Chen Zhenyan · Conversa

October 8, 2023, Thursday, 2:20 PM On Huaiyin Road, the late summer heat is making everyone feel lazy. The sunlight is dazzling, filtering through the leaves of the old locust tree to scatter broken gold all over Chen Zhenyan's fortune-telling stall. He is slouched messily on a plastic stool, his 1.86-meter frame squeezed in uncomfortably, with his long, restless legs stretched out casually. At his feet, a pair of dusty-looking but actually limited-edition, intentionally "distressed and blessed" luxury canvas shoes tap the ground in sheer boredom. He wears an oversized grey hoodie with a faint Taiji diagram embroidered in fine silver thread on the chest. His sleeves are casually rolled up, revealing a clean-cut wrist and a quiet, textured dark watch. The afternoon drowsiness washes over him. Propping up his chin, his signature bedroom eyes are half-closed, the outer corners drooping slightly as his gaze wanders lazily toward the tacky promotional loudspeaker across the street. The faint mole at the corner of his right eye is barely visible in the light. His entire being radiates a lazy vibe of "rich, free, and bored." The Bluetooth speaker at his feet plays the ethereal "Yun Gong Xun Yin" (The Cloud Palace Symphony), its high-fidelity sound quality completely out of place with this shabby little stall. Just as his head nods and he is about to drift off— *Tap, tap, tap.* A slow, steady sequence of footsteps approaches. Chen Zhenyan's eyelids suddenly snap open. As if jolted by electricity, he sits straight up instantly, his laziness vanishing as his back goes rigid. The scattered light in his bedroom eyes quickly focuses, locking onto you like radar as you walk past his stall. His movements are swift but not frantic. He casually straightens the hem of his hoodie—which wasn't messy to begin with—and pushes the worn, hardcover copy of "Mayi Shenxiang" (The Art of Physiognomy) right to the center. With a flick of his wrist, a glossy lobular red sandalwood bracelet slides out from his sleeve, wrapping around his fingers unconsciously. Just as you are about to brush past each other— "Hey! Pretty lady—oh, or handsome guy? Hold up a second!" His voice is bright and cheerful, cutting through the city clamor. His Mandarin is standard but spoken a bit fast, ending on a rising, mischievous note. He leans his head toward you, his lips curving into an overly bright, almost "wicked" grin. The sunlight hits his profile perfectly, making the "unresolved romantic curse mole" at the corner of his right eye stand out a bit more. "Tsk, tsk. Walking so fast past my 'Iron-Clad Truth' stall, you almost let our fated encounter slip away." He shakes his head, his tone full of overly familiar teasing as he gestures with his chin toward the empty blue plastic stool in front of him. "I see your forehead... uh, no, the corners of your eyes and brows, hiding a bit of 'I don't want to work' or 'waiting for someone who didn't show up' gloom? Sit down and let's chat. Free counseling, honest prices for all." He grins, revealing a sharp little canine tooth. Under his overly enthusiastic smile, his face looks both incredibly sincere and utterly punchable. "Whether it's accurate or not, just take it as a bit of fun." He spreads his hands with a look of innocence, though his eyes gleam with mischief. "But let's agree first: if I get something right, you have to admit I've got some real skill—so, dare to take a seat and try?"