Chapter 10 — Listening to the Rain to Read Hearts

I still set up my stall every day, but I could no longer focus when reading fortunes for others. Once, I botched a palm reading completely, misreading the lines and getting interrogated by an angry client until I had no choice but to shamefully refund their money. The woman selling socks at the adjacent stall nudged me with her elbow.

What are you daydreaming about? You look completely out of it.

Nothing.

Are you thinking about that jeep driver?

I froze. She scoffed and muttered, Do you think everyone else is blind? That man used to drive around this neighborhood every single day, his eyes locked entirely on you. He practically had the words 'I like you' carved right across his forehead.

Stop talking nonsense.

What part of that is nonsense? The moment he gets transferred away, you wither like a cut flower. Isn't it obvious?

I did not reply. Yet, deep inside, her words struck a raw nerve. In April, Gao Yuanzheng came to find me. He had been promoted from producer to chief editor of the program. The show, Unusual Folk of Nanha, had been renewed due to its stellar viewership ratings, and he was still determined to invite me back under my moniker, Master Dongmen.

The station has much better conditions now, and we have upgraded all our equipment. I guarantee your identity will remain completely anonymous. This time, we won't even film your hands; we will only shoot props against a green screen and dub your voice over the footage.

Director Gao, I already told you my decision last time.

The previous time had its own context. Has that case not been fully resolved already? Besides, your reputation has already spread far and wide; you can no longer keep it a secret. Instead of letting strangers spread wild rumors behind your back, you might as well take control of the narrative yourself.

His words hit squarely at the crux of the matter. It was true that over the past year, the rumors surrounding Master Dongmen had grown increasingly bizarre. Some claimed I possessed supernatural mediumship, while others insisted I secretly aided the police in solving heinous crimes. The more exaggerated these tales became, the more likely they were to stir up unnecessary trouble. After mulling it over for a week, I finally agreed. However, this time I laid down a new condition of my own.

I will no longer sit around waiting for clients to come to me. You provide a topic, and I will lecture on it. I want to explain the actual principles behind physiognomy—what is real, what is fake, and how ordinary people can spot wandering charlatans and frauds.

Gao Yuanzheng’s eyes lit up immediately.

That angle is brilliant! An expose format! Audiences love watching things like that!

The new season of the show premiered in May. It was no longer titled Unusual Folk of Nanha, but was instead renamed Debunking Physiognomy with Dongmen. It aired once a week, exactly fifteen minutes per episode. I never appeared on camera; only my voice was heard. The visuals consisted of close-up shots of various hands, diagrams explaining facial features, and slices of everyday life in the bustling market. The reception was beyond anyone's expectations. Not only did the local station in Nanha broadcast it, but the city television network even re-run two episodes. In those days, the influence of television was immense. I inadvertently became a minor local celebrity. As a result, even more people sought me out for fortune-telling, and the quality of their questions improved drastically. Gone were the frivolous queries about what color shirt to wear tomorrow; people now began asking serious, profound questions. One day in June, I received a letter. There was no return address, and the postmark originated from the city. Opening it, I found only a single slip of paper inside.

Watched the program. Not bad. Stay safe. - Shen.

I turned the piece of paper over and over, reading the brief message countless times. The handwriting was bold and forceful, every single stroke as sharp as if it had been carved into the paper. I carefully tucked it inside the old calendar my grandmother had left me. In July, I received a telephone call. It was Shen Zheng on the line.

Are you there?

Yes.

Are you busy?

I just finished packing up my stall.

There is a matter—not an official case, but something personal of my own—that I wanted to ask your advice on.

My heart skipped a beat, yet my voice remained perfectly calm.

Go ahead.

There is a young man in our precinct, the very same officer who accompanied me to your place last time. He recently found a girlfriend, but her family strongly disapproves of the match. He came to me asking for advice, and I figured you might understand these matters better than I do.

...

Could you take a look for him? See if that young woman is a good match for him.

Shen Zheng.

Hmm?

Did you make a private phone call all the way here just to ask about this?

The other end of the line fell silent for two or three seconds.

Not entirely because of this.

Then what else?

Another brief pause. Then, he spoke in a low tone.

I just wanted to hear your voice.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my palm slick with sweat where I gripped the receiver. That evening conversation was not long, lasting barely ten minutes in total. Yet long after I hung up, I sat there alone, wearing a silly smile for a very long time. The sock vendor had been entirely right. He was only missing those three words branded across his forehead. One weekend in August, Shen Zheng returned to the county. He claimed he happened to be passing by on official business. I did not bother to expose his transparent excuse. The municipal bureau was located in the western part of the city, while the county sat in the east—what sort of official business could possibly require someone to travel from the far west just to casually pass through the east? When he arrived in the afternoon, I was still tending to my stall. He ordered a bowl of noodles at the small eatery right across the street, sitting down at an outdoor table by the entrance. Half a street apart, neither of us crossed over to find the other. Yet I always knew he was right there. And he always knew that I knew.