Chen sprinted to Maple Street, shoes splashing through puddles. Dusk bled purple, the sun dipping below rooftops—Li’s warning rang in her ears: “Curse binds at sunset. One hour.” She skidded to “Shen’s Curios,” a weathered shop with a faded sign, and pushed inside. The rusted door chime shrilled over the quiet chaos.
Shen knelt behind the counter, sleeves rolled, muttering curses as he picked up shards of a blue-and-white vase. A faint scratch marked his forearm, and a pile of broken ceramic lay beside him. His tabby Mimi darted between his legs, tail puffed, hissing at a loose floorboard.
The shop smelled of damp wood and old paper, a scent that clung to Shen’s clothes like a second skin. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with chipped teacups, leather-bound books with cracked spines, and small stone statues—many of which had toppled to the floor, their pieces scattered. A dusty globe in the corner listed to one side, its base cracked, and a stack of vintage postcards leaned precariously on a rickety side table. Shen’s gray wool coat draped over a wooden chair, still damp from the afternoon rain, and his neatly tied tie lay crumpled on the counter, a rare sign of his usual orderliness unraveling. His dark hair was matted at the temples, and a smudge of dirt streaked his left cheek—likely from kneeling on the floor to pick up the vase shards. He glanced up at the chime, his jaw tight with irritation, as if even the sound was one more annoyance to bear. “What are you doing here?” he snapped, his voice rough from hours of muttered curses. “Save the sales pitch. I’ve had enough ‘solutions’ today. A guy came by this morning selling ‘luck crystals’; by noon, my cash register jammed. Spare me.”
Chen dropped to her knees to help, hands trembling. “I’m not selling anything. I gave you the wrong talisman—Eternal Enmity, not Fortune. That’s why your luck’s gone bad.” She nodded at the broken vase, the leaning globe, the precarious postcard stack.
Shen froze, then laughed bitterly. “Eternal Enmity? Next you’ll say the moon’s cheese.” He reached for a shard—then a shelf creaked. Postcards tumbled down, showering them. He lunged aside, staring at the mess, skepticism fading to shock.
Chen held out her palm, summoning a soft silver glow—Yuelao magic. The light cast warmth over the shards. Shen leaned back, eyes wide. “What is that?” he whispered.
“I work for Yuelao, the Matchmaker God. I messed up my first day—grabbed the wrong talisman. My seniors have herbs to weaken the curse, but we need to go before sunset. Otherwise, it binds permanently.” She met his gaze. “This isn’t normal bad luck. It’s the talisman.”
Shen stared at her palm, the silver glow casting soft light on his face, then glanced around at the chaos that had become his shop. Throughout the whole day, none of it felt like random bad luck not when it kept coming, one after another, until he could barely catch his breath. It felt like the world itself was against him, pushing him closer to the edge with every passing hour.
He set down the shard, crossing his arms. “Prove it. If this is real, fix it.” His voice was quieter, less sharp—tinged with the faint hope he’d tried to ignore.
“I can’t fix it here—not permanently. But my seniors can. We need to go now, before it’s too late.” She stood, brushing dust from her knees, and held the door open. The silver glow still flickered in her palm. “I will. I promise. Do you trust me?”
Shen hesitated, his hand hovering over his coat pocket. For a second, he looked like a man weighing two impossible choices—trust the strange girl with glowing hands, or keep fighting a losing battle against a streak of luck so bad it felt supernatural. He fished the talisman from his coat pocket, turning it over between his fingers. The black edge glinted faintly in the shop light, a stark reminder of her words. He stared at it for a long moment, then tucked it back into his pocket with a sigh. He stood, brushing dust and tiny ceramic shards from his pants, his movements slow but deliberate. “Lead the way,” he said, his voice steady if not enthusiastic. Mimi, sensing the shift in tension, trotted over from where she’d been hiding under a shelf, rubbing her head against his ankle with a soft meow. Shen bent down, scratching her behind the ears—one small, gentle gesture amid the chaos—and scooped her up in his arms. He followed Chen out the door into the fading light, the cool evening air brushing his face, hope fragile but unignorable, like the first glimmer of sun after a long rain.
