The old man’s gaze was sharp and intimidating; the moment Mark Harris met his eyes, his heart skipped a beat. The middle-aged man named Henry Clark, however, seemed not at all afraid of the old man’s imposing presence. He simply took the boy’s hand and walked over to stand beside the old man.

　　“Master?”

　　At this moment, Mark Harris’s mother, Grace Miller, also rushed in, panting. After hearing the middle-aged man’s words, she couldn’t help but look at the old man with a mix of surprise and reverence. To be addressed as teacher by the middle-aged man, and to be inside Shangqinglin Temple—could this not be the one known as the ‘Divine Physiognomist’, Old Mr. Spencer?

　　“Physiognomy? Is there something unusual about it?”

　　John Spencer frowned slightly, ignoring Grace Miller who had just entered, and turned his gaze to Michael Bolton. After a careful look, he too, just like the middle-aged man before, trembled slightly, his eyes filled with disbelief.

　　“Master, the lot he just drew was the second of the Lüzu Divine Lots!” As if thinking the old man’s surprise was not enough, the middle-aged man added another sentence beside him.

　　Sure enough, upon hearing this, John Spencer took a step back, his expression growing even more shocked.

　　“The second of the Lüzu Divine Lots—that’s the Hidden Dragon lot! How is this possible? How is this possible? How could there still be a ‘Nine-Five’ physiognomy in this world? How could this be? Could it be that chaos is coming? No, impossible! The nation’s fortune is at its peak, destined for a thousand years of prosperity. But this kind of face, with yellow and white energies surging to the crown, is clearly the form of a true dragon—how can this be explained—”

　　The old man muttered to himself, and the last few sentences were only audible to Mark Harris, who was standing close by, and the middle-aged man named Henry Clark. Mark Harris’s lips curled up; he didn’t know what ‘Nine-Five’ physiognomy was, but as for ‘Nine-Five Supreme’, he’d seen it countless times in novels and TV shows.

　　In ancient times, numbers were divided into yang and yin: odd numbers were yang, even numbers were yin. Among yang numbers, nine was the highest, five was in the center, so “nine” and “five” symbolized imperial authority, called “Nine-Five Supreme,” meaning the emperor.

　　To say he had the ‘Nine-Five’ physiognomy was to say he had the fate of an emperor. If not for the old man’s dignity, he would have laughed out loud on the spot.

　　Still, Mark Harris found it odd. His father was only a deputy director in a minor city department, their family had neither power nor influence, and little entanglement. There was no reason for these two, master and disciple, to put on an act and set up a scam in front of someone with such a background.

　　“Oh my! Divine Immortal, please tell me, what’s wrong with my son Hui?” Grace Miller, having only caught fragments of the conversation, assumed her son’s physiognomy was bad. With a hint of tears in her voice, she hurried forward, her face full of anxiety. She had three sons; the eldest and second had already established their careers, only lacking marriage and children. Now, her greatest worry was Mark Harris, her youngest, who had always been the apple of her eye.

　　“Your son’s physiognomy and future prospects are truly unspeakable, unspeakable!”

　　John Spencer waved his hand. He glanced outside at the onlookers who had followed in, then gave a wry smile and turned to ask the middle-aged man, “Henry Clark, did you take their money? If you did, return it. This lot—we cannot interpret.”

　　“No!” The middle-aged man immediately let go of Mark Harris’s hand and slowly shook his head.

　　Mark Harris and Grace Miller looked at each other in confusion. What was supposed to be a simple incense-offering trip after the college entrance exam had turned into this unexpected situation.

　　Even after descending the mountain, mother and son were still bewildered.

　　“Mom, it’s fine, don’t worry. From the meaning of the lot, doesn’t it just mean I might not get into college this year? With Dad’s help, pulling some strings and spending a bit of money, how could I not get a university spot? If not, I’ll just repeat a year—Mom, you’re not tired of raising me, are you?” Seeing his mother come out of the room with lingering worry on her face, Mark Harris joked to comfort her. He didn’t know why that ‘Old Mr. Spencer’ had been so shocked upon seeing him, but since he mentioned the ‘Nine-Five’ physiognomy, it probably wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe his fate really was extraordinary!

　　“You child, you’re not worried at all! Getting in through connections and getting in fair and square—how can that be the same?”

　　Grace Miller gave her son’s ear a hard tug, but a smile gradually appeared on her face. She thought, he’s right—if not this year, he can retake the exam next year. Their family wasn’t rich, but not poor either. The two older sons already had jobs; if the youngest lost a year, it didn’t matter.

　　“Hehe! Honestly, I don’t really believe in all this mystical stuff! You know my grades, Mom, and I’m pretty confident myself—I feel like I did well. I don’t think I’d fail to get into even a second-tier university in the city—”

　　His words were cut short. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark Harris saw a child of about six chasing a ball, running out from the bus stop shelter. On the right, a truck was speeding toward them. Almost instinctively, Mark Harris dashed forward.

　　The sharp screech of brakes, the crash, even the sound of bones breaking—all rang out. Mark Harris fell in a pool of blood, while the child beside him stood unharmed, looking bewildered. Only then did the nearby crowd react.