In Songhai, dinner had just ended. The sun sank below the horizon, stubbornly casting its last afterglow and dyeing the clouds at the edge of the sky gold and red.
Jiang Yu'er stepped out of her room in pink slippers and hurried excitedly into her nephew's room, only to find it empty.
"Mom, where's Yuanzi?" she hollered toward Grandmother, who was washing dishes in the kitchen.
"He just went out. I reckon he's off telling fortunes for the old men in the neighborhood again," grandmother shouted back even louder.
"How does he know how to tell fortunes? He's not scamming money out of the old folks in the neighborhood, is he? Mom, beat him to death when he gets back."
"He hasn't scammed anyone out of money, but he really does deserve a beating," grandmother said through gritted teeth.
"Mom, I'm going to take a nap. Wake me when he gets back. It's the weekend tomorrow—I'm going to play games." Yawning, Jiang Yu'er returned to her room.
By the stone table in the neighborhood, Zhang Yuanqing sat imposingly, surrounded by a group of elderly men and women. Across from him sat a half-bald old man.
The old man said with deep anguish, "Master Zhang, your prediction was dead on. The stocks I bought really hit the limit down. Ah, the losses are making my liver ache."
Upon hearing this, Zhang Yuanqing shook his head and sighed.
"Uncle Wang, you have the fate of a leek. You've been harvested since childhood, harvested through adulthood, and you'll be harvested into old age. You'll never get rich in your life. Keep this up, and your later years will be miserable."
Uncle Wang turned pale with shock. Clutching Master Zhang's hand tightly, he said, "Master, you have to save me."
Zhang Yuanqing sat upright,