Wang Xiaoliang really should never have had his fortune told.
In truth, he had been forced into it.
He had barely stopped in the little park by the campus's north gate when someone seized his wrist.
The grip was powerful, like an iron clamp.
The man holding him was a Taoist priest.
His blue cotton robe had been washed nearly white, and his goatee was sparse and straggly.
But his eyes were like two awls, piercing Wang Xiaoliang and making his skin crawl.
"Young man, a moment."
The person Wang Xiaoliang was waiting for had yet to appear.
Wei Zijin, the figure he had watched for four years, his unattainable love.
He was never good at turning people down, so he let the priest hold his hand.
The priest took one glance and released him.
"You are trapped, and your death is near."
His voice was quiet, yet it sent a chill racing up Wang Xiaoliang's back.
"If you don't want to die without a grave, do as this book says."
The priest pulled a thread-bound book from inside his robe and thrust it straight into Wang Xiaoliang's hands.
The cover was dull yellow, bearing only two archaic seal-script characters.
Book of Fate.
Fraud.
Wang Xiaoliang cursed inwardly. Just another new gimmick to sell books.
Familiar laughter drifted over from a distance.
Wei Zijin.
Today, she wore a white athletic outfit that dazzled in the sunlight.
Wang Xiaoliang's gaze instantly locked onto her.
The book in his hand was getting in the way.
He wanted to return it to the priest, but when he turned, there was no one behind him.
The stone bench looked as though no one had ever sat there.
Only the book in his hand felt eerily real.
Wang Xiaoliang scanned the crowd but saw no trace of that faded blue robe.
In the end, his gaze returned to Wei Zijin.
Graduation was approaching. He had few days like this left.
His unattainable love would eventually share someone else's bed.
And he did not even have the courage to approach her and say a word.
A bitter ache welled up in his chest.
Wang Xiaoliang casually stuffed the Book of Fate into his pocket and trailed her from a distance, pretending to be an idle stroller in the park.
Only two hours later did that white figure disappear completely.
He wandered back to dorm room 404.
As soon as he pushed open the door, the sour, rotten stench of spoiled takeout containers slammed into his skull, disgusting yet familiar.
The takeout containers were piled into a mountain in the corner, threatening to encroach on the space beneath the desks.
Half a month into the semester, no one had cleaned the room. More importantly, no one had taken out the trash.
Four good-for-nothings on the verge of graduation lived here.
Failing classes was standard, family connections were nonexistent, and they were losers who could not land even a single internship.
"I fell in love with a wild horse, but there's no grassland at my home..."
Old Third's tuneless singing drifted from the shower room opposite.
Wang Xiaoliang frowned.
Old Third, the least hygienic person in their dorm, had actually taken a shower today for once?
Strange.
He gave it no further thought, dropped into his chair at the computer, and put on his headphones.
The sounds of slaughter in the game drowned out everything.
This world of data and code was his only refuge.
After an unknown stretch of time, the sky outside began to brighten.
Another all-nighter.
Wang Xiaoliang removed his headphones and turned his neck, which gave a few soft cracks.
Just then.
A dark figure climbed silently onto the windowsill.
It was Old Third.
He was small and scrawny, yet clumsy, moving like a marionette.
His body was hunched, facing out the window.
Wang Xiaoliang's heart stopped cold.
"Old Third!"
A hoarse shout tore from his throat.
"What the fuck are you doing!"
He hurled himself forward like a cannonball.
Too late.
Old Third had already leaned out.
He turned back and grinned at Wang Xiaoliang.
That smile held relief, mockery, and a trace of something indescribably eerie.
"I'm done playing this shitty game."
"Second, see you in the next life!"
The words faded.
He leaped.
Wang Xiaoliang and the other two roommates, jolted awake, rushed madly to the window.
There was no slow motion.
The sound lagged behind the sight.
Four floors below lay hard concrete.
Old Third lay facedown, his body twisted into a grotesquely splayed shape.
Red and white spread swiftly beneath him, staining the gray ground of early morning.
First covered his mouth and bolted from the dorm.
The sounds of agonized retching came from the hallway.
Fourth suddenly erupted into shrill laughter.
"Hahahaha! I knew it! I knew it would turn out like this!"
He laughed and cried.
The rank smell of urine spread through the room.
A large patch of Fourth's crotch was soaked.
Terror had broken his mind.
Perhaps he had gone mad.
One dead, one mad.
Wang Xiaoliang's mind exploded with a buzz.
Trapped, dead without a grave.
The priest's words now bounced through his mind over and over like a curse.
Sirens drew closer.
Old Third's body was covered with a white sheet and carried away.
Fourth, still grinning vacantly, was taken away in another ambulance.
Wang Xiaoliang and First were taken to the police station.
Statements, signatures, fingerprints.
Like a component fitted into a cold machine, he went through the motions mechanically.
By the time he left the police station, it was broad daylight.
The campus security office arranged for him and First to stay at a budget hotel.
Without taking off his outer clothes, he threw himself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open.
That smile before Old Third jumped.
That look in his eyes.
Those words.
They replayed endlessly in his mind, accompanied by Fourth's eerie laughter.
He was terrified.
But an even more horrifying emotion began to grow in the darkest corner of his heart.
It was envy.
He envied Old Third.
Envied how he had ended everything once and for all.
Death meant release.
No more facing this fucked-up world, no more being a beast of burden at everyone else's mercy.
That thought frightened him more than Old Third's death.
So, for someone in despair, death was not a punishment.
It was a reward.
Living was the life sentence.
How could I... envy someone who killed himself?
The more he thought about it, the more frightened he became, until his whole body began to tremble.
His hands and feet were ice-cold.
Instinctively, he reached into his pocket, seeking a trace of warmth.
Instead, his fingertips touched a cold, hard corner.
He abruptly sat up and pulled it out.
It was a book.
A thread-bound volume, its dull yellow cover curled at the edges from being squeezed.
In the dim room, the two archaic seal-script characters on its cover were somehow perfectly clear.
Book of Fate.
Trembling, Wang Xiaoliang opened to the title page.
A vertical line of inked characters stood in the center.
"The Tao is eternal; fate is bestowed by Heaven. To change one's fate, one must Follow Only the Way."
The Tao was eternal, and fate was ordained by Heaven. To change his fate, he could only follow the Tao.
He understood.
Yet somehow, he did not understand completely.
Below it was another line in smaller writing.
"Alas! This book may alter one's fate, yet only belief shall make it work. If you doubt, do not open it; even if you believe, do not read it all at once. Proceed in order. After each page, close the book and meditate. Only upon attaining insight may you open it again and continue."
Wang Xiaoliang understood this passage too. It was reminding him that this book could change fate, but its reader had to believe in it. If he did not believe, he should not read it. Even if he did, he must not read it all in one go. He had to reflect after each page and could only move on once he had gained some insight.
Originally, he had not believed, but Old Third's death had made him think of ending everything too. Combined with the priest's warning, how could he not believe now?
He took a deep breath and turned the page.
Again, there was only one passage.
"The first art of changing fate: sweep and cleanse your dwelling, so your body does not approach filth; wash and groom yourself, so filth does not cling to you. Do not lie where foulness reeks and disorder reigns. Do not sleep in places dark and damp."
Wang Xiaoliang read it word by word.
Clean up.
Wash himself.
Do not sleep in a garbage heap.
"Fuck!"
He let out a low shout, as though someone had punched him hard.
Wasn't this describing the environment I was living in?
Dorm room 404.
Those mountains of takeout containers and drink bottles, the smoke and dust filling the room.
That sour, rotten stench.
Wasn't that a garbage heap?
And then... Old Third, the least hygienic person in the whole dorm, who had taken a shower for once just before killing himself.
A chill shot from the soles of his feet all the way to the crown of his head!
Before you continue