“Yes, there was a car accident.” The old woman nodded and said, “Johnny was driving a truck to deliver goods out of town yesterday afternoon. On his way home at midnight, he got into an accident—the truck went straight off the cliff by the roadside. Sigh, the body was only brought back this morning.”

Hearing this, a chill ran down my spine. John Thompson had died a violent death, which meant that of the five people who picked up the spirit money half a month ago, not a single one had escaped death in the end.

The old woman kept muttering something else, but I can’t remember any of it. All I recall is that I was so terrified at the time that I left John Thompson’s house in a daze.

My heart was filled with anxiety and unease. John Thompson’s sudden death, to me, meant utter despair. Since even he had died, how could I, who also picked up the spirit money, possibly escape the arrival of death?

If John Thompson’s survival had once given me a sliver of hope, making me think I might also survive like him, then his sudden death now completely extinguished that last bit of wishful thinking. At this moment, the fear of death was even stronger than before, making me feel truly terrified.

My childhood friend Peter Stone had mistaken spirit money for real money, and as a result, died suddenly in an accident just three days later. Now, not only have Old Smith and Little Clark died, but even John Thompson is gone. It seems the rumors were true—this really is a sign of impending death. Only those about to die would mistake spirit money for real money.

Thinking of all this, I felt utterly hopeless and full of despair.

That night, after leaving John Thompson’s house, I bought a dozen beers and sat under the overpass, drinking in a daze. I thought about how my days were numbered, about my parents back home, and when the sadness overwhelmed me, I couldn’t help but cry…

As I wept, I kept feeling like someone was watching me. When I looked up, I saw that at some point, a scruffy old Taoist had set up a stall beside me. In front of his stall was a cardboard sign that read: Michael Bolton Spiritual Divination.

I glanced at him. He looked to be about sixty, dressed in a tattered yellow Taoist robe, looking like an old beggar. There were many people like him on the overpass, claiming to be fortune-tellers, but in reality, they had no real skills and were just out to scam people.

I’d been tricked by someone like this before, wasted dozens of yuan for nothing, and didn’t get any real fortune-telling out of it.

Seeing a stranger suddenly appear beside me and staring at me intently made me uncomfortable, so I got ready to leave. But this guy actually followed me.

Every few steps I took, he followed, staring at me without blinking.

“Old man, could you please stop following me?”

“Old man, could you please stop pulling on my clothes?”

“Old man… you old geezer, damn it, try pulling me again and see what happens!”

“Young friend, don’t be angry. I, a humble Taoist, have come from Immortal Mountain, waiting here for someone with fate. Since we’ve met here today, it must be destiny. Why not let me read your fortune? Maybe I can help resolve the troubles in your heart.”

To be honest, this old man pestering me really pissed me off. Was he planning to force a fortune-telling on me?

Normally, I wouldn’t even bother with someone like this. But maybe because I was really in trouble today, and this old man was so strange and insistent, I became a bit curious and tentatively asked, “Can you really tell fortunes?”

“Young friend, what kind of question is that? I am the 107th generation head of the Maoshan Sect, Michael Bolton. How could I not know fortune-telling? My spiritual divination—if it’s not accurate, you don’t have to pay!” The old Taoist rolled his eyes at me, looking a bit displeased.

Hearing this, I scoffed inwardly. I thought, you old guy, looking so shabby, claiming to be the head of the Maoshan Sect, a Celestial Master—do you really take me for a child? Go tell that to someone who’ll believe it.

I looked down on the old Taoist in my heart, but since he said I didn’t have to pay if it wasn’t accurate, I decided not to argue with him. So I said, “You said it—if it’s not accurate, I won’t pay.”

The old Taoist nodded and said, “I always keep my word. Quickly, tell me your birth date and time.”

Maybe I was hoping for a master to save me, or maybe I just thought this old guy was weird, so I didn’t think much and just told him my birth details.

Chapter 8: The Scruffy Old Taoist

The old Taoist closed his eyes slightly and started calculating with his fingers. After about half a minute, his brows suddenly furrowed, and my heart skipped a beat. I asked, “Uh… so, Michael Bolton. Did you figure something out?”

The old Taoist didn’t answer right away. Instead, as if afraid of making a mistake, he calculated again. Finally, he slowly opened his eyes, and then stared at me with shining eyes, as if I were a beautiful maiden. His gaze gave me goosebumps.

Feeling uncomfortable under his stare, I urged him, “So what did you find? Is it good or bad? Why do you keep staring at me?”

The old Taoist seemed to realize he was being inappropriate and quickly put on a profound air, saying, “Young friend, I just calculated your fortune. You have a Yin fate.”

“Yin fate?” I was stunned. This was the first time I’d ever heard of such a thing.