My name is Chen Ping'an, the most "smart" fortune teller under the Beijing overpass.
The daily business is to observe people's behavior, make nonsense, help the next door Aunt Wang figure out where the chicken is, and show the opposite Li Xiucai how he is doing.
All you earn is hard-earned money.
Until Mr. Zhao, a wealthy businessman in the west of the city, hugged his "evil-possessed" only son, knelt down in front of me with runny noses and tears, and promised a hundred taels of gold when things were done.
As soon as I saw the kid's eyes turned white and his mouth was filled with anger, I knew this business was in trouble.
My colleagues all said he was a century-old ghost and advised me not to die.
But one hundred taels of gold!
I had a sudden change of heart and decided to use my lifelong acting skills to deceive as many people as possible.
That night, the Zhao Mansion was filled with gloomy winds and ghosts were crying and wolves were howling.
I held a mahogany sword in my hand, my legs were shaking like chaff, and I cursed all the gods in my heart.
