Fortune 006: True and False

Perhaps he really had caught some of the vendor’s good fortune, because although there weren’t many tourists today, Nan Shi still managed to sell thirteen strands of bracelets, along with a handful of miscellaneous pendants—not exactly a windfall, but a solid profit of three to five thousand yuan.

His pile of Five Emperors coins still lay untouched on the counter; he hadn’t even had time to string them together.

By now, it was past three thirty in the afternoon. The cold air had overcome the waning sunshine, leaving the entire street cloaked in a bone-chilling gloom. Nan Shi had just sat down, his tea barely touched, when he felt a chill in his toes. He quickly shut the windows and turned on the shop’s heater. The gentle warmth of the air conditioner brushed his hair, settling a comfortable trace of heat over him.

There were no customers in sight—the street’s pedestrian zone lacked any big-name restaurants worth a special trip, and tourists wouldn’t choose this hour for a stroll. Who, in the dead of winter, would torture themselves with a nighttime walk? The avenue outside was visibly deserted.

Nan Shi thought about the test awaiting him at home, and half wanted to throw himself to the ground and faint, sleep through the day, and wake up tomorrow instead. But with ninety-nine percent certainty, he knew if he did, he’d wake up at home anyway—his senior brother sitting at his bedside, demanding to know exactly why he’d fainted, and then launching straight into the exam.

He mulled it over and, with resignation, pulled out a copy of the I Ching, laying it open on the table. He muttered through it line by line from memory while threading together Five Emperors coins. Wherever he forgot the text, he’d peek at the book—cramming last minute is never ideal, but not cramming doesn’t work, either.

He’d memorized these thousands of characters many times before—even if he fumbled now and then, his muscle memory was strong; it didn’t take long for the words to come back as smoothly as ever. After threading four or five sets of coins, he could recite the entire thing without a hitch.

He glanced at the western-style clock—another hour had gone by. Though every cell in his body resisted moving, the threat of being forced to exercise by his senior brother compelled him to rise and walk around the shop, pulling out his phone to order some food to fill the growing emptiness in his stomach.

As for the milk tea and egg waffle just two hours ago… well, that was snack time, not a proper meal.

Ten minutes later, Nan Shi sat back down. With a pile of Five Emperors coins in front of him, he grabbed some matching Qianlong Tongbao coins and nudged the rest aside, rolling them back and forth over the velvet. For victims—er, subjects—he’d use the tourists outside.

“That girl in yellow… what was she in her past life… Pure Heaven trigram, all yang lines, wow… ultimate fortune! Could she have been an emperor in her previous life? Surely not, but definitely someone of wealth and status!”

“The man in the green cotton jacket… does his wife cheat on him… Earth Water Division, danger yet compliant… no, she’s stayed faithful, but they’ve been bickering lately?”

“The one in red…” Nan Shi made predictions for a trio of passersby. He had no way to know if he was correct—without their birth charts and a look at their faces, it was impossible to know for sure. He couldn’t very well run outside and ask people for their birth dates, could he? He’d be lucky to avoid a few insults.

This was just like doing homework with no answer key—you finish, but never know if it’s right.

He also sensed he was probably wrong more often than not, making him want to bang his head on the table. Still, all he could do was keep practicing—only through repetition could he improve.

If he really couldn’t make progress, he’d just take the surveillance footage to his senior brother Chi You and ask for a review—even if it meant getting scolded or rapped on the knuckles. At least then he wouldn’t be blundering around like a headless fly.

When he got to the ninth prediction, there were hardly any tourists outside—only a food delivery guy riding an e-bike past the door. Nan Shi carelessly dropped his coins. The result: a terribly inauspicious omen.

He jumped up at once, dashed to the door, and yelled at the courier who was waiting across the street for milk tea and egg waffle orders, “No riding on the pedestrian street—! Yes, you! You heard me! Do it again and I’ll call traffic police!”

The delivery man glanced over, glowering and turning away, obviously pretending not to hear.

Nan Shi quietly closed the door. That was all he could do—any more, and he’d be the one getting into trouble.

To be fair, if some stranger ran up out of nowhere yelling, “Great disaster is coming for you! If you don’t die, you’ll be crippled!” and Nan Shi was in a bad mood, he’d probably throw a punch himself.

Just from that single glance, Nan Shi had noticed the man’s eyes were triangular and tinged red—a classic “fire eye” in the trade.

In face-reading, triangular eyes indicate suspicion, volatility, and an inability to get along with others—an unlucky sign, often associated with violence or disaster. Add “fire eyes”—where the whites are laced with red, making the person look ill—and the prognosis is even worse.

In traditional Chinese medicine, the eyes reflect the liver; anger is said to “injure the liver,” and eruptive moods are called “rising liver fire.” Someone with fire eyes, then, is especially prone to anger.

Combine these two traits and you have a powder keg, ready to blow at the slightest spark.

Nan Shi figured if he pushed any further, destiny itself might use the delivery guy as a handy instrument for his comeuppance.

He’d done his best. The rest was up to fate.

Nan Shi sat back down; threading coins was getting tedious. He picked up the fan pendant, snipped off the faded silk cord, and chose a somber indigo thread for its successor. He’d just gotten the new cord started when the bell rang—a customer had come in.

He didn’t get up, just called out, “Feel free to browse. Let me know if you’d like to see anything.”

Two middle-aged men entered, both dressed like locals, carrying those sturdy, black plastic bags favored by antique peddlers—a bit like the bags used for carrying fish, waterproof, opaque, and heavy-duty, perfect for packing antiques without risk of damage.

“Boss, could I trouble you for some water?” asked one, unscrewing his thermos as he approached. Nan Shi took the cup and answered, “Of course. One moment.”

“Thanks!” The pair settled by the display case, picking up a recently finished Five Emperors coin set. One of them examined it closely, then nodded in approval. “Nice handiwork—rare to see them strung in the right order.”

Five Emperors coins are round copper coins with square holes, symbolizing heaven and earth and the harmony of man with nature. The five emperors correspond to the five elements, believed to attract good fortune and dispel evil—a staple item in feng shui.

The set most commonly used are coins from the reigns of Shunzhi, Kangxi, Yongzheng, Qianlong, and Jiaqing—five emperors who ruled over a time of prosperity. The coins are still relatively common and easy to find.

Most people know of the Five Emperors coins and they sell well—though there’s no end to fakes. Most shops don’t pay attention to the order; they may bundle any five together, sometimes with duplicates. Properly, the coins should be arranged in order of emperors’ reigns, sometimes woven into a plum blossom pattern to express the interplay of the five elements.

Nan Shi bought coins himself, ensuring they were genuine and meticulously arranging and weaving them as he saw fit—a detail that earned him a rare compliment.

With the water dispenser nearby, Nan Shi poured out a cup and smiled, “Just something I enjoy doing.”

He handed the thermos back and asked the other, “Would you like some as well?”

“I’m good; I’ve still got some left.” The other declined, but then asked, “How much for your Five Emperors coins?”

Nan Shi gestured at the sets on the table. “A hundred per string—all hand-woven by me. If the knot comes loose, just bring it back and I’ll fix it.”

“If you’d rather pick your own, you’re free to choose any five coins and I’ll string them up—just need about twenty minutes.”

The men seemed quite interested. One scooped up a handful, the real coins ringing with a clear metallic tone—a sound anyone could recognize as genuine.

“I’ll take a set! Old Wang, how about you?”

Old Wang eagerly sorted through the coins. “Let me pick five… Hey! This one’s in great shape! Boss, you’re not gonna back out, right?”

Nan Shi glanced over. It was a clean, nearly pristine Yongzheng Tongbao—honestly, the man had picked up a minor bargain. That coin alone could fetch twenty on its own.

He laughed, “No regrets—pick what you like.”

“All right!” The man picked out five and handed them over. “And use red cord—make it lucky!”

“No problem. One moment.” Nan Shi had made plenty lately; his hands worked the knotted cord easily. While weaving, he chatted, “Feel free to look around. If you see anything else you like, I’ll give you a discount.”

“We’ll browse on our own,” the two said.

Nan Shi fixed his attention on the coin cord, letting them be—in the antique trade, there’s a basic rule: if a buyer takes something without asking, and it breaks, it’s on them.

Ten minutes later, Nan Shi was just combing the tassel when he overheard their whispered argument: “This couldn’t be a work of Master Xuanwei, could it?!”

“No chance! Must be some apprentice’s copy.”

“Bull! Are you blind, Old Xia? Look at the carving, the artistry! Could someone fake that?”

“Watch your mouth, Old Wang! If you’re so sure, let’s ask the boss and make a bet. If it’s real, what then?”

Old Wang, whether from excitement or annoyance, was flushed bright red. “Done! If it’s real, I lose you a hundred yuan; if it’s fake, you owe me a hundred!”

“Pah! At least a thousand!”

“Deal!”