The Art Of Chinese Character Divination

On my first official day as an apprentice, Master Hong handed me two books: and . "Finish these in a month," he said.

I devoured them in half that time. When I timidly asked for new material, he quizzed me: "Name the Ten Methods of Character Analysis."

My photographic memory kicked in. "Head Addition, Foot Connection, Heart Piercing, Dragon Encasement, Radical Decoding, Stroke Amplification, Stroke Reduction, Paired Gates, Character Extraction, and Plum Blossom Observation." I paused, then added: "Plus the Three Auxiliary Techniques—Pictographic, Associative, and Semantic Transfer…"

Master Hong gave a faint nod. Just then, two women walked in—one thin, one plump.

The thin one nudged her companion. "Write a character! Let the master read your marriage prospects!"

The plump girl hesitated, then scribbled 'xin' (信 – trust).

Before she could speak, Master Hong tilted his chin at me. "He'll do it."

'A pop quiz?' My nights of cramming flashed before me. Time to shine.

"You're not here for a real reading," I declared.

The thin girl bristled. "We are!"

I shook my head. "You passed the courtyard, got curious, and decided to test us."

Both flushed crimson. The thin one admitted, "You're right."

Master Hong stood stone-faced, arms crossed, but I sensed his approval.

Studying the 'xin'character, I told the plump girl: "Your relationships bloom but never fruit."

"What… what does that mean?"

"Men come and go. One date, then silence. A week of texts, then ghosts. Always ends."

The plump girl turned beet red. Her cousin gasped. "How?!"

I tapped the character. 'Xin'splits into 'ren' (人 – person) and 'yan' (言 – speech). A *person* listening to others' words.

"You liked a guy until friends said he's too short. Another seemed kind till someone called him boring. A sweet-talker? 'He'll cheat!' You dumped them all."

The plump girl looked ready to melt into the floor. Her cousin slammed the table, laughing. "It's like you were there!"

I stole a glance at Master Hong—still impassive.

"Can she ever find love?" the thin girl begged.

"Trust your gut, not gossip."

They paid and fled, leaving me buzzing. Master Hong murmured, "Not entirely hopeless."

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Thirty minutes later, a red-dressed woman entered, smiling at the master. He remained stoic.

"Read my marriage," she said, writing 'li'(立 – stand).

I froze. 'Xin'had been easy to split—but 'li'? No obvious radicals. Maybe stroke addition?

Before I could strategize, Master Hong spoke: "You want a divorce."

The woman jolted. So did I.

She nodded.

He traced the character. 'Li'is the top half of 'xin' (辛 – hardship). Add a crossbar"—he drew a hypothetical line—"it becomes 'bitter.' Your marriage… is poison."

The woman leaned forward, trembling.

"You married against all advice. Family opposed. Friends warned. You charged ahead blind."

Her eyes widened. "Can it be saved?"

"The character only speaks of origins. For salvation… tell me your story."

She spilled it: A Henan foot masseuse meets a charming local. Midnight snacks, movies, KTV dates. Family disowns her for marrying a stranger. No wedding—just a "honeymoon" trip.

Six months in, she discovers his heroin addiction. Endless cycles of tears, promises, relapses.

"Do 'you' believe he'll quit?" Master Hong asked.

She shook her head, paid, and left in tears.

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"How'd you know she wanted divorce from 'li'?" I pressed.

He smirked. "Tomorrow's lesson."

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