I’m grateful for all feedback I received from the judges from the NYC Midnight short story competition for my my original story. Some input included delving more into the bonsai collector’s perspective, as well as showing the protagonist’s character arc. (Side note: I did make it to the next round with this story, but there’s still room for improvement.) Here’s a revised version:

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It’s already past eleven am, and the mall is a deserted ghost town. No one really comes here. With my earphones plugged in, I still hear the murmuring water from our ceramic fountains. I’m seated at the cash register, scrolling through the endless TikTok feed on my iPhone. Mom is spraying orchids with water, keeping them alive in their unnatural habitat.

            “Look how beautiful they are,” she beams.

            “Uh-huh,” I say, barely looking up.

            A man walks in, donning his signature flat cap and trench coat. It’s him again. I call him the bonsai collector: the con artist who visits every Saturday bearing his wisdom. He is our regular customer, if you could even call him that. His form of payment: nonsense. Mom doesn’t see it that way. She clings to his every word as though they came from the great Buddha himself.

            “A fortune for a bonsai,” he says in Mandarin Chinese.

            Mom hands him a bonsai, eagerly waiting for pearls to spill out of his mouth. Beneath the cap was his bald egg-shaped head. He smiles, making me cringe. His teeth are charred, probably from smoking, and one was gold-plated. I bet the gold is fake. Everything about him reeks of fakeness.   

            “This week is a lucky week. You will bring more business in if you let in the wind from the East.” He reconfigures our table with the assortment of succulents and cacti, creating a pathway between myself and the plant fridge.

            “There, this is much better feng shui.”

            “Thank you so much, feng shui master.” She clasps her hands, forever indebted to him.   

            I take notes on my phone. Keeping tabs on his lies. Trying my best to translate his words into English. How many more bonsais are we going to give away? We are losing profits. These plants aren’t cheap.

            I no longer wear purple because of him. My teeth clench thinking about last week’s incident. Mom threw my beloved Kuromi graphic tee out the window. We fought, yelled, and screamed so loud that I was surprised the neighbours didn’t file a noise complaint. 

            “Why won’t you let me wear this? I bought it with my own money!” I yelled.

             It wasn’t just any shirt; it was a souvenir from last year’s anime convention I went to with my best friend, Tina.  

            “It’s your unlucky colour. Not good for you. Do you want to get into an accident like your dad?”

            My chest hurts. Dad passed away when I was five in a fatal factory accident. Why did she have to bring him into this?  

            “I don’t want to see you wear this colour again!”

            This business with the so-called feng shui master started after Mom lost thousands of dollars through a phishing scam on the Internet. She thought she was buying more supplies for our shop but transferred the money elsewhere.

            “It’s because of our bad fortune,” she said. “We must have better feng shui. Improve our luck.”                                                                                

            That’s when she hired the man who also goes by Mr. Li. He told us we lost the money because Mom kept our Buddha statue in our open cabinet above the stove.

            “It’s like you’re lighting up Buddha himself,” he explained. “You have angered the gods, and that was your punishment.”

            That explains everything. If Dad was still here, he would surely take my side and wouldn’t fall for these superstitions.

            We couldn’t afford his high rates. As a compromise, we gave him a bonsai for his weekly visits. First, he’d ask about our birthdays, names, and furniture arrangement. Then he tells our Chinese horoscope and his assessment of what’s out of balance in our lives based on his “mathematical” calculations.  

            “This is a good investment,” Mom would justify whenever I confronted her about the bonsais we were losing. “If we improve our feng shui, we will have better fortune.”

            If what she said was true, we wouldn’t be living in a tiny apartment next to a strip mall for the last fourteen years. On Tiktok I often see glimpses of people with spacious homes and backyards. I can only dream.

#

I see Tina with her boyfriend Max at our usual spot in the cafeteria. Tina, my bestie since middle grade, is outspoken, unlike me, who would rather hide behind books than speak to someone. She’s a debate club member, loves a good argument, and has recently become a health nut. I told them everything about the bonsai collector. And Max, well, let’s just say he’s chill, never properly combs his hair, and embodies the spirit of a hippie. I don’t know how they ended up together, but here we are, sitting together.

            “Wow, what a bunch of bs,” says Tina. “Changing how you arrange your furniture isn’t going to improve your feng shui.”

            “What makes you so sure?” asks Max as he gulps down his sandwich. “For example, there could be fire hazards if you block an exit.”

            “That’s different,” scoffs Tina. “We’re talking about scammers and how they appeal to pseudo beliefs like ‘feng shui’ and ‘karma’ to take advantage of people.”

            “That doesn’t mean those beliefs couldn’t be true,” says Max, licking the peanut butter off his fingers. “The saying, you reap what you sow, makes a ton of sense to me,” he adds. “Like if you go around being a jerk, no one will like you.”

            Tina raises an eyebrow.

            “What about poverty? Do people deserve to be poor?”

            I take a deep sigh. What have I started? Tina is in her debate mode and there will be no end to this until she wins.

            “Could you say it’s because people’s misfortune is a result from karma they owe from their previous lives? How is that not a bunch of baloney?” argues Tina.

            “There’s no way to prove that,” says Max.

            “Even if it’s true, if people have no memory of their former lives, could they really have been the same entity? How would paying any karma debt be fair or make any sense?”

            “Does it have to make sense?” asks Max. “Not everything has to be explained.”

            Tina rolls her eyes and turns to me, “We need to do something about your situation. It’s clear you’re being robbed.”

            “What can I do? Write negative reviews, hoping that would hurt his business?”

            “No, no,” Tina shakes her head. “Something more drastic.”

#

The sun sinks below the horizon, casting long shadows as we pedal our bicycles toward the community center after school. This is where the feng shui man holds his weekly sermons. Mom thinks I’m at her place working on a “school project.” I always need a good reason for returning home late.

            I’m lost in thought, wrestling with today’s discussion: Could karma be something carried over from a previous life? Does it exist at all? Either way, what this man is doing is wrong. There’s no way giving away our plants could improve our fortune.

            “Well, here goes,” Tina says, breaking the silence.

              Our plan is simple: observe him, gather enough evidence, and expose Mr. Li as the fraud he is. Tina believes she can get the story published in our local newspaper.

            Peering through the window by the entrance of the building, we watch as Mr. Li hands out Mom’s precious bonsais to eager customers one by one. They look elated, but the sight sickens my stomach. We have plenty of plants at our shop, and none of them are miraculous. If they were, I wouldn’t be living in this tiny apartment.

            The man turns towards us and, instinctively, we both duck.

            “What do we do?” I ask Tina, my body trembling.

            “Just stay put. If he approaches us, we’ll just leave,” she suggests.

            A few moments later, the door swings open, causing me to jump to my feet.

            “Why don’t you come inside?” asks Mr. Li, beckoning for us to come.

            “Uh, no—”

            “Yes, thank you for offering,” interrupts Tina.

            I whisper to her, “What are you doing?”

            “This is our chance to confront him,” she says. “Don’t worry, your mom won’t find out. I promise.”

#

People leave the center, each carrying a bonsai plant in their arms. The community center is large and barren, with empty chairs across the stained carpet. Only silence and the occasional cough from the feng shui man fill the air.

            “Ah, I know you. You’re the girl from the plant shop,” the man looks at me with his toothy grin.

            My heart pounds. I hope he doesn’t bring this up with Mom.

            “This is your friend?” he turns to Tina.

            I nod.

            “We won’t be long,” says Tina. “We have a few questions; I hope you don’t mind answering. It’s for a school project,” she pulls out her notepad and pen.

            Surprisingly, Mr. Li agrees to be interviewed. We each pull up a chair and take turns talking. Tina asks him innocuous questions, nothing that would arouse his suspicion that we’re on to him.

“How did your feng shui business start?” asks Tina.

            “Back when I was in China, my family was poor,” he begins, coughing ever so often. “I only ate rice and cabbage on most days. Meat was only for rare occasions. We needed money and people needed hope.”

            Tina is scrawling on her notepad furiously.

            “So that’s when you started your business?” she asks.

            “Yes. My grandparents gave me books on feng shui. I read everything I could and started my practice. I started with a few customers, but then my business grew. The local authorities heard about it, and my family and I were beaten since this practice was banned.”

            His eyes are teary. I almost feel sorry for the man.

            “And now you’re here, practicing in Canada?”

            Tina still doesn’t look up while taking notes. I have been silent this whole time, but I’m still seething. He says people need hope. Is that something you can sell? And at the expense of my family?

            “You’re giving away our bonsais so you can win their business?” I say accusingly.

            Tina’s eyes widened. I might have been too blunt. The corner of Mr. Li’s lip curls. 

            “You are a clever girl,” he coughs with laughter. “It makes customers happy to be gifted with such a lucky plant. You are bringing people joy by giving your plants away. Isn’t that a good thing?”

            “No,” I retort, my voice quivering with anger. “You’re hurting my family. We can’t afford to give them away for other people’s happiness. You must pay.”

            Mr. Li fixes his gaze on me, his eyes narrowing as if I accused him of committing a terrible crime. His face tightens with a mix of surprise and annoyance.

            “But I am paying for them, in exchange for your fortunes. That’s the deal we’ve made,” he adds, his tone defensive.

            “It’s not a good deal,” I say.

            “It’s a good deal for your mom,” he replies, a hint of smugness in his voice.

#

It’s Saturday again. Mr. Li is back. I hide behind the counter, pretending I’m not there, hoping he wouldn’t mention our last encounter. Instead, he takes a bonsai and utters his usual nonsense; Mom eats his every word, and then he leaves. I take a deep sigh, relieved that I wasn’t exposed.

            “Why do you believe him?” I ask.

            “It is good to believe,” Mom says.

            I can tell in her smile that her spirit lifts whenever she’s given a prophecy. Suddenly, the world makes sense, and all our suffering and fortune can be explained via these astrological calculations. That we can improve our lives and our next ones if we follow his guidance. It is stupid and unscientific, yet it keeps her going.

#

            “How about, Local Feng Shui Guru Predicts Money Will ‘Flow In’ – Straight Into His Wallet for the headline?” asks Tina, her eyes gleaming.

            We’re having lunch at the cafeteria, rehashing our peculiar encounter with Mr. Li. Max, however, is absent from our conversation, engrossed in something on his phone that appears far more entertaining.

            “I’m not sure,” I say, poking and prodding at my mystery meat. Note to self: to never order cafeteria food on Mondays again.

            “What? You don’t like my headline? It’s cheeky,” Tina insists, leaning across the table.

            “No, not that,” I respond, pushing aside a soggy piece of broccoli. It’s just that I’m not sure if there’s anything to expose. He’s just a man who sells fortune. Kind of a boring story,” I say with a shrug.

            “Oh, but I can make it interesting,” Tina smirks.

            I pause for a moment, contemplating her proposal. “It’s fine.”

            “Are you sure?”

            I nod. “Yes.”

#

Months have passed. I stopped keeping tabs on the bonsai collector. He is expensive, but it is better to see Mom satisfied than to witness one of her psychotic breakdowns. I recall frightening moments of her throwing pots against the wall, questioning, “Why? Why is this happening to me?” At least with Mr. Li, the “why,” though not satisfying for me, is answered.

            His visits have become less frequent. Eventually, he stopped showing up entirely.

            “Why has he stopped visiting?” I ask. It’s evening, and we’re eating rice cakes for dinner.

            “I don’t need him anymore,” Mom says.

             I nearly choke on my food. Has Mom changed? Does she finally realize he’s a fraud? My heart lifts.

            “Really?”

            “Yes. He’s too expensive.”

            Mom grins and then shows me something on her iPhone.

            “Look, I have this app. It can tell me if today a lucky day is or not.”

            My bubble bursts. No, she hasn’t changed. I sigh. Mom looks so joyful, beaming with pride that she could get her fortune told practically for free. At least she’s happy, and I no longer see the man taking our bonsais.