Chapter Nine: Monks Do Not Speak of Money, Only of Fate

Xu Boqing did not choose to sit on the small wooden stool. Instead, he swept clean a patch of bluestone, sat cross-legged on the ground in a meditative posture, and let the long sailcloth behind him flutter in the wind. He truly had an air of otherworldly detachment, as if he were a celestial sage.

He simply sat there quietly, not calling out to passersby.

Judging from what he had heard at the city gate earlier, all the “talented eccentrics” in Hongyang City had been summoned away and would not return until after noon. This meant his fortune-telling stall was now the only one in town.

He was not afraid of having no customers.

Niu Ben, as was his habit, waited for his father to leave, then sneaked some money from home and slipped out the door, one hand behind his back, the other absentmindedly rolling a string of copper coins, heading straight for the morning market.

He loved gambling and had a peculiar habit—before setting foot in the gambling den, he always sought out a fortune-teller to divine his luck for the day.

Although he knew these fortune-tellers were nothing but clever frauds, never truly accurate, he couldn't resist their honeyed words.

It was all about getting a lucky start.

Yet today, after circling the morning market, he was surprised to find that every stall he frequented was deserted.

“Now that’s really odd,” Niu Ben muttered, circling the street once more. He decided that if he found no one this time, he would skip the ritual and head straight to the gambling house.

As he reached Liu Laogen’s stall, his eyes suddenly lit up.

Someone was there!

“Business is upon me...” Xu Boqing, seeing a man striding straight toward him, smiled slightly, knowing that his first customer of the day had arrived.

Niu Ben dragged over a small stool and sat down, sizing Xu Boqing up and down. “You look unfamiliar, kid. Not a local, are you?”

“Your insight is sharp, patron. I am indeed not a native.”

“Hey, hey, don’t call me patron. I haven’t donated a thing to you, so don’t go using that term.”

Niu Ben glanced at the canvas propped against the wall, then asked, “Since you’re not from here, how come you’re occupying old Liu’s fortune-telling stall? And why are all the other fortune-tellers gone from the city today?”

“Allow me to explain,” Xu Boqing replied with a light cough, feigning solemnity. “Liu Laogen is my senior brother. By my master’s command, I have come to Hongyang City to join him. Unexpectedly, just as I arrived, the young lord of the local authorities set out on business, and my brother Liu, along with the city’s other ‘talented eccentrics,’ were summoned to assist with the investigation. Before leaving, Brother Liu entrusted his stall to me, to aid those with fate.”

“‘Talented eccentrics’ indeed...” Niu Ben sneered, casting a curious look at Xu Boqing. “If you and old Liu are fellow disciples, and he left you in charge, I suppose you can tell fortunes just like him?”

“Indeed I can,” Xu Boqing nodded. “What would you like to have divined?”

“My luck with money,” Niu Ben replied, fingers playing across his coin string. “Tell me, how’s old Niu’s fortune today?”

“Very well,” Xu Boqing nodded.

He had already observed Niu Ben closely when he sat down. This man fiddled with a coin string, wore a talisman at his waist for attracting wealth, clearly cared deeply for luck. The faint calluses at his thumb web and fingertip patterns suggested years of shaking dice and handling tiles—a gambler, without a doubt.

That made things easier.

He smiled and said, “I am adept at the Mei Hua Yishu. Please, old Niu, give me five numbers under ten, and I shall divine your fortune for the day based on your selection.”

Niu Ben had no idea what Mei Hua Yishu was, but the youth spoke with confidence, and Niu Ben couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anticipation. After a moment’s thought, he said, “One... two... three... five... seven. Go on, tell me.”

“One... two... three... five... seven...” Xu Boqing furrowed his brow, calculated silently on his fingers, then broke into a smile. “I have it! Two plus three plus five makes ten; one and seven makes eight—together, it’s ‘Niu Eight’! Double the bull, double the luck.”

“‘Niu Eight’? ‘Double the bull’?” Niu Ben blinked in confusion. He knew his own name, but had never heard of ‘Niu Eight’ or ‘Double the bull.’

“There’s no need for concern, old Niu. It’s a term of the trade,” Xu Boqing explained with a smile. “To put it simply, your fortune today is excellent. While I can’t say you’ll win every game, you’ll win more than you lose. After noon, and before dusk, you should be able to double your money.”

“Oh?” Niu Ben’s eyes widened in surprise. Fortune-tellers usually soothed with empty words, but none dared predict precisely how much he would win, or by when. If they were wrong, would it not ruin their own livelihood?

“Kid, winning and losing is no joke. If you get it right, fine, but what if you’re wrong?”

“Rest assured, old Niu. My senior has managed this stall for many years and enjoys a fine reputation. Today he entrusted it to me—I would never dare to speak recklessly and ruin our good name,” Xu Boqing said earnestly. “Tell you what: if after noon and before dusk my prediction does not come true, you may return and smash this stall as you please. How about that?”

“Deal! You said it yourself!” Niu Ben, convinced by his sincerity, slapped his thigh in approval, his mood even brighter. “How much for the reading, kid?”

“Those who have left the worldly life do not speak of money...” Xu Boqing smiled. “Only of fate.”

“Haha! Now you’re talking!” Niu Ben laughed heartily, pulled out a handful of copper coins, and laid them on the ground. “I’m in a good mood today. Take these small coins as your reward.”

With that, he headed off to the gambling house.

“Safe travels, patron.” Xu Boqing, seeing the twenty-odd round copper coins on the ground—Great Liang coins, representing heaven and earth—couldn’t help but beam. At current prices, each coin could buy two steamed buns or a large meat dumpling.

He counted twenty-two coins—a generous divination fee indeed.

Watching Niu Ben disappear into the distance, his own stomach growled. He felt he could eat an ox. Scooping up his earnings, he was about to find breakfast at a nearby shop when, before he could get up, another old farmer approached his stall.

“Little Immortal, do you give names as well?” the old farmer asked.

Xu Boqing nodded, “I do. May I ask your surname, sir?”

“Oh, nothing grand, just Lu—from the Lu family village outside the city. You can call me Old Lu,” the farmer replied, somewhat awkwardly, and then continued, “Here’s the thing. My boy is about to turn one. I’ve brought him to the city before for a reading. The old immortal said he lacked wood and water in his fate, so he named him Lu Senmiao.”

As he spoke, the farmer fished out a crumpled scrap of paper awkwardly scrawled with the characters for “Lu Senmiao” and handed it over.

Xu Boqing glanced at it and silently scoffed—what charlatan had come up with such a clumsy name? Couldn’t they show a little professionalism?

He smiled and nodded, “Your son already has a name. Are you looking to change it?”

“Yes, yes...” The old farmer nodded. “I asked the teacher at the school—he said the name was too hard to write. I agreed. When my boy starts school, everyone else will be halfway through their exam before he’s finished writing his name. That won’t do! So our family discussed it and decided to give him a new name—one with wood and water in it, but with simpler strokes.”

“Wood and water, simple strokes...” Xu Boqing nodded thoughtfully, pondering for a moment before his eyes lit up and he slapped his thigh. “Got it!”

He looked around, found a broken red brick at the wall, and used it to write three large characters on the ground: “Lu Benwei.”

Seeing the old farmer’s puzzled look, he explained, “Lu is your family name, of course. ‘Ben’ has five strokes, meaning upright and honest—simple and clear. As for ‘Wei,’ let me ask: where do reeds grow?”

The old farmer frowned in thought, “By the pond.”

“Exactly! Reeds by the pond,” Xu Boqing nodded. “A pond has water, and reeds are wood. Your son lacks wood and water, yes? The character ‘Wei’ has seven strokes, simple enough, and it contains both wood and water. What’s more, ‘Wei’ is a homophone for ‘great’—so not only does it fulfill the requirements, but it also carries the wish for your son to be honest and upright, yet also to have ambition.”

“Lu Benwei... Lu Benwei... Wonderful!” The old farmer gasped, repeating the name three times in amazement. Who would have thought that a simple character could contain such meaning?

Xu Boqing smiled, “As long as you’re satisfied.”

The old farmer pulled out two copper coins and handed them over shyly, “Is this... enough?”

Xu Boqing saw the man’s hands—blackened, rough, covered in calluses, with dirt under his nails and, even in July, cracked skin at the thumb. He accepted the money without a second thought, smiling reassuringly, “More than enough. As long as you’re happy...”