Chapter 151: Fortune-Telling

"Phoenix fate is fine—caged for life—what a pity."
Shen Miao stopped, frowned. "What did you say?"
The taoist turned away, humming.
Jingzhe said, "Ignore him—some street swindler."
Yet the man's tone had struck bone. Luo Xueyan and Luo Tan were ahead; guards hung back. Shen Miao sat on his stool. "Tell my fortune."
"Very costly."
She placed a gold peanut from Su Mrs's purse on the mat—maids fretted; street diviners took silver, not gold—but her mind was set.
"Accurate—it's yours. Wrong—and I'll have your stall lifted for fraud."
He pocketed the peanut, produced a tube, shook, handed it over. "Draw two."
"Why two?" Guyu asked—one for peace, one for marriage? Luo Xueyan had been pushing matchmaking; the maids thought the same.
"Fortune path," the man said.
"Why two for fortune?" Jingzhe asked.
He stroked his whiskers at Shen Miao. "Your path—one lot won't hold."
She took the tube, shook—two sticks clattered down.
He read the first, rocking. "Phoenix caged—life in peril—passion breeds disaster. Before the headsman's block—all striving empties." He declared, "Great calamity!"
Jingzhe and Guyu blanched. Jingzhe snapped, "Liar—I'll report you!"
"Wait—there's the second lot."
Shen Miao's heart hammered.
Caged phoenix—cold palace, futile struggle. Disaster that drowned her house at the block. All she gave Fu Xiuyi—throne secured—repaid with white silk. Wanyu and Fuming gone—nothing left. Emptiness.
"Read the other," she said.
The maids couldn't fathom why she'd indulge him.
He picked the second stick, beard tug, slow voice: "After extreme woe—fortune rises—purple air from the east. Highest luck!"
The maids exhaled—near New Year, ill words bring ill air.
Jingzhe still mocked. "One bad, one good—which is true?"
"Both true. Ask your mistress if I lie."
Shen Miao said, "You two—stand with the guards. I speak alone with him."
They withdrew, uneasy.
She frowned. "You know something."
He packed the tube without looking. "Your face—supreme nobility. Your fate—phoenix's due. Silk and jade for life—except your fate was swapped."
"Swapped?" Her voice sharpened.
He turned. "Strange fate—one great calamity in life. Pass it—smooth road. Your first lot—that calamity you did not pass."
"What calamity?"
"One true phoenix, one false. The false stole the true's luck and blessing; the true was caged."
Her pulse roared. True and false—was she true, Consort Mei false? Mei bore Fusheng; after Shen Miao and Fuming died, Fu Xiuyi might crown Mei—pass the throne to Fusheng. Stolen fate.
"And the second lot—can I pass?"
"Not by your strength alone. But fortune favors you—a noble helper in fate."
"Who?"
"Linked to you—ferocious dragon under heaven. Dragon cages phoenix—he saves you; you soften his wrath. Borrow his power—fate returns; loss for gain."
"Where is he? How find him?"
He smiled. "Far as sky—near as eye."
No more. She asked, "Why two lots—when others draw one? Heaven—or something else?"
Rebirth often felt unreal—fear of waking still in cold palace, all a dream. If this madman saw true, perhaps he knew more.
"Heaven is not kind. Your two lots—someone prayed them for you."
"Who?"
"One who owes you much." He stood, dusted robes. "Heaven's secret—too much said—costs merit. Remember: past life a dream—don't cling. After woe—fortune. Purple east."
Whisk flick—he strode off singing.
She stood blank until the maids returned. "Weird—Putuo should ban him."
Secrets felt close—strange ache in her chest.
Luo Xueyan and Luo Tan emerged—basket of red cords and pouches. "Cousin—come hang cords! Why lag?"
"A master lectured inside—I called you—what kept you? Still want to hear?"
Her head still rang from the taoist. "No."
"Red cords then!" Luo Tan pulled her forward.
In the passed hall, old Master Guan Zhen's wooden fish paused. His novice asked, "Past noon—you said she'd come—will she?"
The master rose from the cushion, shook his head. "No."
"Why?"
"She met another."
"Then waiting was wasted?"
"No matter. That one too is fated. This is karma."
Outside stood the Bonding Tree—a giant osmanthan buried under red cords and pouches.
Shen Qiu and Luo Ling stayed away—women's rite. Luo Tan thrust cords into her hand. "Write your name—throw—if it catches, Yue Lao heard you." She piled more. "More cords—better chance!"
Shen Miao watched Luo Tan scribble eagerly. Luo Xueyan urged, "Jiaojiao—try, for luck."
She picked one pouch, wrote her name—threw without care, mind on the taoist.
"One never sticks—wait, it stuck?"
High branch—firm in wind.
"Cousin—blessed!" Luo Tan grabbed her arm. "High branch—husband a dragon among men—steady—sure match!"
Luo Xueyan beamed. "I meant to help if you missed."
"Look—side branches reach toward your pouch," Luo Tan analyzed. "Not one match—many suitors—brother-in-law will have rivals!" she teased.
"Nonsense." Yet she remembered peach calamity in dark eyes—ridiculed herself—no peach leaf in sight.
They burned incense, ate temple food, home by dusk—all tired.
Shen Miao replayed the day: calamity, helper, dragon—who prayed two lots for rebirth? Kin gone before her death—who had such power and debt?
"Congyang."
Black figure materialized. She pressed her temples—Xie's shadows startled even her. "Today's taoist talk—don't tell Xie Jingxing." Pause. "Or I'll say you molested me."
Congyang: "…"
"Remember."
Dingjing bustled—marriage, exams, profit. Some wagered the realm.
In the palace Wenhui faded daily; princes stirred. Zhou bold, Li active—who thought ninth son quiet until Shen and Qin—Crown Prince seemed weakest.
Wenhui sighed, ill-colored. Young sons had seemed harmless—grown, they were wolves. If he fell—chaos.
"How is the Crown Prince?" he asked Eunuch Su.
"Queen saw the princess consort yesterday—better, physicians say rest will help."
Wenhui shook his head. "His body is the problem." Legitimate heir—yet frail. Zhou and Li swelled; Ding Fu Xiuyi added headache. Still—the prince had sired the imperial grandson early; if Wenhui died, frail father might hold until the boy matured.
Su watched nose, mind clear—Wenhui still favored the prince: lawful succession, weak body, least threat. Zhou arrogant; Li smiling with many ministers; Ding now a silent biter. Wolves everywhere.
Cold wind curled memorial paper. Su shut the window. "Late, Majesty—rest."
Meanwhile the prince Wenhui named sat with Fu Xiuyi—shock to any witness: legitimate heir and the "quiet dog" warming plum wine.
"Don't brood, Ninth Brother," the prince said. "Father heard slander—time clears it. Why despair?"
Fu Xiuyi shook his head. "Disaster fell—nowhere to hide. I wanted ease—never meddled—yet Shen's fall stained me. Father's love runs thin."
"Careful words—" the prince hushed him. "Blame petty men."
They spoke of Shen Wan's case—Wenhui hid truth; princes' eyes knew Shen–Fu ties. All had thought Ninth ambitionless—now a hidden piece in the dark. Enemies multiplied overnight.
Fu Xiuyi came first to the prince—soft heart, easy to deceive.
"Enough of me—your matter," Fu Xiuyi said.
"Mine?"
"Brothers bleed—you're lawful heir, yet pressed down—ill omen. I avoided the fight—they still hunted me. I'll stand with you."
The prince blinked, bitter smile, then shook his head. "Kind—but this body—how long I burn is unknown—let fate decide." Despair edged his voice.
"Don't belittle yourself—eldest of the empress, crown prince—future of Ming Qi. Yield—and the realm laughs we can't fill the throne."
"I have no skill. Ministers won't follow this frame. What can I fight with but a title?"
Fu Xiuyi poured wine, drank. "Then you need one strong arm."
"Talent won't choose me."
"Not many mighty lords—one enough. One pillar—crowds follow."
"Who?"
"Shen Xin, General of Might."
The prince paused.
"Shen army vanguard, Luo rear—two years away, fame undimmed—even Qin and Great Li defer. With him, your weight rises—water flows down—followers return."
The prince laughed. "True—but Shen is everyone's prize. Why pick me?"
"Because you're crown prince. Brothers taking Shen would enrage Father—you wouldn't. He wants you strong; great command in your hands pleases him. For others—disaster. For you—fortune. Such power can't go to outsiders."
"But why would Shen choose me?"
"He needn't. Miss Shen might."
The prince stared.
Fu Xiuyi said lightly, "Fifth Miss—General's jewel—marriage age."