People call me a charlatan because I know a little Taoist magic and can glimpse the secrets of Heaven. But I never read fortunes about petty neighborhood squabbles. I read the thread called “fate,” hanging over all living things. Then one day, I read the characters written by three neighbors: “Blessing,” “Bright,” and “Mist.” Every character looked auspicious, but at the last moment, I suddenly realized that beneath the ink, signs of bloodshed were emerging. All three concealed omens of death. More terrifying still, when I tremblingly wrote my own surname, Ji, the ink was swallowed by the tabletop, leaving behind only a scorched vortex leading into darkness. The ancestral copper coin on my chest burned hot in warning, and the wooden door behind me opened by itself. Welcome to the world beyond the “Door.” Here, what is more unpredictable than fate is the human heart; what is harder to calculate than the will of Heaven is the human heart. And I, this “charlatan,” will use my eyes, which can see the threads of fate, to unravel every scheme and fight for a sliver of life in these endlessly recurring instances.
