SES Chapter 73 Part 2

“Is she really that accurate?” Mu Dai asked skeptically.

“Of course! Otherwise, why would people from so far away keep coming?” Zha Ma said proudly.

His mother seemed to know he was praising her; she smiled with pursed lips, deep wrinkles lining her face.

Mu Dai’s heart gave a nervous thump. “Can she check for me?”

“You’re here alone—how would she check?” Zha Ma said. “I’ll ask her.”

He spoke to his mother in Maonan, then told Mu Dai, “She wants to know if you have anything that person gave you.”

“Yes!” Mu Dai quickly removed the whistle Luo Ren had given her—a silver chain with a clear, sweet tone and a small black pearl attached.

The old woman took it, examined it by the oil lamp, and said something with a smile.

“My mom says it’s beautiful,” Zha Ma translated.

Pleased that someone admired Luo Ren’s gift, Mu Dai felt a small swell of pride. Of course it is, she thought.

The old woman pulled out a blue cloth pouch from her sash, took a red cord from it, lit it in the oil lamp, burned it halfway, and tossed it into her left palm. Mu Dai gasped—what if it burned her?

It didn’t. Maybe she was used to it, or maybe her calluses were so thick she felt no pain. She rubbed her palms together until both were dusted with blackened ash.

Then she had Mu Dai hold her right hand out, palm down, while she placed her own palm beneath it, fitting them together.

With her other hand, she signaled to Zha Ma, who placed the whistle necklace into her palm.

The room fell silent.

The doors and windows were shut tight, and even the oil lamp’s flame stilled. The old woman closed her eyes, her thin lips moving silently.

Her hands were dry and bony, many fingers wrapped in grimy tape where the bamboo had cut her.

Mu Dai didn’t know how long it took, but her thoughts began to wander.

She wasn’t sure if she believed in this or not—she’d asked mostly out of curiosity and amusement. But now that it was happening, unease was creeping in.

What if it was bad news?

Regret bloomed in her chest; maybe it was better not to know.

Finally, the old woman let go. Her expression was more serious than before. She spoke to Zha Ma in their dialect. Mu Dai couldn’t understand, but she noticed his face had grown somber too.

Her chest tightened. “What is it?”

Handing the necklace back, Zha Ma said, “Let me walk you out.”

Mu Dai’s heart sank. She followed him mechanically, glancing back at the doorway.

His mother had her head bowed, weaving a bamboo hat, as if sighing.

The door closed softly behind them. The night was cool and dark. Holding her breath, she could hear the mule pacing and snorting in its pen below.

“What happened?” she asked.

After a long pause, Zha Ma began haltingly, “Once, a couple from the village came to see my mom. They were really in love, but she said no. Their families opposed it, and the two cried their eyes out before breaking up. The next year, they both met new partners and were even happier than before.”

Mu Dai stared at him. “What did your mom say?”

Flustered under her gaze, he blurted, “She said… in the end, he’s not with you. It’s not you.”

Her ears rang. “Why?”

He couldn’t explain. “She said it’s strange—she can’t see it clearly. You two are good together, but somewhere in the middle… you’re gone. And at the end, the person next to him—it’s not you.”

He didn’t dare go on. In the dim light from the house, he saw tears on Mu Dai’s face.

Even if you claim you don’t believe in such things, hearing someone say that the person you love will end up with someone else—it hurts.

She turned back toward her room, her steps light and unsteady, as if treading on cotton.

In distress, Zha Ma stamped his foot. “Hey, I’m telling you, my mom’s not always right—lots of times she’s wrong!”

Mu Dai smiled through her tears, grateful for his kindness. But he really was terrible at lying.

Yan Hongsha stirred in her sleep, rolling over. In the moonlight filtering through the window, she saw Mu Dai sitting up.

She rubbed her eyes and looked again.

Yes—sitting still, not moving.

Yawning, Yan Hongsha scooted closer, patting Mu Dai’s knee. “Why aren’t you sleeping? Grandpa says we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Mu Dai didn’t respond.

Puzzled, Yan Hongsha climbed out of bed, still wrapped in her blanket. “What’s wrong?”

Without looking at her, Mu Dai whispered, “Hongsha… I think I might die.”

In the dead of night, the words sent goosebumps up Yan Hongsha’s arms. She froze for a full three seconds before blurting, “Ptooey, ptooey! Knock on wood!”

She scrambled to the foot of the bed where a shovel leaned, and banged three times on its wooden handle—so loudly that Old Yan grumbled in his sleep.

Mu Dai acted as if she hadn’t seen. She sighed, lay down slowly, and pulled the blanket up to her face.

Yan Hongsha returned, wanting to ask more, but when she got close, she saw Mu Dai’s eyes were shut, as if she’d already fallen asleep.

Uncertain now, Yan Hongsha lay in the dark, wondering for a long time—

Had Mu Dai really said that?

Or had she dreamed it?