Seeing Old Daoist Liu speak so bluntly and even offer the young Prince a hint, the monk smiled faintly and nodded.
"Daoist, you truly have eyes like torches and profound cultivation. To read a person's fortune through their complexion and aura is no easy feat. In the world today, fewer than five people possess such skill.
"However, Daoist, as the saying goes, those skilled at swimming may drown, and those skilled at riding may fall. Though your art of reading faces and gauging aura is brilliant, it may not always prove true. It may even lead you into a trap—as it has now. Look again. What do you see in this man's complexion?"
Unease had already begun to stir within Old Daoist Liu. Hearing this, he looked once more at Beitang Xing's face. At a single glance, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Only because the middle-aged monk was present did he keep himself from showing too much shock.
From the face and aura he had observed earlier, Beitang Xing bore the look of the old man who lost his horse—a loss followed by gain, first loss and then gain. What he had lost was the opportunity Meng Zhao had snatched away, while what he would gain was likely the benefit brought by this monk.
He would stake his character on it: his method of observation could not be wrong. It was not flawless, nor could it account for every minute detail, but it could still judge the broad course of events.
Yet now, when he looked again at Beitang Xing's face, he saw a faint illusory line stretching sideways from between his brows to the corner of his right mouth, utterly ruining what had originally been the face of great wealth and high rank.
That alone would