Volume One: Rising Storms in Chengyang Chapter One: Observation and Investigation

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In a certain district of Chengyang City, located in the southern province of our country, there is a small antique shop called Suiyi Residence.

“Master, are you here?” A woman of about twenty-five or twenty-six entered. She wore a white blouse, a black skirt, and black flats. I pay little attention to brands and knew nothing of what she wore. Her stride was wide and firm, her footsteps loud, exuding the aura of a soldier—very much the archetype of a strong, independent woman. She strode to the table and slammed her palm down.

Seeing her imposing manner, I timidly asked, “You... you... what... what business... brings you here?”

She caught sight of my nervousness and secretly laughed. I could tell she was mocking me—a classic sneer at how a so-called master could be so intimidated that he stumbled over his words.

I coughed twice, then feigned solemnity. “Please, have a seat! It is truly an honor to have you visit this humble shop. May I ask what brings you here?”

She replied, “Master, my mother is ill, quite seriously. I’ve come to request a talisman from you.” Her words were clear and forceful.

I said, “Show me your hand, let me read your palm.”

She asked, “Do I need my palm read just to request a talisman?”

I replied, “Of course. Think about it—you are your mother’s child, as they say, ‘mother and daughter share a bond, flesh and blood are connected.’ Reading your palm isn’t out of place.”

She extended her left hand. I said, “Left for men, right for women. Please cooperate.” She stretched out her right hand, placing it on the table, but it was stiff as a board.

I said, “Relax... relax... relax... yes...”

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I noticed her right hand bore calluses of varying thickness, especially at the knuckles of her index finger and the base of her thumb. The space between her index and middle fingers was relatively wide compared to the other gaps. There were also scars on her hand, extending along the bisector angle between the lines of emotion and life.

I smiled and said, “You’re not just here for a talisman, are you? You’re here to cause trouble.”

I saw a flicker of surprise in her expression and continued, “You’re a police officer, and you must have recently arrived here. You’re the type bursting with righteousness—straightforward and uncompromising, which can be quite dangerous. Though you’re brave when arresting criminals, your undercover and intelligence-gathering skills aren’t as sharp. Also, you’re never without your gun, right? If I’m not mistaken, you have one tucked into your waistband right now, along with a pair of handcuffs. Am I correct?”

She stared at me, shocked, her hand instinctively moving to her waistband. Coldly, she said, “Did you investigate me?”

I calmly replied, “Not exactly—more like observing you. Your stride as you entered, your tone, your facial expression—all gave you away. They told me you’re undercover, probably seeking evidence that I’m promoting superstition.”

She looked at me, her face filled with disbelief.

I said, “It’s not surprising. With a bit of observation and reasoning, it’s obvious. First, your stride is forceful and you sometimes march—signs of military training. You’re either police or military, but the military rarely investigates cases, so I deduced you’re a police officer. Second, your right hand is covered in calluses and scars, particularly the thick callus on your index finger. How could a woman of twenty-five or twenty-six have such thick calluses? It shows you’ve often performed strenuous labor—calluses formed during those times. From your attitude, the features of your hand, and your earlier behavior, it’s hard to imagine any other profession besides police or military for someone like you. Third, the callus at the base of your right thumb is also present, left from holding a gun. I suppose your left hand bears similar marks, from loading bullets. Fourth, I was only guessing, so I tested you by mentioning the gun. Your surprised expression and instinctive movement toward your waistband exposed you—because genuine surprise lasts less than a second on the face, and it cannot be faked; it’s hard to notice unless you watch closely. Fifth, reaching for your waistband confirms my guess—you really do carry a gun, and you’re worried I might attack you, so you’re ready to defend yourself. If you have a gun, you likely have handcuffs as well.”

I chuckled and added, “Anything else to add?”

She replied, “Done showing off? I have to admit, you know quite a lot. Honestly, you’re wasted here tricking people, wasting our resources and tea. You should become a detective, save us the trouble of coming here again and again.”

I said, “Oh, and I must clarify—this is our first meeting, so I haven’t investigated you, nor do I need to.”

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She said, “I don’t care whether you investigated me! The fact remains: you promote superstition and must come with me for questioning!”

Just as she spoke, the sound of a car engine came from outside, followed by a man’s agonized scream, and then shouts and exclamations from the crowd.

We rushed out of the shop and saw people gathered in a circle. We pushed through and saw a man in his thirties lying in a pool of blood.

I hurried to his side and vaguely heard him say, “Divine Physiognomy Society... conspiracy... evidence... Suiyi Residence... find... Li... Yi...” Slowly, his head slumped—he was gone.

As I stared at him, someone grabbed my collar and lifted me right off the ground...

Reader’s Q&A

Q: Author, why did you write this novel?

A: I’ve loved reading since childhood, all kinds of books, and I always hoped one day my name would appear on a bookshelf. As Uncle Long said, “What you can’t achieve in real life, you can realize in cartoons”—and novels are the same. Now, my wish has come true. I will keep writing this novel until it reaches its best conclusion. After it’s finished, I’ll keep writing—second, third, fourth books... Not only does this hone my writing skills, but it also cultivates my imagination, broadens my knowledge, and strengthens my perseverance—a win on many fronts. As the saying goes, “Winners never quit, quitters never win,” so I won’t give up! I love writing. That’s all.