The Hellborn Heiress​ - Chapter 11

A passerby said enviously, “If you don’t agree, I’ll bring my grandson here to become a disciple!”

Others would do anything just to catch a glimpse of these two Calligraphy Masters.

Yet this yellow-haired girl showed no reaction at all to Master Meng Rusong’s personal invitation. It was truly baffling.

It made people both envious and jealous!

Seeing Jiang Ci remain unmoved, Elder Song squinted suspiciously, “You didn’t write the characters on the cardboard?”

“I wrote them, but today I’m only doing Fortune-telling,” Jiang Ci replied calmly. “Who wants a reading?”

“Young lady, perhaps you don’t know much about the Calligraphy Association. How about this, I’ll give you my business card. You can come find me anytime.” Elder Meng offered his card.

Jiang Ci didn’t take it, merely glancing at him through her sunglasses.

After so many years, the snot-nosed little boy from back then had grown so old.

Time truly spares no one~

“Old Meng, looks like she’s not interested in your Calligraphy Association. Forget it, we still have to go to the Cultural Center. Let’s go.”

Old Song patted Old Meng.

Old Meng’s gaze lingered longingly on the characters written on the cardboard, and he asked her:

“Let me ask you one last question: who taught you this beautiful calligraphy?”

That person’s works were all unrivaled masterpieces, still housed in the largest museums and art galleries in China.

Her brushwork and ink rhythm-there were few in the world who could even attempt to imitate it.

Even if someone could, it wouldn’t be one percent as good as hers.

The girl’s writing carried a trace of that person’s spirit.

Old Meng couldn’t help but think of that person’s countless disciples.

Perhaps this girl had inherited the legacy of one of those disciples, which allowed her to so skillfully capture a fraction of that exquisite style.

He hadn’t seen anything related to that person in years.

He was desperate to know any news about her, even if only a fragment.

Jiang Ci ignored him, turning to Old Song, “Meeting today is fate. How about I give you a reading?”

Old Meng shot a gloomy look at his old friend,

As if blaming him for stealing the opportunity.

Old Song retorted irritably, “I’ve never believed in all this mystical nonsense.”

“Girl, do mine! My fate is tough, read whatever you like!” Old Meng squeezed Old Song aside and enthusiastically leaned in front of Jiang Ci.

Jiang Ci rubbed her forehead, “You suffered much as a child, met a benefactor in your youth, gained fame and fortune as a young man, and will be happy in old age. What’s there to read?”

“Oh wow, you’re spot on! Can you tell if I’ll meet that benefactor again in my old age?” Old Meng asked expectantly.

Old Song scoffed, “Your life story is all online. You’re just letting this girl scam your pension!”

Jiang Ci: “Far away yet right before your eyes. If fate wills it, you will meet.”

“Far away yet right before your eyes? Could it be that she’s finally come out of seclusion, and is in the Jiangbei area?”

Old Meng was thrilled.

This man in his seventies actually had tears glimmering in his eyes.

“Old Song, I thought I’d never see her again. Who would’ve thought that before I, Meng Rusong, kick the bucket, I’d have a chance to meet her!”

Jiang Ci also looked at Old Song, saying coolly, “Your father faces a calamity. If not handled well, your household will be in turmoil, and the old will bury the young.”

Old Song was instantly enraged by these words, his face turning dark as he snapped:

“Did you even do your homework before coming out to scam people? My father has been dead for decades!”

“Old Meng, don’t bother with her. She’s just a fraud!”

Old Song forcibly dragged Meng Rusong away.

Just as the two arrived at the entrance of the Cultural Center, Old Song received a call from his son.

“Dad, something’s wrong! Grandpa’s grave was just struck by lightning and exploded!”

Old Song’s mind went blank, only catching two key phrases:

Grandpa’s grave, exploded.

Combined with what the ‘fraud’ had just said, his anger flared instantly.
Convinced that she was the one who hired someone to blow up his own father’s grave, and now scheming against him again!

Elder Song stormed back in a rage to confront Jiang Ci.

Jiang Ci hadn’t left; she was still sitting in the same spot, but the cardboard had already been tossed into the trash bin.

“Oh dear! What a waste-how could such fine calligraphy be thrown away like this!”

Meng Rusong hurried to retrieve the cardboard, patted off the dust, blew on it, and finally cradled it in his arms as if it were a treasure.

Elder Song pointed angrily at Jiang Ci. “You arranged for someone to blow up my father’s grave, didn’t you? What are you playing at with all this? What exactly do you want?”

Jiang Ci replied in a calm, indifferent tone, “Oh, the calamity has come to pass?”

She had calculated that she would gain something by coming here today. The moment she saw these two old men, she knew the problem lay with the Song family.

With one glance, she saw Elder Song’s face: doomed to lose his father in old age, the ancestral grave’s feng shui had issues-most likely, his father’s grave was about to have trouble.

Sure enough, it had come true so quickly.

“What nonsense about calamity-this is just your scheming and plotting!”

Meng Rusong tugged at him. “Old Song, calm down. She’s just a young girl, don’t use foul language.”

“She blew up my father’s grave-how am I supposed to calm down!”

Elder Song was beside himself with anger. “Of course it wasn’t your family’s ancestral grave that got blown up, so it’s easy for you to talk!”

Meng Rusong muttered quietly, “I’ve been an orphan since childhood-even if mine got blown up, I wouldn’t know…”

“Come on, go to the police station and turn yourself in with me!” Elder Song stepped forward to grab her.

Jiang Ci remained composed. “How was the grave blown up?”

Elder Song recalled what his son had said on the phone-it seemed it was struck by lightning?

“Lightning, I guess…”

Jiang Ci was even more unruffled. “So you think I can command Heaven to strike your father’s grave with Heavenly Thunder?”

Well, she really could summon Heavenly Thunder.

But as for his father’s case, it truly wasn’t her doing-just a coincidence.

Elder Song’s expression was ugly; he couldn’t shake the feeling that this female charlatan was too uncanny.

How could she have known in advance that his father was about to suffer a calamity, and then his father’s grave just happened to be struck?

To say it had nothing to do with her-he really couldn’t believe it, but he couldn’t find any evidence either.

Meng Rusong, clutching the cardboard, asked Jiang Ci, “So what about what you said-unrest in the household and the old burying the young? Will that really come true?”

Jiang Ci replied, “If the ancestral grave’s feng shui is bad, the descendants will suffer misfortune too. And now that your own father’s grave was struck by lightning, the descendants’ luck is ruined, the family will decline, and if it’s serious, this generation could be cut off entirely.”

Elder Song’s face grew even more grim.

He had never believed in such superstitious nonsense.

But his father’s grave being struck by lightning was definitely not a good sign.

“Old Meng, I’m heading back. I need to choose a new site and relocate my father’s grave in the next couple of days-I won’t have time to come to the Cultural Center.”

Elder Song didn’t trust Jiang Ci at all and turned to leave.

Meng Rusong said, “Young lady, don’t be upset. My old friend’s temper is just like that. Give me a way to contact you-if he can’t handle things over there, I’ll call you, all right?”

Jiang Ci shook her head.

“No?” Meng Rusong looked disappointed.

Sigh!

Such a promising talent.

He really couldn’t bear to let her go.

Jiang Ci said matter-of-factly, “I don’t have a phone.”

Meng Rusong was caught between laughter and tears. “There are still young people these days without a phone?”

He paused and looked her up and down.

She wore a plain white dress, her figure thin, almost malnourished.

She wore oversized sunglasses that covered half her face, but beneath them, the stitched scar on her cheek was hard to miss.

That scar looked fierce-like a living, writhing centipede, twisted and entrenched on her pallid face.

With that downtrodden air, she really did resemble his own penniless youth.