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“Southward looks to the solitary star as the moon rises” was indeed a riddle.
Seeing that Zhuang Zi’ang was still pondering, Zhang Bansian eagerly began to explain.
“The words are oriented as follows: up is north, down is south, left is west, and right is east. The bottom of the character ‘wang’ means king, while ‘solitary star’ refers to a dot, and ‘eyebrow moon’ is a stroke.”
When pieced together, it could barely form the character for Zhuang.
“How about that, little friend?” Zhang Bansian asked smugly.
“Wow, you really know my surname,” Zhuang Zi’ang said, a bit surprised.
Suddenly, he became suspicious. “Wait a minute, did you hear my friend call my name last time at Xiaoyao Palace?”
Zhuang Zi’ang had a good relationship with Deng Haijun, who always referred to him by his full name, which sounded quite distant.
It must have been that the old con man overheard him.
“Ahem…” Zhang Bansian coughed awkwardly to cover his embarrassment and continued, “This is just a simple trick, nothing to dig too deeply into. We’re old acquaintances now; I’ll charge you ten yuan to read your palm.”
Zhuang Zi’ang immediately refused. “No way, ten yuan is enough for a bowl of beef noodles.”
“Then how about five yuan? Let’s be friends,” Zhang Bansian smoothly offered a discount.
“Nope, I’m not falling for your tricks,” Zhuang Zi’ang rejected again, preparing to leave.
“Stop right there!” Zhang Bansian raised his voice, maintaining a serious expression. “Young people these days don’t know the heights of heaven and the depths of the earth, talking big. I’ll do it for free; if I get it right, then you pay me, okay?”
Zhuang Zi’ang still shook his head.
After hearing Xiao Butterfly’s words, he was wary of this man and afraid of being scammed.
“Look at all these people on the overpass. At least give me some face. Should I kneel down and beg you?” Zhang Bansian pleaded, lowering himself to an extreme.
Seeing that he was nearly fifty and was out here in the evening selling fortunes, Zhuang Zi’ang felt a twinge of sympathy.
“Fine, then. Do you want to read my left hand or right hand?”
“Left hand.”
Zhuang Zi’ang extended his left hand, planning to humor him.
Zhang Bansian likely wanted to use him as a prop to show off his fortune-telling skills and attract business.
No matter what he said, Zhuang Zi’ang would treat it as background noise.
Zhang Bansian grasped Zhuang Zi’ang’s fingertips and stared at the lines on his palm for a good thirty seconds before suddenly letting out a deep sigh.
“Your lifeline is too short; that’s a sign of a short life!”
In an instant, Zhuang Zi’ang felt a wave of unease wash over him.
If it had been in the past, he would have turned and walked away upon hearing such words from a fortune teller.
But now, having been diagnosed with an incurable disease, hearing Zhang Bansian’s words struck a chord of fear in him.
Could this old con man actually have some real skills?
Typically, fortune tellers might hint at misfortunes but would use more tactful language.
Who would come right out and say something so ominous?
Zhang Bansian turned Zhuang Zi’ang’s hand over, shifting the conversation. “Your hands are a bit dry. I recommend a hand cream that moisturizes the skin and delays aging; it’s only twenty yuan a tube.”
He pulled out a box of hand cream from behind him.
Zhuang Zi’ang was taken aback. “Aren’t you a fortune teller? Are you also selling skincare products on the side?”
Zhang Bansian chuckled. “A little extra income helps to make ends meet!”
“You’re really unreliable. I don’t have time to waste with you,” Zhuang Zi’ang said as he withdrew his hand and turned to leave.
Xiao Butterfly was right; he was indeed a con man.
“Hey, kid, you’ll come back to find me,” Zhang Bansian called out to Zhuang Zi’ang’s retreating figure, calm and composed.
Zhuang Zi’ang scoffed, “If I come back to be tricked by you again, I’ll call you Grandpa.”
Unfazed, Zhang Bansian slowly pulled a dark object from his jacket pocket.
It resembled a cow horn, with holes of various sizes.
As Zhuang Zi’ang walked away, a melodious tune floated through the air behind him.
The crystal-clear notes pierced the night sky, reaching far and wide.
Suddenly, his body froze, and his expression became rigid, unable to take another step.
The melody Zhang Bansian played was one he had heard before.
Under a lush ginkgo tree.
“Grandpa, what’s the name of this song?” Zhuang Zi’ang obediently returned to Zhang Bansian’s fortune-telling stall.
Zhang Bansian put down the ocarina and laughed heartily, “I told you you’d come back.”
“Stop teasing me! I want to know the name of this song,” Zhuang Zi’ang pressed eagerly.
Zhang Bansian wiggled his fingers playfully. “Ten yuan.”
Zhuang Zi’ang immediately pulled out a ten-yuan bill, grumbling, “Con man.”
Zhang Bansian cheerfully accepted the money, pretending to inspect it under the streetlight to verify its authenticity.
After pocketing the cash, he leisurely said, “This song is called ‘Dream Butterfly,’ a piece used to worship the South China Real Person in Taoism.”
“Can you teach me?” Zhuang Zi’ang pleaded.
“Not unless you come and become a Taoist with me,” Zhang Bansian firmly refused.
“I’m offering to pay!” Zhuang Zi’ang pressed.
“I’m talking about something as refined as music, yet you bring up money, which is so vulgar,” Zhang Bansian said with a serious expression, then raised an eyebrow. “How much can you offer?”
Zhuang Zi’ang hesitated. When it came to haggling, he clearly wasn’t a match for this old con man.
He needed to save his meager funds for over two more months!
Just then, the young man selling phone screen protectors suddenly shouted, “Run! The urban management officers are coming!”
Zhang Bansian turned pale, quickly scrambling to pack up his stall.
He shot a glance at Zhuang Zi’ang. “What are you standing around for? Help me!”
“Oh.” Zhuang Zi’ang complied, wrapping up the yellow cloth and packing the assorted trinkets.
Zhang Bansian grabbed his flag and, with Zhuang Zi’ang in tow, hurriedly dashed down the other side of the stairs.
To evade the urban management officers, the two weaved quickly through the crowd.
Despite being over fifty, Zhang Bansian ran just as fast as any young person.
It seemed he must have been chased often in the past.
As they ran, Zhuang Zi’ang began to feel uneasy.
Why was he running? He wasn’t the one setting up a stall.
“Why did you stop?” Zhang Bansian panted.
“I’m not your accomplice; why should I run?” Zhuang Zi’ang tossed the yellow cloth package at him.
Zhang Bansian looked up at the overpass and, seeing that the urban management officers hadn’t followed, let out a sigh of relief.
He smiled at Zhuang Zi’ang. “You’re a funny kid. Aren’t you hungry for beef noodles? I know a great noodle shop nearby.”
Zhuang Zi’ang hadn’t eaten dinner, and after running around, his stomach was growling.
Wanting to learn that song “Dream Butterfly,” he decided to follow this old con man.
They took a few twists and turns and finally arrived at an old residential area, where they found a noodle shop.
The decor of the place was quite dated, clearly having seen better days.
Perhaps it was too late; there weren’t many customers inside.
Zhang Bansian boldly sat down at a table and called out to the owner, “Two bowls of large beef noodles, and add ten yuan for extra beef.”
Zhuang Zi’ang had just settled into his chair when he heard Zhang Bansian slap the table.
“This place requires you to pay first; why are you just sitting there?”
“Why should I pay?” Zhuang Zi’ang protested, unhappy about the extra charge for beef.
“I’m much older than you; don’t you understand the concept of respecting your elders?” Zhang Bansian declared with righteous indignation.
This old con man was really something!