something. The fortune-teller then said, “According to my divination, you have a bright future ahead, but soon you will face a great calamity. If you do not resolve it, disaster will befall you.”
Shangguan Chuanyun found this plausible. His prospects were indeed bright—if he cultivated diligently, he could reach the Golden Core stage. Calamities were real; he’d just survived an attack the previous night. So he asked, “Is there a way to resolve it?”
Seeing that Shangguan Chuanyun was cooperative, the fortune-teller slowly replied, “Of course there is...” and then paused, feigning deep thought.
Shangguan Chuanyun guessed the fortune-teller was about to ask for money, but said nothing, waiting him out.
After a while, the fortune-teller coughed and said, “If you wear this talisman, you will be safe from harm.” He produced a talisman.
Shangguan Chuanyun used his aura vision on the talisman, but found it odd—there was no halo at all. In his past life, talismans from temples always had a faint glow. Why did this world’s talismans have none? Out of curiosity, he said, patting his sword case, “Master, I have your divination fee ready.”
With that, he pulled the absent-minded Shangguan Qingyun over, took his purse, and handed a handful of gold beans to the fortune-teller, while grabbing the talisman to examine it closely.
The fortune-teller’s eyes lit up at the gold beans—pure gold, tinged with a faint purple light, which made them especially rare and valuable. He grinned broadly, counting them one by one.
Shangguan Qingyun, still dazed by the fortune-teller’s mysterious manner, suddenly found his brother had snatched his purse and handed over his favorite gold beans, specially made for him by their grandfather and usually too precious to even show others. He snatched his purse back, found half the beans gone, and glared at Shangguan Chuanyun in indignation.
But Shangguan Chuanyun ignored him, absorbed in examining the talisman, sometimes scanning it with aura vision. The talisman was odd: no headers or footers, just the body; each talisman was a complete, individual Taiji symbol. In his previous life, such incomplete talismans were for charlatans. To be thorough, he studied it carefully and confirmed it was indeed a fake, utterly useless. He saw no point in continuing to tangle with the fortune-teller, so he asked directly, “Were the five paper figures, one wooden figure, and one clay figure from last night yours?”
Still counting his gold beans in delight, the fortune-teller replied absent-mindedly, “Yes, all mine. Strange they haven’t returned yet—usually they come back after one incense stick’s time...” Halfway through counting, he suddenly realized something was wrong. His whole body tensed, he shot to his feet and glared fiercely at Shangguan Chuanyun.