Chapter 3Strike It Rich
674 Words
Life had to go on after Grandpa left, so I reopened the funeral clothing shop. Just as he predicted, not a single soul—living or dead—showed up all day.
That night, Grandpa called to say he’d gone out of town and told me not to worry. "Just keep the business running," he said. Honestly, I wasn’t worried about him. With his mastery of divination, he’d never step into harm’s way. When I asked when he’d return, he only muttered, "When it’s time, it’s time."
The next morning, before I could hunt down the chubby internet cafe manager for overdue rent, he rushed over to pay—plus three months upfront. I didn’t hold back; better he save the money than blow it all. After collecting the rent, I grabbed breakfast and opened the shop.
Usually, Grandpa would be lounging in the rocking chair, but today it was me. The old black-and-white TV stayed off—its fuzzy channels were more noise than entertainment. As I rocked, I thought about Grandpa’s three mandates for me:
1.Get married. A given for any man, he said.
2.Save 10 million yuan. He claimed only with that wealth could I uncover truths beyond my reach.
3.Find out how my parents really died—and avenge them.
The police ruled their deaths a suicide, but Grandpa’s odd expression whenever it came up told me otherwise. Solving this was my life’s mission. Grandpa insisted I tackle these tasks in order; skipping ahead would doom the third.
Marriage? Doable. Ten million? A distant dream. From now on, every penny counted.
As I pondered, the shop’s curtain rustled. The two middle-aged men from yesterday returned. "Where’s Master Shenxiang?" the talkative one asked.
"Gone," I said, still rocking.
"Gone? What happened?"
"Not dead—just left. No idea where. But if you still want a reading, I can do it. If not, the door’s there."
The man—Liu Wenxuan—huffed but relented. "Fine. Do a divination for me."
I stood. "Your full name and age?"
"Liu Wenxuan, forty."
I nodded. "Grandpa’s rules: the first face-reading is free. For anything else—palm, bone, aura, shape, spirit, flesh, hexagrams, or word analysis—pick one."
"Hexagrams. Master Shenxiang used them to save me twenty years ago."
I handed him paper and pen. "Write three three-digit numbers. Focus on your question."
He scribbled 165, 166, 126. Using the numbers, I calculated the hexagram Jing (The Well), with the sixth line as the changing one. The method was straightforward: divide the first two numbers by 8 for the lower and upper trigrams, the third by 6 for the changing line.
"Your luck’s about to turn," I explained. "Fame and wealth are coming. But check your home’s plumbing—water trouble ahead. Also, your kidneys are strained. Rest and herbs."
Liu gaped. "How did you know my half-brother dragged me into trouble?"
"Your face and the hexagram’s lines."
He bowed deeply. "Young Master Li, you’ve surpassed your grandfather!"
I waved it off. "Not even close."
When he asked the fee, I held up one finger—expecting 100 yuan. Instead, his assistant handed me a thick stack of bills.
"I can’t take this!" I protested.
"Then I’ll buy your entire stock," Liu said.
"These are funeral supplies. Why?"
"Just in case." He left, promising to send movers the next day.
Stunned, I deposited the cash at the bank. True to his word, Liu’s men cleared the shop the following day. Feeling guilty, I tossed in Grandpa’s old TV but kept the rocking chair.
With the shop empty, an idea struck: Why not turn it into a fortune-telling parlor? Better yet, raise the rent for the upstairs unit.
I rummaged for Grandpa’s tools—gone, of course. Time to restock. I headed to the antique market, thinking of Ning Haoyu, a dealer who specialized in "vintage" furniture—some rumored to be made from exhumed coffin wood. Creepy, but he knew his trade.
Maybe he’d have what I needed to launch my new venture.
- Writer
