Early the next morning, a familiar scene played out once more on the streets of Wutan City. On a fairly lively street corner, a shabby banner bearing the words "Iron-Mouthed Prophecy, every future foretold" fluttered in the wind. Beneath it, a small wooden table and a homemade folding stool made up Xiao Yi's humble mobile fortune-telling stall. Today, however, "Immortal Xiao" looked a little worse for wear.
Xiao Yi yawned lazily and rubbed his slightly swollen right eye socket. A ring of bruising still surrounded it, a souvenir from last night's "friendly sparring match" with Xiao Yan. More depressing still, a tuft of hair was missing from his head, leaving faintly charred traces that gave off a lingering whiff of burnt hair.
This "masterpiece" was naturally the work of the restless old ghost in the ring. During last night's melee, although Yao Lao had been restrained by the Red Cord, Xiao Yan had pulled the Red Cord off, allowing flames to burst from the ring. Amid the chaos, they caught Xiao Yi and burned off a small tuft of his hair, giving Xiao Yan the opening he needed to deliver a round of "loving discipline."
"Hiss..." Xiao Yi touched his "bald patch," then prodded his aching eye socket, inwardly grinding his teeth.
That damned old ghost! How dare he burn my hair! And that rotten Xiao Yan, siding with an outsider-he actually hit me over some 'unidentified ghost'! Just you two wait. Sooner or later, I'll collect this debt with interest!
While making fierce threats in his head, he slumped listlessly over the table, his eyes darting among the passing pedestrians in search of potential "informants."
"Madam, I see darkness between your brows. Misfortune may be coming your way! Come, come, let this immortal guide you out of the maze.