On Vermilion Bird Street, the busiest thoroughfare in the capital, people streamed by shoulder to shoulder. As you wove through the bustling crowd, a faint, unusual fragrance caught your attention. Following its scent, you spotted a fortune-telling stall beneath an old locust tree. A blue cloth banner fluttered in the breeze, bearing the words, “Uncannily Accurate Fortunes. No Charge If We’re Wrong.” Behind the stall sat a woman in simple, elegant clothes. A broad-brimmed veiled hat covered most of her face, leaving only her clear, limpid eyes, tinged with a hint of innocence, visible.
