The whole market had come to a standstill as Lu Wei struggled across the ground like a drunken beetle, and people stepped back to avoid his 'blood' flooding across their shoes as he continued to vomit up the red dye water he'd swallowed. It was a truly sick scene, and several people were shrieking or running, especially those showered by the initial six-foot plume of blood.

Booker could only hold back laughter. On the balcony, Wild Swan gripped the railing and stared down. Lu Wei was coming to the end of his performance. With his stomach totally empty, he continued to retch several times before simply slumping down into a pool of his own 'blood'. It was totally disgusting, and Booker probably owed him a drink for going through with it.

As Lu Wei collapsed, Booker's final helper rushed onto the scene. It was the doctor from the clinic, and he only had a two lines. "He's been poisoned! You and you, help me carry him to the hospital."

That nailed it.

On the balcony, Wild Swan's face had turned completely white. There was a splintering sound, and a piece of the railing broke away underneath his fingers.

From here the plan splits two ways; either he doesn't bite down hard, and we have to wait till tomorrow for me to reappear as the 'fortune teller' orrrr.... He goes looking for me now that he's seen my predictions 'come true'.

After a moment, Wild Swan looked down and saw the chunk of railing that had been crushed in his hand, and dropped it with a numb expression. He stepped back from the edge, said something to his friends, and then took a running leap off the balcony. The crowd gasped as his blue robes swirled and his feet slammed into the ground.

Barely sparing a look at Lu Wei, he began to run at his full and nearly inhuman speed through the markets.

And that's a bite! Booker grinned. As Lu Wei hurtled through the crowded streets, the mob parted, people shouting out his name as he shot past. Booker was doing his best to keep pace by following him through alleyways that cut between the bends of the serpentine market street, but he was still falling behind as Wild Swan rushed past like a blue streak.

When he reached the part of the market where he had first been given the fortune, Wild Swan skidded to a halt. His eyes swept the scene. Booker, gasping and panting as he arrived well behind Wild Swan, kept himself hidden until he had time to regain his breath, pulling on the rags and masks. If I knew he was going to run here I would have given myself a head start.

The essence of a fortune-telling scam was simple. They were usually run alongside lottery or raffle scams, anything that included an element of luck. The fortune-teller would convince the mark that they could really foresee the results of the lottery, giving them the winning numbers, and encourage them to bet more and more. Of course, when they finally bet all their money on the outcome– the luck they’d been promised would dry up, and the fortune-teller would be nowhere to be found.

Of course, Wild Swan wasn’t known to gamble on lotteries. But he did love curiosities, ancient trinkets, and similar mystic baubles.

And if he’s anything like Rain, somewhere in the back of his mind, there exists the possibility that one of those ancient trophies will reveal mystic powers. It’s not unknown in this world, it really happens – so why couldn’t it happen to him?

Booker stepped out into the light in full disguise, using an old piece of driftwood as a cane to imitate a limp. As soon as Wild Swan caught sight of him, an unknowable emotion ran across the boy’s face. Up close, it was easier to remember that Wild Swan was only fourteen at most.

Honestly I’d feel bad picking on him… But rich is rich, and he can afford to lose both his money and some of his pride.

“The young master returns!” Booker croaked out, voice shifted by medicine. He lifted both his hands to the sky dramatically, gesturing with the cane. “Did my fortunes come true?”

“Yes!” The look on Wild Swan’s face was… religious fear? Booker didn’t know how else to phrase it. It was the look of someone terrified of the very universe around them. “That’s why I have to know!”

He sank to one knee and placed his fist on the ground, fully bowing. Booker was taken aback by the sincerity of the gesture.

“Is it possible to defy the commands of fate?”

Oh fuck. Oh this is why he’s been responding so strangely all day. He’s already run into a fortune teller who’s given him some kind of evil prediction. And worse, I know I’m a con artist, but I have to consider they might not have been. I’ve already accepted magic as real – it would be foolish to write off the possibility that fate is too.

“Fate… is made by man.” At least I fucking hope it is. “The future… is born from the present you make. If you wish to defy fate… You must first learn to believe in a different outcome. In short, you must believe in your own potential. But you’ll also need heaven defying luck. Listen to me; when eyes of jade look your way and the ancient gods scowl, believe in your own luck!”

And he flung a lit grenade to his feet. This one, he’d taken out half the black powder inside and added dust to the compartment for alchemical poisons. The result was an explosion without any teeth that kicked sand up into the air, creating a swirling veil. He’d even mixed in some copper filings to make the flame blaze green.

So in a flash of green flame and a burst of sand, he vanished.

For a single instant Wild Swan was stunned, and then he barreled forward, shouting– “Wait!”

He went clear through the alley out onto the street on the other side, and frantically turned left and right, carriages tilting to swerve away from the madman who’d rushed out in front of them. But no matter how he looked, he couldn’t see any sign of the mysterious fortune-teller in the white wooden mask.

That was because Booker had dived headfirst into a cart that was driving past, buried himself under a tarp, and gone completely still. Surrounding by bales of firewood, he was completely disguised as he stripped off the beggar’s rags and tucked the mask into his robes.

All told this expedition had been expensive.

The rags and the mask had cost him three liang.

The medicines to dye Chang Bao’s hair had been surprising expensive, at five liang.

The medicines to infuriate the alleycat, Booker had gathered for free from the Sect gardens.

The medicines to make Lu Wei puke explosively, had cost thirteen liang.

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The cart and driver had cost them five liang to rent for the day, and the firewood another five.

All those expenses had left them with twenty-four liang to buy the centerpiece of the whole plan, which was in Ji Quing’s hands now.

As the cart turned a corner out of sight, Booker dismounted in his novice robes and made his way quickly to a square in front of the Sect gates. This was where Wild Swan always ended his strolls through the market, with cherry-filled sweet buns from a food stall that he was known to be fiercely protective of. For no reason anybody knew, Wild Swan adored their food and was uniquely kind to the little old lady who served the food there. He was also known to savagely beat anybody who interrupted him while he was eating his sweet bun.

But today would be an exception.

Meeting up with Lu Wei, who was clutching a bucket, and Chang Bao, who was still green, Booker nodded, “The plan is on.”

They all piled into the backyard of a teahouse and watched from behind a short wall. Ji Quing was sitting right next to the old lady, appearing like another merchant. He was in the perfect place to find Wild Swan off-guard.

And he was risking, by far, the most.

When they had drawn straws, Booker had obviously rigged the drawing so he would be the fortune teller. But he hadn’t counted on Ji Quing drawing the short one. The brother he saw as the junior – the most nervous, the most likely to break under pressure – was sitting in for the role the entire plan hinged upon.

If he failed even slightly, they would have to abandon the plan entirely and rush out of hiding to save him. At that point, all bets were off.

But as Wild Swan appeared, Booker felt his odds rising. The young cultivator was clearly unhinged, walking with a sort of hurried nervousness and chewing at a hangnail like a dog with a bone.

As he stepped up towards the cherry-bun stall, Ji Quing burst out with– “Young master?”

Instantly Wild Swan spun around and lifted his hand to strike – but before he could, Ji Quing bent down and lifted up a small bronze idol, using it to shield himself while he cowered.

The bronze idol depicted some ancient tribal god scowling, and the eyes were made from flecks of deep green jade.

Wild Swan was stunned for a moment and Ji Quing took the opportunity to stammer out, “Please buy this idol from me young master! I don’t know what, but my grandfather always told me it had a secret to tell! And– And I need money for my little boy, who’s sick, oh, my little boy is so sick!”

Booker winced. That last part was all Ji Quing.

For a moment Wild Swan hesitated, then he said, “Fine! Take ten liang and be gone.”

He scattered coin at Ji Quing’s feet, but just as Ji Quing reached out to give him the idol, Xan jogged up and shouted, “Hey! Don’t let him treat you like that!”

Booker grinned. Xan might have struck most people as a big oaf, but he was pretty good at improvising lines.

“I’ll give you twenty liang.” Xan offered.

This was the meat of the plan. They’d get nothing if they couldn’t drive up the price – but Xan had agreed to the part and not even asked why.

“Thirty.” Wild Swan spat out instantly, “And you!” He pointed an accusing finger at Xan, “Fuck off, the man offered it to me!”

Booker was trying not to laugh again. Wild Swan had taken the bait; he had refocused onto Xan and stopped trying to judge the idol’s real value. Now what he was really weighing was how much he valued winning.

“But for forty it’s mine!” Xan snapped back, grinning evilly.

How high would they go?

Wild Swan didn’t bother going to fifty. “One hundred!”

“Two.” Xan replied with a smirk.

“You don’t have two hundred!” Wild Swan protested.

Damn, he’s got us on that. But again, Xan’s improvisations came in clutch.

“Show me what you’ve got then.” Xan returned, crossing his arms indifferently. “Pour it out. And I’ll match it.”

For a moment Wild Swan stood stricken, and maybe some part of him sensed something was off. But at the same time… Booker could almost see the gears in his head turning. The fortune-teller had said to believe in his own luck! This idol was a mysterious scowling god with eyes of jade, clearly the answer to the prophecy! Could he really afford to ignore this chance? Just to save a little money? What did money mean to him anyway!?

With a snarl, Wild Swan ripped two pouches off his belt. “Each of these bags…” He dumped them out, one by one. Golden coins shaped like round-edged tablets fell out, sparkling like shards of sunlight on the ground. “Contains five hundred-liang coins cast from skygold!”

“Hmm.” Xan pretended to scratch his cheek. “I admit I’m beat, but still– I thought you were richer than that.”

“I’ll take it!” Ji Quing shouted, grabbing the coins. “Here, take the idol! May it bring you luck!” Pushing the ugly statue into Wild Swan’s hands, he grabbed up the precious coins and bowed his head repeatedly before ducking away and running – as much to get away from Wild Swan as to outpace any thugs who’d seen those ten golden coins and gotten ideas.

Behind the wall, Booker and the rest were screaming in dead silence, staring at each other with mouths open and pumping their fists to the air in triumph. One thousand liang! They were fucking rich!

They crawled away from the wall, and met up with Ji Quing. As he showed them all the ten gold coins in his hand they screamed again, aloud this time, tilting their heads back and howling up to the moon like dogs. It was an absolute triumph!

— — —

As they sat together in an empty teahouse, the entire place rented to them for the rest of the night, the three brothers lifted their bowls of wine to toast.

“We swear loyalty!”

“We swear it!”

“Eternal loyalty for Brother Rain!”

Their eyes sparkled drunkenly and wine sloshed across the table. “Brothers, brothers… We can’t be using our real names anymore!” Booker shouted out, lifting his own bowl. Like the rest of them, he was totally drunk off his ass. “We’re daoists! Cultivators of the scamming dao! We need…” He slammed his fist onto the table. “Cultivator names!”

“Me first.” The bald Lu Wei slapped the table. Booker took one look at his round, egg-shaped skull and shouted,

“Daoist Egg!” But just as Lu Wei’s mouth started to curl with distaste, he added, “Because you know he gets laid!”

The entire table howled with laughter, and Lu Wei pressed his flat-handed palms together into a triangle, bowing, “Daoist Egg it is!”

“Me, me.” The skinny Ji Quing pounded the table.

“You? You shone today!” Booker lifted his bowl and they all drank. With wine running down his chin, he shouted, “Daoist Inchworm, because you know he’s gonna be great when he comes out of his shell!”

“Do me, do me..!” Chang Bao demanded.

Booker looked at him and…

Honestly, there isn’t a single thing about him that stands out! He’s really the perfect middle-man to big Lu Wei and little Ji Quing, but aside from that – he’s just the most normal person!

“Uhhh, Daoist…” Booker froze, and then, letting himself panic and stumble for once, shouted out, “Daoist Roaring Lion!”

“Daoist Roaring Lion?!” Lu Wei protested. “Hold on, you gave me Daoist Egg! Why does he get a good name?”

“This is outrageous!” Ji Quing added in, splashing wine over himself. “Outrageous.”

“Ha! Both of you simply have mundane souls.” Daoist Roaring Lion proudly proclaimed, “I’m cut from higher cloth. You can’t match my unshakeable foundations, and clearly Brother Rain–”

“Use my daoist name, Booker.” Booker cut in.

“Booker?” They all looked confused. “What kind of daoist name is is that?”

“Maybe, uh, Brother Booker isn’t so good at naming things after all.” Daoist Egg snickered. “He might have had a bit too much to drink. Yes, his great and powerful brain is overworked.”

“Fuck you, I’m dead-” Booker struggled not to slur the word, “-sober.”

He leaned back and let the conversation fade from his ears. Instead, he indulged in holding up one of the golden coins, letting it strike the light and gleam like a tiny star. It was the most wealth he’d ever touched in either life he’d lived.

Well, cross one dream off… Never mind Roaring Lion, I got the lion’s share. Six hundred liang.

I’m rich.