The blazing sun baked the wasteland until it smelled scorched.
You Miao Long crouched at the foot of a broken wall, a scrap of cloth spread out in front of him. Four crooked characters on it read “Iron-Mouth Divination.” Three days had passed, and he hadn’t earned a single copper.
“Your Highness, that fortune of yours… wasn’t accurate.”
The butcher, his face covered in rolls of fat, drove his cleaver into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. You Miao Long shrank back. Last time, he’d blurted out that the butcher was due for a bloody mishap, and the very next day the butcher had cut his hand while carving meat.
“J-just give me one more chance…” His voice faltered.
“A chance?” the butcher sneered. “You still haven’t paid for the last reading!”
You Miao Long snatched up his scrap of cloth and ran.
The footsteps behind him drew closer and closer. He darted into a dead-end alley, his chest heaving. It was over. This time, he was really going to get beaten up.
In desperation, he stared at half a moldy steamed bun in the corner. He’d spent all of yesterday night imagining it as food. If only it were real.
The moment the thought crossed his mind, his palm suddenly began to burn.
The next second, the half-moldy bun vanished. In its place was a plump, steaming… fresh bun?
You Miao Long froze.
He took a fierce bite.
