劍問蒼天 - 第87章 看相 - 清風書屋

It took some doing to shake the filth off his feet, and when Zhang Qingyue finally turned around, the little girl had already gone over to the old man's side and was whispering something to him. The old man listened, nodded slightly, and a faint smile hung at the corner of his mouth.

Zhang Qingyue's face flushed. He could not tell whether the two of them were laughing at him, but after a moment's hesitation he walked over anyway and said, "Sir, what did you mean when you said just now that I have the look of great misfortune?"

The old man narrowed his eyes, studied him for a moment, and smiled. "Young brother, your brow is full enough, but your cheeks are a touch thin. You are hardly one born to wealth and honor—would I be right?"

Zhang Qingyue's confidence in him rose another notch, and he nodded. "You are right, sir. I come from a farming family."

The old man smiled, smoothed his robe lightly with an easy air, and said, "I also observe that your eyebrows are thick and close, straight and upright, but at the outer tip of the right brow there is a small mole. That position governs one's parents and elders. I fear your father and mother are no longer in this world?"

Zhang Qingyue started, and his trust grew another notch. He nodded again and again. "Sir, you truly have a discerning eye. My parents died when I was very small."

The old man smiled. "Perhaps young brother would let me have a look at your hand as well?"

By now Zhang Qingyue was seven or eight parts convinced. He held out his hand at once, and the old man was smiling and about to examine it when the little girl darted in again, seized Zhang Qingyue's hand, and gave it a look in imitation of her grandfather, then chuckled and ran off again—leaving several sticky patches of rock sugar on his palm, which was most unpleasant.

Zhang Qingyue was left blinking, but he could hardly scold a child, so he resigned himself to his bad luck. The old man handed him a handkerchief and said with a smile, "My granddaughter is a mischievous one. Young brother, forgive her."

Zhang Qingyue gave a wry laugh and wiped his hand clean with the handkerchief. When he looked up, the old man and his granddaughter were standing together again, chatting and laughing, though he could not tell about what.

Seeing Zhang Qingyue look their way, the old man beamed and said, "Finished? Then let me read your palm, young brother."

Zhang Qingyue held out his hand as told, but kept his eyes fixed on the little girl, afraid she would make trouble again. This time, however, she seemed quite quiet, only standing there giggling at him without pause—and heaven knew what she found so funny.

The old man looked for a moment, then his expression abruptly changed, and he cried, "Aiya!"

Zhang Qingyue started. "What is it?"

The old man wasted no words, only pointed at the center of Zhang Qingyue's palm. "Young brother, do you see this line of destiny of yours?"

Zhang Qingyue glanced at it, naturally having no idea what mystery it held, and said blankly, "What?"

The old man's face was grave. "I see that this line of yours is not as other men's. Right at the beginning there is a great break. This signifies that in your childhood you must have passed through a great calamity, and that calamity ran deep and vast—most likely your close kin and dear friends were caught up in it as well, with scant hope of survival. From the look of it, I fear your father and mother too met their unfortunate end in that same tribulation."

A pang seized Zhang Qingyue's heart. Now he believed the old man utterly, and he said in a choked voice, "Sir, you—you are a living immortal. Not a word of it is wrong."