Dongzi, leaning close to Zhou Huan’s lips, listened intently. Upon hearing the news, he was overjoyed. He hurried inside, grabbed Big Radish, picked up Yang San, and left.

Big Radish approached Zhou Huan, muttering, “Brother Huan, I didn’t realize you were such a straightforward man. Don’t worry, I will certainly handle the tasks you’ve entrusted to me.”

Now only Yang Xiaoling and Zhou Huan remained in the room. Zhou Huan grinned, “Dongzi and Big Radish are truly a match made in heaven. I just told them to sleep together, and without any prompting, they both declared they wanted to have a big, fat son.”

Yang Xiaoling placed her grandfather’s clothes in the wardrobe, then set two plates of dumplings on the table, positioning the table near the head of the kang (heated brick bed).

It was a waxing crescent moon again. For someone in the profession of a ‘Shou Shi’ (death messenger/medium), sleeping at night was rarely easy. A sliver of the moon climbed high into the sky, and Zhou Huan began drawing talismans. Soon, he summoned a host of lonely spirits, gave them their instructions, and they dispersed. Yang Xiaoling, just like Zhou Huan, had everything prepared.

“Brother Huan, do you really think he’ll come tonight?” Yang Xiaoling asked, a hint of doubt in her voice.

Zhou Huan smiled. “If he doesn’t come, I’ll invite him. Rest assured, this fellow won’t just let things drop.” He then checked his watch; it wasn't yet deep into the night, so the target likely wouldn't make his move yet. He decided to go check out the Fateful Connection Tablets at the village entrance.

The night breeze gently brushed past the Fateful Connection Tablets, causing them to tap against one another—paier paier—a series of crisp sounds echoing in Zhou Huan’s ears and heart.

“It really is the Tree of Fate. I can indeed hear a joyful resonance. It seems the one who makes these tablets is quite skilled, from the selection of wood to the carving—all first-rate craftsmanship. It’s a shame; the sound of the Fateful Connection Tablet is joyous, but its intent is wicked. Not good!” As he spoke, Zhou Huan poured a whole bottle of gasoline onto the branches and the tablets. He then grabbed a large handful of talismans, lit them, and tossed them onto the branches of the massive tree. This old tree, perhaps several centuries old, began burning at that moment, carrying the marital destinies of so many up in smoke.

Sensing the time was right, Zhou Huan slipped to the side. Just then, a flashbulb illuminated the scene of the fire. Afterward, the tablet bearing the names of Zhou Huan, Yang Xiaoling, and Wang Xiaohe detached itself and flew down, landing squarely on Zhou Huan’s shoulder. He reached down, picked it up, and remarked, “It’s good he came himself. This will serve as evidence later, saving me the trouble of someone trying to deny their debt!”

A moment later, Yang Xiaoling rushed over, shouting loudly, “Brother Huan, why did you set the big tree on fire? Quick, somebody help! Someone set the Tree of Destiny on fire!”

Seeing that enough people had gathered, Zhou Huan gave Yang Xiaoling a meaningful look and slipped away first. Yang Xiaoling then followed Zhou Huan out.

The tree’s branches were fully engulfed in flames. Soon, a crowd gathered, comprising nearly everyone in the village, except for the village chief. When Zhou Huan and Yang Xiaoling snuck back to the house, they leaned against the mud-brick walls on either side of the door, peeking inside. They saw a figure in the room. Shortly after, the figure bolted out of the house, clutching a ragged plastic bag. Just as he reached the doorway, Zhou Huan stuck out his foot and tripped the person.

“Oof!” The man face-planted into the dirt.

Zhou Huan immediately moved forward, grabbing the person, and demanding loudly, “Who are you? What are you doing at our house late at night?”

“This isn’t your house; this is Old Yang’s place. I just came to check things out, never expecting nobody would be home.” Although Zhou Huan had only dealt with the village chief once, he recognized the voice instantly—it was the chief. Indeed, the man was cooperating perfectly with Zhou Huan’s plan. However, Zhou Huan hadn't expected the chief to arrive so swiftly, nor that he would enter so brazenly instead of sneaking around the back wall. Zhou Huan had intended to start the fire to gather everyone and expose the chief’s practice of forging tablets; now, there was no need for that—he could just take him straight to the scene.

Zhou Huan then roared, “You claim to be the village chief? I claim to be the Provincial Party Secretary! Let’s go let everyone judge the situation!” If Zhou Huan’s grip seized someone’s arm, escaping would require severing that limb, as it was practically impossible otherwise.

Yang Xiaoling feigned ignorance, hiding by the mud wall, watching as Zhou Huan dragged the chief away.

Zhou Huan dragged the chief along, cursing the entire way, until they reached the fire site. By the time they arrived, most of the onlookers had nearly managed to extinguish the fire in the tree. In the moonlight, Zhou Huan called out loudly, “Thank you all for your hard work, but I have a question for everyone: who here recognizes the village chief?”

“The village chief?” The crowd erupted in laughter. “Who in the village doesn’t know the chief? You must be from outside; you’re joking.”

Then, Zhou Huan yanked the chief’s arm forward. “This fellow claimed he came to our house, but nobody was home, and he dared say he was the chief. Look at him, everyone—is this him?” Zhou Huan shoved the chief’s face out for all to see.

However, the crowd’s immediate response was a crushing disappointment that nearly made Zhou Huan collapse. “Go on, that’s not the chief! The chief is much better looking than this!” Zhou Huan was genuinely surprised. He looked closely at the man in his grip; the face was covered in mud, and he must have scraped it somewhere during the fall, drawing blood that smeared his features, making him unrecognizable.

Zhou Huan tightened his grip and wrenched the chief’s wrist. The village chief let out a loud cry. The villagers turned back. “That really is the chief’s voice.” Some approached for a closer look and confirmed it was indeed the village chief.

Most villagers remarked, “The fire has been burning this long, and the great village chief hasn’t shown up, yet he was wandering around someone else’s property?”

Sensing his moment, Zhou Huan secretly tossed the recovered tablet into the crowd. Then, Zhou Huan suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! What fell down here?”

“Heavens above! Isn’t this a Fateful Connection Tablet? How did it hit my head?” A man emerged from the throng, holding the tablet. “Strange, this tablet seems completely undamaged? Wait—why are there markings in red pen on it?”

“What?” Zhou Huan feigned surprise, pulling the chief forward to look at the tablet. “Look, isn’t this my tablet? Where did these red pen marks come from?”

“Yes, Chief, where did these red marks come from? This is tampering with destiny! No wonder the tree caught fire; the spirit of the Tree of Destiny must be angry. What are we to do now?” The villagers began to chatter amongst themselves.

Zhou Huan pulled the chief along. “What do you say we should do? You were the one who said donating money to the book would cure all ills. Now the tree is burned; how will everyone petition him in the future?”

“This… you, Zhou Huan, you…” The chief finally managed to speak. Then Zhou Huan held up the tablet. “Look at this tablet. I wrote on it yesterday when I visited you, but these red marks were clearly made with the same type of writing instrument. Chief, tell me, what were your intentions?”

“Why do you claim it was written with the same pen? There are plenty of brushes available, or perhaps it was done with a block printing pen, or some other implement?” The chief was clearly flustered, but he refused to admit anything.

Holding the tablet, Zhou Huan used his phone’s flashlight to illuminate the inscription under the moonlight. “Look closely, everyone. I personally wrote these black characters this morning. Anyone familiar with using a traditional brush knows that when the bristles start to fray, the writing isn’t as smooth. Now look at the red marks—they are clearly consistent with the writing above.” Zhou Huan then looked pointedly at the chief. “Take another good look. Isn’t that the same type of brush you have at home?”

“I… I just suspected why you came to the village. I was afraid an outsider like you would affect the village’s feng shui, so I marked you in red. After the inspection, I would have wiped the red mark off, and then the Tree of Destiny would reveal its blessing.” The chief finally regained his composure and argued against Zhou Huan.

Zhou Huan roared, “Then I ask you this: how much money does it take for the great tree to cure Yang San’s illness?”

“This…” The chief stammered into silence, then nervously added, “That depends on the mood of the Tree Spirit. Look how angry he got today, causing the fire. He probably won’t be satisfied with anything less than eight hundred thousand to a million.” After saying this, the chief smirked sinisterly, as if he had just achieved a major victory.

Zhou Huan burst into loud laughter. “A million, is that it? And what if Yang San still doesn’t get better?” As he spoke, Zhou Huan pulled a stack of checks, all for one hundred thousand each, from his waist.