"May I ask your name, young sir?" The old Daoist cautiously raised his head, studying Shen Chuanlian's face with great care.
Shen Chuanlian paused briefly, then gave his name.
"Shen Chuanlian!"
Clatter!
The divination tools in the old Daoist's hands fell to the ground at that very instant. He frantically crouched to pick them up, then hurried to pack up his stall.
"Your fate-I can't see it, I can't see it! I can't read it, I can't!"
Shen Chuanlian's expression darkened. With a sweep of his hand, he overturned the old Daoist's stall, a hint of anguish breaking through his cold features.
"Why can't you read it? You can read everyone else's fate, so why not mine?"
Was he something so hideous?
Why couldn't he be an ordinary person?
Why couldn't even a fortune-teller treat him like an ordinary person?
An indescribable anguish overwhelmed Shen Chuanlian, as though a thousand years of grievances had erupted in that single instant. His eyes reddened as he struggled to restrain his violent aura.
He muttered to himself, "Why do all of you get to be ordinary people? Why?"
Why not him?
Why did he have to endure all this?
His actions soon drew countless townspeople, who stopped to watch and condemned him for committing violence in the street.
"Young sir, I'm sorry. According to the rules of our trade, if the first fate we're asked to read after setting up our stall cannot be divined, we cannot do any more business that day. You must be a pitiful soul. Why not... go to the Temple of the Star Lord of Fate on the mountain and pray? Perhaps you'll receive some guidance on your destiny."
The old Daoist was not angry in the slightest at his rude behavior.
The rules of his trade emphasized