Fortune 028: Setting Up a Stall

Of course, he was only joking—selling it was out of the question.

Still, torn between whether to sell or not, Nan Shi went home and used his coins to divine several times in different ways. In the end, the conclusion was clear: it was best to keep it for himself.

Watching Nan Shi toss a coin back and forth, Zhuo Wen was suddenly assaulted by some painful memories. He now kept a respectful distance from such things. “Hey, don’t tell me you’re down here because… you got hit by retribution too?”

He’d wanted to ask earlier, but since it was dark and they were out in public, it hadn’t seemed appropriate.

“More or less,” Nan Shi replied, propping his chin on his hand as he waited for the phone to boot up. “I was young and foolish, you know… I really got a raw deal. I never expected to be living this well down here, though.”

“So that’s how it is. And your senior brother too?”

“Yeah, we came down together. But my senior thought I was hopeless, so he just dumped me on the street.” Nan Shi glossed over the details. “Honestly, it’s not so bad. Nobody looking after me is pretty nice—adults should live independently!”

“True enough.”

The Apple 101 in his hand looked no different from a phone in the mortal world—full-screen, just the right size—but there were no cameras on the front or back. According to the manual, it used some kind of under-display camera technology, but aside from that, there didn’t seem to be anything especially high-tech about it. “I thought the Apple 101 would…”

“Would be that long?” Zhuo Wen gestured with his hands, indicating something about the length of a shoehorn, then leaned in and pressed a few buttons on the phone. With a few clicks, the phone suddenly extended, finally reaching about eighty centimeters in length—a real shoehorn.

He patted Nan Shi’s shoulder. “It really does have that function. I remember back in version 80, they were already that long. Later, people complained they couldn’t fit them in their pockets, but a lot of folks felt like it wasn’t a real Apple unless it was shoehorn-length. Since the tech could handle it, they made it a hidden feature.”

Nan Shi was speechless for a moment, then collapsed onto the table in laughter. “Now I believe this is the real deal, hahahaha!”

The screen lit up, and several messages popped up at once. Nan Shi tapped one open and saw they were from Qing Lan. The gist was to reassure him: all issues with his identity and background had been handled, no death certificate had been issued in the mortal world, and he should keep the phone on him at all times—it could save his life in a pinch.

Nan Shi sensed something was off.

Why was Qing Lan the one telling him this?

If this phone was from Chi You, he would have sent Qing He or Qing Ying to deliver it, not passed it through Qing Lan—Chi You wouldn’t bother worrying about whether it would make Nan Shi feel better, or whether it would be beneath his dignity.

Chi You, to put it bluntly, was a thoroughbred ancient aristocrat. Hierarchy, order, respect for elders—these were etched into his code of conduct, along with the phrase “the noble do not yield to the humble.”

Thinking back on Qing Lan’s hurried and unusual behavior, Nan Shi couldn’t help but smack his lips.

…No way, did Qing Lan sneak this to him?

Since when did Qing Lan get so bold?

With that thought, Nan Shi didn’t hesitate. He immediately flipped a coin for a divination—just to be sure, he even used a tortoiseshell to boost the accuracy.

The coins clinked onto the table, and the omen confirmed his guess.

So it really couldn’t be sold.

Ding. Another message from Qing Lan arrived on the phone: [Young master, if you encounter a situation like today’s again, you can use the phone. ‘Suan Tian’ is a sect treasure—please cherish it.]

Nan Shi: …?

What the heck is “Suan Tian”?

His gaze fell on the tortoiseshell beside him. It lay quietly on the table, its snowy white belly up, with two tiny characters etched on it—uncolored, barely visible unless you looked very closely: “Suan Tian.”

…Holy crap!

***

So in the end, Nan Shi couldn’t use his spare cash to buy trinkets wholesale. He could only hold back tears and choose the free starter pack provided by the main system, obediently heading off to set up his stall at the night market.

Zhuo Wen dropped him off and then dragged two burlap sacks off to collect garbage at the night market, agreeing to meet at midnight to head home together.

As a former low-key, tasteful, and cultured antique shop owner, Nan Shi was thoroughly unimpressed with the system’s starter pack—Frozen dolls and all sorts of Frozen-themed hair ties, keychains, and other flashy, tacky trinkets. Any girl a bit older would turn up her nose at these.

Don’t ask why, in such a high-tech Underworld, this stuff is still popular. The mortal realm keeps sending modern souls down, so no matter how outdated something is, there’s always someone who likes it.

He stroked his chin as he looked over the goods. Had the Disney copyright giants really not expanded into the Underworld? Selling these, he was genuinely afraid he’d get sued before he made a cent!

But there was nothing for it—he had to bite the bullet and go for it!

With two hundred bucks left on his phone, Nan Shi went next door to a boutique shop and bought two more high-quality dolls of the same theme. He also asked for some discarded cardboard, and after half an hour of handiwork, he had his stall set up.

“Don’t miss out, don’t pass by—brand new Frozen-themed blind boxes! Thirty-nine a draw, honest and fair!” Nan Shi shamelessly recorded a sales pitch on his phone and set it to loop.

A virtual billboard stood at the front left of his stall, featuring Princess Elsa. Next to her were labels like “A Prize,” “B Prize,” and so on, with corresponding preview images, plus a “Last Prize”—meaning whoever bought the last blind box would get the last prize directly.

A well-developed lottery setup—common as dirt in the mortal world.

Thanks to the Underworld’s advanced tech, the billboard could be managed through the chip in his arm. In fact, the lottery tickets could be generated as a digital draw interface, but nothing beats the tactile thrill of tearing open a real ticket.

Having read a hundred business guides, Nan Shi knew his target customers were children. But as everyone knows, kids don’t have much spending power—there were plenty of children who died before their parents, but the Underworld had an adoption system. If they had no relatives, they’d be placed with childless families—so there was always a guardian!

If a kid wanted a toy, it depended on whether the adult was willing to pay.

As for spending itself, most of the time, it was impulse buying.

When it came to lottery tickets—those legendary dragon-slaying blades aimed at humanity’s deepest weaknesses—they appealed to both adults and children. Adults thought, “Let’s see how lucky I am,” which quickly turned into, “I refuse to believe I can’t win.” Kids just thought, “I have to get that toy.”

When Nan Shi arrived, he noticed that no one else at the night market was running a blind box stall. Most vendors sat behind their tables, faces blank, selling whatever the system had supplied, just putting in their work hours. Without the pressures of life, human laziness was truly unimaginable.

The system’s starter pack had items valued at 10–20 yuan each, a hundred items in total. Nan Shi set his price at thirty-nine a draw. As long as he sold five, he’d recoup the two hundred he’d spent on the A Prize and Last Prize. Sell forty more, and he’d cover the system’s cost. Everything after that was pure profit!

How could he not go for it?

Only a fool wouldn’t take the money!

Nan Shi’s sales pitch soon attracted a little girl. Her eyes lit up at the billboard, and she dragged her father toward Nan Shi’s stall. “Daddy, I want that one!”

A battle-hardened adult, seeing a thirty-nine yuan price tag for prizes worth maybe fifteen, would instinctively refuse.

Her father frowned. “That’s expensive. We can buy from someone else.”

“But I really like that A Prize princess!”

“But…” Before he could finish, Nan Shi smoothly cut in, “But that Elsa princess sells for over two hundred at the toy store!”

Nan Shi didn’t hesitate to bump up the quoted price.

He pushed the lottery box forward. His handmade box was pretty decent—some paper and cardboard had turned into little tear-off pockets. “If you’re lucky, you might get it on the first try!”

The little girl looked up at her father, eyes pleading. “I can buy it myself! I helped you wash dishes, helped Mom sweep, and took out the trash every day! You said if I did chores for a month, I’d get a hundred yuan allowance!”

She counted on her fingers. “I’ve done it for two months! I’ll just buy one, okay, Daddy?”

Her father gave in. “…Alright, just one.”

…

As everyone knows, with lotteries, there’s only “once” and “infinite times.”

By the time he realized what was happening, her father had already torn open his twenty-first ticket. Seeing the big “A” printed on it, he scooped up his daughter and spun her around, cheering, “We got it! A Prize!”

His daughter planted a big kiss on his cheek. “Daddy’s amazing! You’re the best!”

Nan Shi was grinning so hard his eyes disappeared. He pulled out a shopping bag. “Want to claim your prize?”

“Yes! No more draws!” Her father waved grandly. Nan Shi nodded, tossing out free compliments like “A Prize in twenty tries—amazing luck!” and “You’re blessed by the gods!” while stuffing all the other prizes the girl picked into the bag, finally tucking the hundred-yuan doll into her arms. “Congratulations!”

The father and daughter left beaming, and by now, a dense crowd had gathered around the stall. Nan Shi didn’t hesitate—he ordered two more hundred-yuan Elsa dolls from the toy shop next door, raising the stakes on the spot.

With two more A Prizes added, the onlookers who’d been hesitating were quickly lured into the lottery trap. By the time Nan Shi came to his senses, there were only about a dozen tickets left in the box. One A Prize had already been drawn, meaning the last dozen included one A Prize and the Last Prize.

A mother stood in front of him, telling her son, “You can only buy three. No more than three!”

“Okay.” The boy’s voice was soft and sweet. “Thank you, Mo… Mama.”

Nan Shi was a bit surprised—he’d thought only girls liked Frozen, but apparently, boys did too.

The woman smiled gently and stroked the boy’s head. “It’s alright. If you’re not used to it, you can call me Auntie.”

The little boy paused, then slowly shook his head. His words weren’t very clear, but his meaning was. “Auntie is going to be my mama now. My mama is still up there, so now I’ll have two mamas!”

Happiness radiated from the lines at the woman’s eyes. “Mama will buy it for you.”

She scanned to pay, handed the box to the boy, and let him pick three tickets. He fished around and picked three. “These three.”

He tore open two: one B, one C—one little keychain, one little doll. He handed the last ticket to his mother. “Mama, you open it.”

The woman demurred twice, but in the end, she opened it. Another B Prize.

The boy lowered his head in disappointment but didn’t ask for more. But his mother wasn’t having it. Her life was perfect, except for not having a child. Back in the mortal world, she’d prayed at every temple, but it never happened.

Who would have thought that after death, her wish would be granted? Even if he wasn’t her own, such a sweet, obedient child—who wouldn’t love him?

She calculated her expenses for the month, saw the longing in the boy’s eyes as he gazed at the A Prize, and confirmed with Nan Shi, “There’s still one A Prize and one Last Prize in there, right?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’ll take them all!” She paid and grabbed the rest of the tickets. “Go on, kiddo! Draw!”

The boy sweetly said, “Thank you, Mama,” and gleefully drew the rest. With a princess in each arm, his smile was radiant.

That took care of the remaining prizes—no need for the boy to pick. Nan Shi packed everything into a bag and cheerfully reminded them, “Looks like it’s going to rain tonight. You’d better hurry home!”

The woman took the bag. “Really? I thought the forecast said it would be nice today. I only brought him to the night market because of that.”

Nan Shi replied, “Trust me, you won’t regret it. Go home early, or you’ll get soaked… I studied meteorology.”

Apparently, that last line convinced her. She nodded, thanked him, and left with the child.

Nan Shi shook his head, pulled a coin from his pocket, and cast a quick divination for them. He’d noticed something off about the woman and child’s faces—maybe trouble was coming. But the night market’s light pollution was so bad, it was hard to be sure. Better to err on the side of caution and warn them to go home early—maybe they’d avoid a disaster.

Now, with the coin’s answer—though he didn’t have their birth details—he saw he hadn’t been wrong.

Business was better than he’d dared hope. It wasn’t even eleven yet, and Nan Shi had sold out. With time to kill before Zhuo Wen came to fetch him, he remembered his real profession.

Judging by what Qing Lan had hinted, his senior brother might be watching him right now!

To avoid a scolding the next time they met, Nan Shi decided to switch out his sign, replacing it with two bold characters: Fortune-telling.

Below, he added a line in small print: Naming for good luck, wedding date selection, compatibility analysis, finding people or lost items—one hundred per reading. Note: No feng shui consultations.

Nan Shi propped his chin in his hand, fiddling with his phone. He didn’t really expect anyone to come—at these prices, and with him being so young, who would trust him? As the saying goes, “A hairless mouth means an unreliable hand.” Too young, and people instinctively think you’re a fraud.

What Nan Shi didn’t know was that his stall was the only one of its kind at the night market.

And it was perfectly tailored to the setting.

In the mortal world, people still insisted there were no ghosts and that superstition was forbidden. But now everyone was a ghost themselves—what was there to believe or not believe?

Soon enough, his first customers arrived—a young couple.

The woman plopped down and blurted, “This marriage is off!”

The man sat down too. “One hundred per reading, right? Sir, can you tell us if our marriage will work out?”

“That’s right.” Nan Shi looked at the woman, then at the man. Both had full, rosy cheeks at the marriage palace—a sign that good things were near. But with all the garish lighting, Nan Shi decided to stick to his specialty, lest his first case ruin his reputation. “Each of you, write a character.”

He pushed over paper and pen.

The couple exchanged a glance, then both turned away in a huff. The woman grabbed the pen first and wrote the character “West.” The man, seeing this, wrote “East.”

Nan Shi glanced at the characters, then instinctively looked at the bystanders next to them.

The man was on the right, and beside him stood a refined-looking young man.

The woman was on the left, and beside her was a rather handsome young fellow.

Ah, well…

Nan Shi hesitated. If he interpreted these characters, he might get beaten up.

First, the characters. The woman wrote “West (西).” In pictographic terms, it’s like two people sleeping back-to-back on a bed—if you ask about marriage, it’s a bad omen, signifying sharing a bed but dreaming different dreams.

The man’s “East (东)” should be considered in its traditional form. The “East (東)” character, with the sun among the trees, suggests reliance on the “sun.” For marriage, it’s not bad, but it does imply he’s the weaker party in the relationship.

Looking at the characters themselves, the left stroke of “West” juts out, while the right doesn’t touch the frame—mirroring the woman’s position, symbolizing a desire to break free. The vertical stroke in “East” is crooked, meaning the man is unsteady—a house with a shaky beam can’t support a marriage.

Who insists on moving into a house that’s about to collapse?

Together, the two characters spell out a rather unpleasant phrase: “Go their separate ways.”

This marriage was doomed. Even if they stayed together, they’d end up as strangers in the same bed—cheating was only a matter of time.

But with a craftsman’s pride, Nan Shi couldn’t just lie. He opted for a more tactful approach: “You two are about to have a happy event.”

Of course, the “happy event” wasn’t with each other.

“If there are any misunderstandings between you, it’s best to talk them out as soon as possible,” Nan Shi advised. “If you let them fester, they’ll become knots in your hearts, and it’ll be hard to untangle them later.”

Best to clear the air and part on good terms, rather than become resentful spouses.

The couple’s expressions softened. Why did Nan Shi say telling the truth would get him beaten up?

Because he could tell they just wanted an excuse to break up—they still had feelings for each other.

The woman crossed her arms and sneered, “Go on, say it. The fortune-teller said it—you’re the one who’s not satisfied. Nothing’s ever good enough for you. You’re a man and pickier than me about getting married. What’s your problem?”

The man’s brows drooped. “I just feel like it’s not right. I want to give you the best.”

“Oh?” The woman shot back. “So delaying the wedding and sending out invitations is for my sake? The invites have already gone out!”

“It’s not the same…”

“What’s not the same!” the woman snapped. “I don’t think you want to marry me at all!”

The man opened his mouth, then fell silent.

As the two began arguing, Nan Shi felt a headache coming on. He decided to lay it out plainly: “Marriage is a big deal. If you’re not sure, don’t rush into it.”

He looked at the man—the real problem lay with him. “If you don’t want to marry her, you’d better tell her now. Don’t waste her time.”

The man’s face went white. The woman, seeing his reaction, understood at once.

Her face flushed, then paled. She grabbed his arm, stood up, and handed Nan Shi a hundred. “What a lousy fortune-teller. Not accurate at all. This hundred is as good as wasted. Let’s go!”

The man awkwardly followed, but somehow tripped and fell forward. But his girlfriend was in front of him—he couldn’t drag her down too, so he twisted and fell to the side instead.

The woman, pulled by his momentum, fell backward.

Instantly, the two young men who’d been watching each grabbed one of them to steady them.

“You okay?”

“Careful!”

Logically, it was a perfectly normal scene, but the atmosphere turned strangely awkward.

Each was held by someone else, neither looking at their partner, both staring at the person holding them.

Nan Shi: …Well, that’s a coincidence.

There was another interpretation of their characters. When asking about romance, and given the directions they sat—one heading west, one east—it meant they’d each go their own way. See? They’d just run into their true matches.

It was like live-action NTR, each planting a field of grass on the other’s head—just a bit too stimulating.

The sky was blue, and there were a thousand paper cranes outside the window.

As Nan Shi tidied up the paper they’d written on, he found himself humming that line from a song.

Once he’d finished, the couple stood, one on each side. The man came over and handed Nan Shi another hundred, saying sincerely, “You were right, sir. I really don’t want to marry her. She’s a good woman—I can’t ruin her life.”

The woman kept her head down, sneaking a glance at the man now among the onlookers, then at her boyfriend. She thought, What was I thinking, falling for this jerk? There are plenty of men out there—wasn’t the one who just caught me pretty good?

Nan Shi said lightly, “Thank you for your business. I’ll give you a free tip: when I said a happy event is near, I meant it’s not with each other.”

“Seize the chance. Good luck.”