He was clearly a miser willing to die for money, still spouting nonsense. As the argument escalated, the woman and her brother blocked Old Wang, tearing at him and drawing a crowd. She shrieked, "Fraud! Catch the fraud!"
Feeling sorry for the old man—he was fated to have no son, but paradoxically had a debt-collecting son who tormented him—I stepped in, grabbing the woman's wrist. "Sister, calm down. Fortune-telling is voluntary. He's an old man—don't be so relentless."
"Who are you? His grandson or son?" she snapped.
Old Wang's eyes lit up. He threw an arm around my shoulder, reeking of sweat. "Godson, handle this. I have business." He (wriggled free) and fled before I could protest.
Son of a...! I tried to explain, but the crowd drowned me out. The woman clung to my shirt. "Refund the 580 yuan! Or we're going to the police!" Her brother jabbed my nose, as onlookers called me a fraud.
With no one on my side, I said, "Sister, let's talk. I'll prove I'm not his accomplice. See my stall over there? Let me read your fortune."
She snorted, "First an old fraud, now a young one! To the police!"
"I'm not a fraud! You're 40, childless. Your husband's in prison for a love triangle!"
The crowd fell silent, eyeing her. She released me, yelling, "You learned this from that old bastard!"
"At 27, you had an abortion during an affair!"
Laughter erupted. She gaped, "How did you know?!"
Relieved, I'd defused the crisis. The crowd murmured, "Lucky guess?"
The woman and her brother wilted. She asked cautiously, "Tell me more."
Studying her face: "Sharp features, pointed nose—you're capable but domineering. Struggled before 25. Your husband had official luck, but your abortion at 27-29 cursed you with infertility... and the child wasn't his."
I paused for effect. Her face paled as her brother gestured desperately. Taking revenge for my torn shirt, I announced, "Give me your birth chart, and I'll reveal the lover's surname!"
The crowd surged. She bowed her head: "The old man gave me a talisman to ward off mistresses, but it didn't work. He's a fraud."
I shrugged, "Your birth chart, then." She hesitated, fearing more secrets exposed.
After a minute, she wrote it down. The crowd clamored for the surname. Her chart revealed multiple affairs.
"Can you help?" she begged.
I weighed it—Shenyang's 10,000-yuan/m² housing prices demanded income. "There's a way... but it's costly."