The two chubby guys forcibly pulled the fat one in the middle back onto the bench, and the three of them—bundles of lard—continued their meeting. That Mr. Foster was clearly preoccupied, even smoking nervously. The young man sitting nearby overheard words like “iron divination,” “half-immortal,” and “spirit of sincerity,” and could guess that these three fat guys had come to the park early in the morning to find a fortune-teller. He listened as the three muttered about what to ask if they really found the legendary iron diviner, how to test him to tell real from fake, and how not to get duped. This made the young man even more bewildered—the more he listened, the more absurd it sounded, but the more absurd it got, the more excited the three became. Not only were they excited, but they were also deadly serious. Apparently, this ancient iron diviner could read both homes of the living and the dead, predict whether a man would make or lose money, tell if a woman would marry rich or poor, and even accurately foretell whether a pregnant woman would have a boy or a girl—better than an ultrasound...

Hearing this, the young man covered his mouth, stifling laughter, and looked around half in disbelief. Apart from old men and women, there was no one else. You could say these were all city-dwelling poor peasants—maybe some would believe it. But to say there was a half-immortal among them—who would buy that!?

But sometimes, the more bizarre something seems, the more it heads in that direction. The young man figured these three fat guys had probably been fooled by rumors and were bound to be disappointed. But before he could finish a cigarette, another guy came running over, panting, jacket flapping as he dashed their way. He looked like he was with the three, and as he ran, he pointed back excitedly, shouting:

“...He’s here... he’s here, the diviner is really here...”

The young man sitting nearby was startled and looked in the direction indicated, unable to suppress his curiosity. Central China is a big place, full of all kinds of oddballs, but he’d never seen one with wings—could it be that today he’d really see someone who could fly...

Chapter 02: Immortal Bearing, Extraordinary Words

There are fools every day, but today there are especially many... The messenger was a guy with a red, boozy nose and buck teeth, even uglier than the three fat guys. The young man watching thought to himself, judging by the kind of sidekick these three had picked, their taste was really something else.

“Did you get a good look...” The stubby fat guy instantly stood up, grabbing the messenger by the hand.

“No mistake, looks just like the photo on the phone...” The messenger, who seemed to be the three’s driver, replied excitedly, as if he’d really seen an immortal, grinning from ear to ear.

They’d done their homework—even found a photo of the half-immortal. He held up his phone and said the guy looked just like it. The three fat guys were delighted, all getting up at once, formally pulling up their pants and straightening their suit collars, as if welcoming an honored guest. Just as they were about to step forward, the fat Mr. Foster pulled the other two back, whispering something. The three huddled together, whispering in each other’s ears.

The young man looked back in surprise, and as he did, his eyes locked onto something. He finally saw the supposed “birdman.” A dozen steps away, an elderly man with graying hair was strolling toward the lakeside, hands clasped behind his back. He wore a traditional silk robe and pants, the hems fluttering in the breeze, his gait smooth and flowing. Whether it was the effect of the three fat guys’ talk or the old man’s own bearing, the more the young man looked, the more he felt the man had a touch of immortal grace.

A monster? Definitely not. An immortal? Maybe. A fraud? Hard to say.

As the group drew closer, the three fat guys, their driver, and the young onlooker all stared wide-eyed, as if awed by the old man’s extraordinary presence, barely daring to breathe. Only when they got closer did they notice he wasn’t alone—two others, both around fifty or sixty, followed on either side. One carried a birdcage, the other a sword on his back, chatting and laughing as they walked along the lakeside path.

“Go on... go on...”

Fat Mr. Foster gave a nudge with his foot, and the stubby fat guy stumbled forward a few steps. With his short, chubby arm, he blocked the path, smiling ingratiatingly at the three old men and said, “Are... are you the ancient immortal?”

The old man in the middle laughed heartily, cupping his hands in greeting and replied in a clear, polite voice, “My surname is Sullivan, given name Ethan, but I’m no immortal.”

Wow, that humility really had an immortal’s air—these days, even ordinary people don’t know how to be humble.

As soon as Old Sullivan spoke, it was confirmed. The two old men with him saw the three fat guys gathering around and were amused by their size. The one called Old Roy squeezed forward, grinning from ear to ear as he said politely, “We’re here to see you... We were sent by Old Clark, who’s in the seafood business. You did a reading for him, and it was spot on, wasn’t it? We’ve been looking for you here for days.”

“Oh... so that’s it. Heh heh... So, you gentlemen want a reading too?” The old man smiled, sizing up the three fat guys blocking his way. The three, hearing this, were overjoyed and nodded almost in unison. Behind them stood someone who looked like a sidekick, and not far away, the young man on the bench turned to look, though he seemed like an uninvolved passerby. The old man glanced at him, then back at the three expectant fat guys, and finally cupped his hands toward the fat man named Foster, saying, “I think it’s this young man who has something to ask, isn’t it?”

Huh? That’s skill—he spotted the main one right away?

The two fat guys on either side exchanged surprised glances, while the fat man named Foster looked even more astonished, glancing left and right at his companions, eyes wide, completely baffled, as if to say: How did he know?