Clink.
"Here, drink this. It's tea that calms the mind."
"..."
I handed the cup to the man slumped before me, his eyes hollow with grief. To sum him up in a few words: he was the last survivor of a trio who'd visited my shop two weeks ago, seeking a fortune for a business trip. Back then, he'd arrived beaming alongside his two friends, full of hope. Now, he sat alone.
"You said it would go well..." His voice cracked, laced with venom. "You... you..."
"I don't have enough mouths to apologize with," I murmured, the weight of his loss pressing down on me like a shroud.
I'd assured them the journey would unfold smoothly, and they'd left my dim little shop grinning like fools, pockets jingling with optimism. Yet here we were, two weeks later, and three had dwindled to one.
I always warn them—I'm just a trickster who peeks at the heavens' records. Don't put blind faith in me. But people wave it off like polite chatter, treating me as some infallible prophet. Me, a mere fortune teller versed in scraps of astrological sorcery.
"I don't know how to comfort you," I admitted softly.
"Then say something," he snarled, his tone a bitter cocktail of hatred, anger, and raw frustration. "Even an excuse would do. Work that mouth of yours like you did back then."
No matter how often I heard such accusations, they never grew easier to bear. Still, at his plea, I dredged up the familiar refrain, an excuse wrapped in half-truths.
"...The gods of heaven and earth don't prepare just one story from the start," I began, my voice steady despite the knot in my chest. "What I glimpse is merely the most likely thread—the one shimmering brightest on the surface. There are countless others, branching out like endless vines, hidden from even my sight."
The heavens weren't careless. They wove no single, rigid tale, forcing fate down a solitary path. Instead, they left doors ajar for possibilities, advancing the record along the most probable line if all aligned as foreseen. But those fragile, myriad threads? Too vast for any mortal—or even a peeker like me—to unravel in full.
"I offer my deepest condolences for the departed," I added quietly. "May they find rest in a kinder place."
"Compensate me," he rasped, his gaze sharpening like a blade. "Pay me back..."
I fell silent. Strictly speaking, I bore no true obligation for his ruined venture or his friends' deaths. Fortunes weren't ironclad oaths. But guilt gnawed at me all the same.
Clink.
"Here's twenty silver coins," I said, sliding a small pouch across the scarred wooden table. "It's not much, but it's everything I have on hand right now."
It felt like the bare minimum—a paltry balm for wounds I'd unwittingly helped inflict. After all, I'd read his stars, and because I'd misread the weave, those men were gone.
He snatched the pouch with a scoff, but his bitterness only swelled. "Don't make me laugh. I know you rake in good coin. They call you the Faceless Golden Ghost—swilling expensive liquor every night, throwing it away on dice and cards..."
"I spend every last bit I earn in a day," I replied evenly, meeting his glare.
"..."
His words grew cruder by the breath, but I swallowed my retort. If I'd lost friends like that, I'd spit fire too.
"You can stay until you've calmed down," I offered, gesturing to the empty chair opposite. "If you want more tea, just say the word—I'll brew as much as you need."
"Forget it." He shoved to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the floorboards. "I don't even want to look at you. You look like a damn ghost..."
A wry laugh escaped me. "Hah... I don't care for my looks much either. That's why I cover up like this." I tugged at the edge of my hooded veil, a shadow among shadows in this incense-heavy room.
"Damn bastard."
He spat the curse like venom and stormed toward the door. But as his hand gripped the latch, he hurled one final barb that hooked into me like a thorn.
"You said it'd end safely, so I canceled the escorts we'd hired and loaded up more goods instead. Damn it... What a quack..."
I froze. Wait a second.
"You went... without escorts?"
"Yeah, you quack," he shot back over his shoulder, already halfway out.
He'd ventured on a business trip—without escorts? The words hung in the air, absurd and infuriating.
"You crazy bas—"
You're telling me that now? No... no, hold on. More importantly—
"What do you mean you canceled the escorts?" I demanded, rising so fast my stool toppled.
"What do you think?" He whirled, eyes blazing. "We'd hired them before coming to you for that reading. But your words? We scrapped the whole plan."
"...And you're telling me this now?!"
The more he spoke, the clearer it became: this wasn't mere misfortune. This man wasn't just unhinged—he was a walking catastrophe.
"I told you the trip would go smoothly with the escorts you'd hired," I exploded, my voice echoing off the shop's cluttered shelves. "How could you just cancel them?!"
Escorts weren't optional luxuries on the road. They weren't just muscle for brawls. Their mere presence warded off bandits and beasts like a storm cloud chasing away flies—deterrence as much as defense. Skimp on them, and you might as well hang a sign from your cart: Defenseless. Come and take us. Luck could carry you through unscathed, sure, but banking on it was like dancing blindfolded on a cliff's edge.
"Ha... What the..."
Dumbfounded didn't cover it. I'd never dreamed of such folly.
"So now you're saying it's my fault the trip failed?" I pressed, heat rising in my throat.
"Then whose is it? Mine?"
Even my lingering sympathy curdled at that. I'd warned them a hundred times in a hundred ways—don't trust blindly. But this greedy fool had heard "success" and let it swell his head, ditching the safeguards for extra cargo and dreams of fat profits. What could I even say to that?
"Grrr..."
His face mottled red and blue, veins bulging like rivers about to flood.
Oh, right.
"You damn bastard!"
Crash!
He lunged like a rabid dog, crossing the room in a blur of fury. For the record, I'm no hidden powerhouse—no secret martial prowess lurking beneath my robes. I swear by the stars themselves, I couldn't best an average drunk in a scrap. Maybe a scrawny woman on a bad day...?
Point was, as he barreled into me, pinning me to the floor and cocking his fist for the first blow, I was done for.
This is gonna hurt.
I braced for the stars to explode behind my eyes, squeezing them shut—
Thud!
"Arghhh!!!"
No impact came. Instead, the man's howl shattered the air, his weight slumping off me in a heap.
"Sorry, but I'm the one who wants to climb on top of that guy."
"That phrasing's gonna cause a misunderstanding."
"Oh my? A misunderstanding might actually be fine. I could demand accountability for obstructing the marriage prospects of a daughter of the Sichuan Tang Clan."
"Don't say scary things like that."
It sounded like a lovers' spat, the words tumbling from the shadows near the doorway. But we were nothing of the sort—friends? Partners? A tangled knot somewhere in the gray space between.
"I'd feel a little bad about it," she continued lightly, her silhouette graceful as a blade's edge, "but if the Tang Clan could monopolize your abilities, it might be a fair trade."
"...For now, can you deal with this guy?" I groaned, hauling myself up and rubbing my bruised ribs.
"Ughhh...! My hand...!"
The man thrashed on the floorboards, cradling his right hand. A slender dagger gleamed there, buried clean through the palm's center—a surgical strike, no more force than needed.
"For free?" she asked, arching a brow beneath her veiled hood.
I sighed. "...How about I read one piece of info for you?"
"Deal. Anything?"
"Not my face."
"...Tch."
She pouted, that sly glint in her eye betraying the ploy—she'd tried to slip it past me in that heartbeat of chaos.
As expected of the Sichuan Tang Clan. Assassins to the bone, every one of them.