Open your hands, and what is entangled in your palms is your destiny. Clench your fists, but you cannot control this destiny. I often raise my palms to the sky: my palm prints are clear and coherent, my palm lines are soft and slender, my fingers are slender and beautiful, and my palm flesh is rosy and tender. I want to know what kind of message such a hand will convey and what kind of destiny it foreshadows.