Fu Yanqing found the scene rather comical. Here he was—a man who negotiated with clients in the boardroom and delivered presentations at board meetings—sitting face to face with a young woman, yet at a loss for words.

“You—” he began again, “do you know why my grandfather asked you to come?”

Su Xingyu glanced at him and nodded. “I do.”

“Don’t you think it’s absurd?”

She thought for a moment. “A little.”

“Then why did you still come?”

This question left Su Xingyu silent for a while. She lowered her head, staring at the old silver ring on her finger, her fingers circling it once.

“Because my grandfather sent me a Dream Visitation,” she said.

Fu Yanqing thought he must have misheard. “What?”

“My grandfather sent me a Dream Visitation,” Su Xingyu repeated, her tone very serious. “He told me to come.”

Fu Yanqing looked at her, trying to detect any hint of jest in her expression. But he found none. Her face was calm, even somewhat solemn, as if she were speaking about something perfectly serious.

“Do you believe in Dream Visitations?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Su Xingyu retorted. “Do you believe in luck?”

Fu Yanqing didn’t answer. The question was far too complex for him. He didn’t just believe in luck—he’d been tormented by it for ten years and had no choice but to acknowledge its existence.

“Your glabella is dark,” Su Xingyu suddenly said. “Have you been particularly unlucky lately?”

Fu Yanqing was taken aback.

The remark came so unexpectedly, like a bucket of cold water poured over him. He looked at the young woman before him—she was tilting her head slightly, her gaze fixed between his brows, her expression as serious as a doctor examining a patient’s CT scan.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“I can tell,” Su Xingyu replied. “Your complexion isn’t good; you’ve got heavy eye bags and your lips are rather dark. On top of that, there’s a patch of gray Qi around your glabella—” She paused. “Did your luck start going bad when you turned eighteen?”

Fu Yanqing’s fingers tightened ever so slightly.

He had never told anyone about this before. His grandfather knew because he had witnessed firsthand how these past ten years had unfolded. Lu Ci knew because he had helped him clean up countless messes caused by bad luck. Yet here was a complete stranger, someone he had never met, who could pinpoint that exact time—

“How do you know?” he repeated, his voice a bit softer than before.

Su Xingyu didn’t answer right away. She studied him for a moment longer, then shook her head. “It’s still not clear now; we need to take another look.”

She reached out and gestured for him to offer his wrist.

Fu Yanqing hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand.

Her fingers rested lightly on his pulse, cool to the touch, applying just the right amount of pressure. She closed her eyes for a while, her brow furrowing slightly, then relaxed.

“Your pulse is very erratic,” she said, opening her eyes. “It’s not a problem with your body—it’s… ” She seemed to be searching for the right word, “it’s a problem with your Qi Field. Something is interfering with the Qi around you.”

Fu Yanqing pulled his hand back. “Are you a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner or a fortune-teller?”

“Both,” Su Xingyu replied, her expression unchanging. “My grandfather said Medicine and Divination Are One. A person’s body and their fate are interconnected: a poor physical condition affects one’s fortune, and a bad fortune, in turn, affects the body.”

“So you’re here to treat me?”

“No,” Su Xingyu shook her head. “I’m here to marry you.”

She said this in such a calm tone, as if she were simply saying, “I’m here for dinner.” Fu Yanqing was caught off guard by her level-headedness.

“Don’t you think that’s strange?” he asked. “To marry someone you don’t even know?”

“Strange,” Su Xingyu admitted. “But my grandfather said you’re my destined marriage.”

“You really believe that?”

Fu Yanqing was momentarily speechless. He noticed that as she spoke, her fingers kept turning the old silver ring, circling it again and again—almost as an unconscious habit.

“That ring on your hand,” he suddenly asked, “did your grandfather give it to you?”

End of Chapter 7: Your Glabella Is Dark