There was a man surnamed Diao, utterly destitute with no land to his name, who subsisted by swindling people with fortune-telling, though he himself possessed no actual knowledge of physiognomy.

Each time he ventured out, he would be gone for months on end, always returning laden with treasures, his bundles stuffed to the brim with gold, silver, and fine silks.

On this particular day, Diao was dressed to the nines, clad in rich brocade, his head adorned with a flowered cap, practicing his trade in the bustling street. His tongue was a silver stream, spouting eloquent nonsense with effortless fluency.

A crowd of women soon gathered around him, and one, keen to test his supposed skill, posed a challenge: "Amongst us sits a true noblewoman, yet her attire is no different from ours. Can you discern who she is?" Diao chuckled, "What difficulty is there in that?

For any noble soul, a celestial cloud invariably hovers above their crown—one glance reveals it immediately."

At these words, the gazes of the entire assembly snapped towards a single woman, intent on spotting the mythical vapor above her head. Diao strolled to the woman’s side and declared with a smile, "She is the one of noble birth."

The crowd gasped in astonishment. Seeing him strike the mark with such ease, they were convinced he was a celestial being, and their admiration for him became boundless.

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