Chapter 73: Investigation (All Requests)

"Good morning, Master Lin. Not opening your stall today?"
At dawn, the owner of a breakfast shop greeted a man in a Daoist robe, whose face exuded integrity.
"That's right, I have other things to attend to today," Lin Zhengying replied with a smile, adjusting the sign on his door as he spoke.

Ten readings, ten wrong—solely for consolation.
Such was Lin Zhengying's sign, the most distinctive one around.
Elsewhere, perhaps, but only Lin Zhengying dared to write this; there was not a second like it.
Yet, despite the claim that his readings never hit the mark, his small shop was always bustling. From the moment he opened in the morning, customers would arrive, and business would last until five in the afternoon. This, too, was his rule—nine to five, never a minute of overtime.
Today, though, no one had come yet. It was still early, barely seven, and he had scheduled no appointments.

"Master Lin, since you've no customers at this hour, how about reading my fortune?" The breakfast shop owner chatted as he busied himself, their shops having stood side by side for years, making them quite familiar.
"My sign says ten readings, ten wrong—you still want me to read for you?" Lin Zhengying chuckled as he stepped inside the shop.
"Accuracy doesn't matter, just like your sign says—it's for peace of mind. And maybe you can say a few auspicious words for me," the owner joked, grinning, never one to believe in such things.
"Haha, you certainly see through it all." Lin Zhengying laughed.
"That's too kind. Your sign is the real insight. All my life, I've never seen one like it. Usually, it's 'nine out of ten are wrong,' but those are really ten out of ten wrong, haha!" The owner beamed as if there were some happy event at home, his body swaying as he cooked noodles.

Lin Zhengying watched him with a smile, a few copper coins spinning in his palm. After a few seconds, the coins settled.
"Your wife will deliver safely—a boy and a girl, twins. Let me congratulate you in advance," Lin Zhengying said, putting away the coins and offering a respectful gesture.
"Hey, you really know how to read people. I didn't even say what I wanted a reading for," the owner replied casually. Everyone in the neighborhood knew his wife was about to give birth.
"Isn't it a good thing to hear?" Lin Zhengying responded lightly.
"Indeed, it's just what I want to hear right now," the owner said, scooping the noodles into a bowl and handing it to Lin Zhengying. "I don't have much to offer, but please, enjoy a bowl of my hometown's specialty—intestine noodles with pickled vegetables."
"Then I won't be shy about it."

Lin Zhengying took his reward—a generous bowl heaped with succulent braised intestines, a layer of sweet-and-sour pickled vegetables beneath, and beneath that, the noodles, tender and perfectly cooked.
He slurped up the noodles in a few mouthfuls, placed his chopsticks on the table, bade farewell, and prepared to leave.
"Where are you off to?" The owner asked, busy but curious.

"To the police station," Lin Zhengying replied, hands clasped behind his back as he stepped out the door.
At this, the shop's patrons began to chatter.
"The police station? He must have tricked a lot of people out of their money. Nowadays, all these priests and monks are just out for profit."
The owner quickly set down his bowl and protested, "You shouldn't say that. He really does have some skill, and his fees are modest. If you don't believe it, just look at his sign."

Ring, ring—
In the midst of their conversation, the owner's phone rang.
After answering, his face turned anxious.
"What is it? Trouble at home?" a neighbor asked, noticing his expression.
"My wife—she's gone into labor! She's in the delivery room!" he blurted out, a mix of anxiety and excitement.
"Then what are you standing here for? Go! We'll mind the shop for you," urged another.
"Alright, sorry everyone, no more noodles today. If you've already eaten, it's on the house; if you missed out, I'll make it up to you next time," the owner said as he untied his apron and hung it on the wall, still muttering apologies.
No one complained—after all, his wife was giving birth. Whether they had eaten or not, everyone felt they had shared in a little of his good fortune.

Meanwhile, at the police station, the chief was poring over a thick stack of documents.
These were files on everyone in the district involved in fortune-telling, feng shui, and similar practices.
"Have all the people listed here been questioned? Did we miss anyone?" the chief asked, head lowered.
"There's still Master Lin Zhengying. We called him—he'll be in this morning."
"Good. Be polite when you speak with him, understand?"
"Understood."

Once the officer left, the chief stood and gazed out the window.
He could not forget the meeting he'd attended a month ago during training.
It turned out that people who truly understood the mystical arts did exist in this world—an utterly astonishing fact.

For now, it seemed most of the practitioners were active in America, and there had been no news on their side—hardly a comforting thought.
The chief was unaware of the full story; he had simply received orders to conduct a thorough review of all related individuals in the district.
This was a directive issued after China had consulted with Russia.
Since Russia had discovered the existence of so-called "mystical side" individuals, it made no sense that there were none in China.
If nothing else, given China's vast population, there should be no shortage of such people.
Yet, despite both overt and covert investigations, officials had found nothing but frauds and con artists.
With no alternative, they had passed the task down to the grassroots, hoping for better results. If even that yielded nothing, the authorities would have to consider an exchange of interests.
No matter the cost, they were determined to acquire knowledge of the mystical arts from elsewhere.
As a major world power, they could not afford to be left behind—especially now that it was clear others possessed such abilities.

"Master! Master! You dropped your coin!"
By the bus stop near the police station, a passenger called out to Lin Zhengying as he was about to alight.
Turning around, Lin Zhengying saw that indeed, one of his copper coins was standing upright on the floor of the bus.
A lost coin? Did this mean his cover was about to be blown?
The thought flashed through his mind as he stooped to pick up the coin, thanking the person who had called out, and stepped off the bus.
Standing by the stop, he opened his palm. The coin had somehow crumbled to powder, which scattered on the wind.

Not only was his cover at risk—danger was afoot.
Lin Zhengying frowned.
But this was a police station, a place brimming with righteous energy, and the sun shone brightly overhead. What kind of entity would dare stir up trouble here?
He puzzled over it, but could think of no answer. Shaking his head, he brushed the dust from his hands and strode toward the police station.