The work at the neighborhood committee mostly involved caring for elderly residents without family, mediating neighborly disputes, and maintaining the area’s cleanliness. On normal days, members would patrol the community, scolding people for littering or carelessly tossing cigarette butts.

“Thank you, Aunt Wang. I don’t know what I would’ve done about my grandfather’s funeral without your help.”

“You silly child, we’re neighbors. No need to be so polite with me.”

Aunt Wang sighed, looking at the 17 or 18-year-old standing before her. Losing her only source of support so suddenly, the girl must be feeling incredibly lost.

“Aunt Wang, please don’t get upset with what I’m about to say. I noticed a dark aura surrounding your forehead. Tomorrow, if you get into a dispute, try to stay away from it. Otherwise, you might suffer a small financial loss. It won’t be anything major, but it’s best to avoid it if you can.”

In truth, it wasn’t just a small loss—there would be bloodshed involved. But she didn’t want to frighten Aunt Wang by saying too much.

Hearing this, Aunt Wang froze in place for a while before glancing towards the door.

“What nonsense are you talking about, child? Even though things are more lenient now, superstition is still not allowed. If your grandfather hadn’t dabbled in it, he wouldn’t have ended up with that leg injury.”

With a sigh, Aunt Wang walked off.

Did she not believe me?

It made sense. She had never wanted to mention her grandfather’s profession, and had never demonstrated any of her fortune-telling abilities. If she were in Aunt Wang’s shoes, she wouldn’t believe it either.

However, what she had just observed excited Dai Qing. She glanced at the grapevine in the courtyard.

Beneath it lay the things her grandfather had left for her—handwritten notes on face-reading and some rare books. He had told her that if she was interested in the craft, she could dig them up and study. If not, she should leave them buried.

In her previous life, she had avoided them like the plague and never bothered to dig them up.

After finishing the buns Aunt Wang had brought over and drinking a cup of hot water, Dai Qing grabbed a shovel, turned on the courtyard light, and began digging.

Less than a meter down, she uncovered a porcelain jar wrapped in waterproof oilcloth and sealed with wax.

Carefully, she brought the jar inside and opened it. To her surprise, the first thing she saw was a stack of money—ten-yuan bills—amounting to five thousand yuan.

Beneath the money were two books. One was Ma Yi Shen Xiang and the other, a handwritten notebook with four bold characters on the cover: The Heart of Face-Reading.

At the bottom was a tortoiseshell, six copper coins, and a white jade pendant engraved with Sanskrit, with no other markings.

These were the treasures her grandfather had cherished so dearly.

Looking at the items laid out before her, Dai Qing felt a mix of emotions. In her previous life, she had never thought of digging them up, assuming they were just books on fortune-telling. She hadn’t expected there to be money as well.

It was May of 1990, and the average monthly salary was less than 200 yuan. Five thousand yuan would take years to save up without spending a cent.

In 1990, though some people were already making fortunes through business, they were still a minority. Most people lived on fixed salaries.

After organizing the books, Dai Qing examined the jade pendant under the light. Other than the Sanskrit inscription, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about it. However, the quality of the jade was excellent—smooth and warm to the touch, perfect for wearing close to the skin.

She replaced the old string with a sturdy red cord and hung the pendant around her neck.

Then, she began leafing through the handwritten notes. They were in her grandfather’s handwriting.

Her grandfather had taught her the fundamentals of face-reading when she was seven or eight, but she hadn’t stuck with it long enough to see any results, and had given it up soon after.