Chapter 138: An Old Acquaintance in the Wind

Kyoto, Sunset Bridge after fresh snow

Candles lit both banks, the wind clear and pleasant.

Young men and women passed by, their voices mingling with faint, lilting music drifting through the night.

Crowds brushed past the seven of them, chatting and laughing, making the group stand out all the more.

Their faces bore shadows of bitterness and resentment, as if marching toward execution—utterly out of place.

“I suspect they’ve already gone…”

Fang Shenyan handed Ji Li a cigarette, covering his mouth as he coughed lightly, then lit up with a shake of his head.

Ji Li smoked into the wind, smoke trailing back through his hair. He could not go looking for the Fourth Branch.

The moment he realized they had likely received their task early, he knew—they were already too late.

All he could hope now was that the hotel would not make Fang Shenyan’s prediction come true.

“What kind of reason will it give the Fourth Branch to force them to act against us…?”

No answer existed. Only the Fourth Branch knew, and they would never tell Ji Li.

“Manager, what do we do now?” Cui Yanqing sidled up with a smile, as if the scene in the taxi earlier had never happened.

Ji Li gave him a glance, then let his gaze pass over to the silent Mei Sheng, as if hinting at something unspoken.

“Take a walk. I’ve never been abroad.”

With that, cigarette between his fingers and one hand in his pocket, Ji Li strolled along the riverbank, blending seamlessly into the crowd.

The rookies were left behind, baffled.

“Ridiculous!” Chi Rou muttered, already biased against Ji Li after Cui Yanqing’s whispers.

But they had no choice except to follow through the streets near Sunset Bridge.

Ji Li and Fang Shenyan walked side by side. Their striking looks and presence even drew Japanese women over to strike up conversation.

Yet Ji Li did not remain cold as usual; he played the tourist instead—language barrier aside, his manners even seemed gentlemanly.

After seeing off a fresh-faced young woman, Ji Li’s smile faded, only to find Fang Shenyan watching him with a half-smile.

Ji Li, still in good spirits, chuckled softly. “What is it?”

Fang Shenyan crossed his arms, stubbed his cigarette on the ground, and ground it out with his foot.

“Never thought you’d be so popular with women.”

Ji Li’s grin widened. He took a final drag, exhaled slowly.

“Is that so? Then let’s see if it draws anything out.”

Ahead, he spotted an elderly woman in a kimono kneeling on a wool blanket, ink and paper spread before her.

Her hair was all silver, pinned with a single hair stick. Her face was kind, almost serene.

“What do you think she does?” Ji Li asked, unusually cheerful tonight, enough to surprise Fang Shenyan.

“I’d say she sells calligraphy.”

“Fortune-teller,” Fang Shenyan replied flatly.

Ji Li blinked, amused, while Fang Shenyan’s expression remained calm as he walked over.

“I’ve always had my fortune told. Even coming to the hotel was because of it.”

“So you believe in fate.”

“You don’t?”

Ji Li said nothing, but followed him to the elderly woman’s mat.

Fang Shenyan studied her carefully. He wasn’t lying—he did believe in fate. If not, he wouldn’t have followed the so-called charlatan’s words straight into the hotel.

At that moment, Kondo Sei hurried over to translate.

After a brief exchange, they learned she was indeed a fortune-teller—specifically, a palm reader.

Fang Shenyan extended his left hand, face unreadable.

The woman’s withered hands lifted his, then she poured an entire bottle of ink over it, pressing it down onto fresh paper.

Moments later, a black handprint lay starkly on the sheet.

While Fang Shenyan rinsed off in a copper basin, Kondo Sei muttered, half-hopeful, “Is this… really reliable?”

Chi Rou and the others gathered around. Once they would’ve scoffed, but now, with ghosts proven real—what wasn’t possible?

At first, the elderly woman studied the print with ease. Then suddenly, her face knotted tight, wrinkles bunching until her skin looked like a shriveled cabbage—her expression stricken, as if she’d glimpsed something dreadful.

The elderly woman’s kindness was gone. Narrowing her eyes, she slowly lifted her head, staring deeply at Fang Shenyan before speaking a short phrase in Japanese.

All the while, she had not so much as glanced at anyone else—not even Ji Li, standing right beside him. It was as if she deliberately chose not to see him.

Ji Li and Fang Shenyan watched in silence, but the others were shaken by the woman’s exaggerated reaction.

Most of all, Kondo Sei. She was the only one who understood her words.

At first she froze. Then, clenching her fists, she asked again. But the elderly woman only shook her head, refusing to speak further.

“What did she see?”

Fang Shenyan looked at Kondo Sei with an easy smile, speaking unhurriedly.

Her face flushed red, posture uneasy. Under everyone’s gaze, she hesitated a long while before finally repeating the fortune.

“She said… the owner of this hand will die by one of his own within three days!”

The words chilled Cui Yanqing to the core. It was as if his hidden thoughts had been exposed—yet he told himself it was impossible.

The other rookies grew even more frightened, edging away from Fang Shenyan.

This was Fang Shenyan! The only one in the Seventh Branch who possessed a Sin Artifact. Die by one of his own? Impossible. Who could kill him?

And so, almost instantly, every gaze shifted toward Ji Li.

Fang Shenyan only looked amused. He even laughed, turning to Ji Li’s furrowed brow. “Will you kill me?”

Ji Li ignored him, his eyes fixed on the elderly woman.

Whether to believe in such a fortune was irrelevant. Unlike Fang Shenyan, Ji Li did not believe in fate.

What he questioned was the woman herself.

A fortune-teller, appearing so suddenly. Claiming death within three days—the very duration of the task. Speaking words that could only sow distrust. She…

“You all go. I’ll talk to her.”

The more Ji Li thought, the less ordinary this woman seemed. That simple prophecy was not so simple.

When the others had left, Ji Li faced her alone.

She knelt before him on her blanket. Ji Li stood against the wind, a solitary figure. To anyone watching, it looked as if this Japanese woman were confessing before the long-haired man.

Then she spoke—in fluent Chinese, naturally, without effort. Her tone was steady, as if she had been waiting for him in the snow for a very long time.

“Ji Li… fifty years later, we meet again.

And you haven’t changed at all.”