2025-2026, Borgesian Fiction
"Fortune Phoenix" – Wright Lewis '27
The following is the digitized text of a document sold in the estate sale of author Frederick Gray:
At the peak of its decline in the 80’s, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania’s only major city to the west of the Appalachian, rarely saw the opening of new restaurants. In fact it seemed as if the whole city was leaving. The economy was dead, and along with it were the people. The overcast skies, and brutal winter had cast a closed grip on the minds of the people, straining every nerve and neural passageway until their only ambition was to get as far away as possible.
During one particularly harsh snowfall in 1982, records state that it was ten inches or so but went largely unreported by most weather services, a long since abandoned storefront, on the corner of Murray and Forbes Avenue, was replaced by a Chinese Restaurant. Above its window, backed by a tan rectangle, were the neon red letters “Fortune Phoenix”. Inside to the right there were six rectangular tables, each with their respective four chairs. In the back corner a stone sculpture stood recycling its water, filling the restaurant with its imitative waterfall noise. The Menu was no different than that of any other Chinese restaurant in the Midwest. Its chicken was a bit more bland than you would find on the west coast, their crab rangoons seemed to be too crunchy or too soggy, and with every order came a fortune cookie. The store had one worker. Mr. Xiang. Mr. Xiang was a Chinese man, somewhere in his late sixties, who stood around five foot nine inches tall. At its core, the Fortune Phoenix was just what the residents of Squirrel Hill needed that dreadful winter.
That night, as the snow storm cleared, it had still caught the neighborhood by surprise. Those who had procrastinated grocery shopping the night before, as the closest one was now five miles away, were forced to venture in the snow hoping to find somewhere to fill their empty stomachs. To everyone's astonishment there was a restaurant open. The Fortune Phoenix illuminated the previously dead intersection, and the smell of its kitchen wafted out into the air reaching the nostrils of those in desperation of sustenance. As word spread, the restaurant began to fill. Mr. Xiang did efficient work, taking orders, preparing meals, and packing bags all simultaneously, as the people continued to pour in from the cold. With each and every meal Mr. Xiang never failed to place the exact amount for fortune cookies, as the number of people the order was intended for. Soon Mr. Xiang had gotten through every order, and was cleaning up his shop, seemingly to prepare for the next day, when a drunken man stumbled through the doors. His words were bearish and he barked what he wanted, forming a perfect order without glancing what the menu had to offer, and Mr. Xiang tried to guide the man out as he was already closed, but the man refused. With a look of displeasure on his face Mr. Xiang begrudgingly restarted the kitchen to make the man his order.. When packing his meal Mr. Xiang paused, it seemed as if he did not wish to place the fortune cookie in his bag, but as hard as he tried to pull his hand away, he eventually released the cookie into the bag, and then passed the order to the man. The drunk still angered from the events before made some snarky comment and stormed out of the building.
I was one of the many who got their dinner that night from the Fortune Phoenix that night. I had just flown into Pittsburgh the day before to visit my close friend Cédric Maurice. At this time I was at the bottom of my writing career, and hoped to climb my way out, by getting inspiration from the dying city. I had spent the day before the snow storm with Cédric, he showed me all he could of the city but the tour was not very long. I arrived back at my hotel around 4:50 PM and promptly went to sleep. When I woke up the next morning I walked outside to a massive storm berating the streets around me. I called Cédric who apologized for not giving me a warning, and I apologized back that I would not get to see him again before I left. I spent my day reading over my current literary works, but the constant rumble of my stomach prevented me from making any progress.
When the snow storm finally ceased I was one of many who went out to get something to eat, but as I was unfamiliar to the area it took me longer to find the Fortune Phoenix. Being towards the back of line, I was just beginning to eat my food when that drunken man came in. I watched from my chair hoping that someone would stand up to tell the guy off, but everyone minded their business. Soon after I left back to my hotel room.
That night I sat at my desk trying one last time to finish one of my stories, but my stomach groaned again. I reached into my pocket and took out the fortune cookie which I had saved from dinner. I cracked open its pale shell and read the paper holding my fortune.
You will find success in your writing again
Initially I scoffed at the specificity of the fortune, ate the cookie and went to sleep. I woke up the following morning to find my desk organized and my stories finished. I read them, and the writing style was no different than mine. The grammar, the nuance, the ideas all mine, but I could not remember writing them. I took it as it was, a miracle, and started the journey back to the Fortune Phoenix to thank Mr. Xiang for his help, but as I my walk neared closer I was met with the sharp smell of smoke instead of the wafty comforting smell I had already set tracking. My pace quickened as the Fortune Phoenix came into view. The drunken man from the day before, stood outside, but now his right arm was completely missing, and he watched the restaurant burn.
It would not be until months after I left Pittsburgh, when I finally understood the full scope of the mystery. A report put out from the renowned investigator Eugen Osterhagen1 explained the situation to the best of his ability. “After reviewing all events and persons involved with the Fortune Phoenix, at a surface level it could be chalked up to the traumatic failure in launching a Chinese restaurant, however, I have come to a conclusion that cannot be explained by our current conventions of science. The supposed Mr. Xiang was able to give his customers fortunes through his cookies that, to the best of my team's sample size, all came true. While most of the fortunes were good, one man, notably remarked as being a rude customer, was given the fortune of losing his right arm. Out of madness, that same man burned the restaurant to the ground. Further investigation found that at the time of the arson there was no more equipment inside and Mr. Xiang was and still is nowhere to be found. In fact there is no evidence to support that the Fortune Phoenix phenomenon actually existed, except for the fortunes it gave, and one additional source. Cross referencing the data bases available, I personally was able to find one other source of a Fortune Phoenix, only adding to my own belief that there is something mystical about the restaurant's origins. The report was a summary of a detailed complaint about a food truck named “Fortune Phoenix” that had illegally parked on 399 Park Avenue, New York City in 1975. When the cops arrived the following afternoon, to check the permits of the Fortune Phoenix, the food truck showed no signs of life. Both the inside and outside of the food truck appeared to be as if it had just been rolled off of the factory line and left in the heart of Manhattan. As of the publication of this report, I am in full belief that the “Fortune Phoenix" is much larger than a restaurant, and could be managed in a larger group in the shadows. This is truly the greatest mystery of our lifetime, and I encourage anyone that has any additional information to reach out to my team as soon as you can.” Four months later Osterhagen was found dead in his apartment, authorities determined that the case had driven him insane to the point of suicide. As a result of his death the investigation was disbanded.
The works which were written by me, whether by fortune or fate, launched my writing career into its peak. As much as I am embarrassed to admit I would have never found success again, without those works. They became my opus maximus, and I modeled all of my next works after them. At the time I was so ashamed that I never contacted Osterhagen, and when I heard of his death I chose to try and forget that the “Fortune Phoenix" was ever a thing. I went on with life, I met the love of my life and settled down.
Now, thirty three years later, I have seen it again. On a visit to see my son and my grandsons in Cleveland, my uber took a wrong turn, and as we were driving down a nearly abandoned street there it was. Shook to my absolute core, my eyes locked with the all too familiar red neon glow of the “Fortune Phoenix" sign. I spent my entire life running from this one thing, and here it was right in front of me once again. We drove past, but mentally I stayed in that moment. I debated going back to demand answers, to find closure, but out of pure fear I couldn’t form the words I wanted to say. I knew the truth. I knew Osterhagen had never committed suicide, he looked too closely into what he should have never even known about. He turned over a stone meant, for no man could know why, never to be turned and lying under it was a scorpion ready to prick the disturber and leave it dead without a trace. I promised myself I would not be next, and yet I failed, for I too was my own Icarus. That night at my son’s I could not sleep, my mind restless refused to let the opportunity of closure slip. My curiosity seized me, and before I could change my mind I was at the door step of the “Fortune Phoenix". My eyes met with same Mr. Xiang from thirty three years ago. His eyes widened at the sight of me, and he began to shake his head. I entered and suddenly my curiosity spilled over into greed. I no longer felt the need for answers when faced with the opportunity to gain another fortune that would lead me to even greater success. I demanded he make me a meal, he refused and tried to guide me out, taking his hand to my wrist. I was persistent, my voice grew louder, more bearish, and I began to bark my orders, and soon Mr. Xiang caved. I watched as he made my meal with a face full of displeasement. As he packed my order he reached the fortune cookie, he paused locked eyes with me, his hand twitched as if he were resisting to put the cookie in the bag but finally he dropped it in. I paid him and as I began to leave, he left me with these final words: “If you know what's good for you, you will not look at your fortune Mr. Gray”.
Fearing the worst, I have written this story as an anecdote in case something drastic happens from viewing my fortune. I shall now open it and report my findings.
Frederick Gray was found collapsed over this work. It has been determined to be his final work, however there is no evidence to support the truth of any of the events. An autopsy report states that Frederick Gray died of a heart attack. Despite all ties to reality, all readers are advised to view this work as fiction, and to absolutely not seek out the “Fortune Phoenix" phenomenon.
Footnotes:
1 Eugen Osterhagen is best known for discovering a tax evasion scheme involving the Carnegie Museum of Art, as a result of his findings, 16.8 million dollars worth unpaid taxes were court mandated to be repaid in the form of an endowment fund towards a proposed Science Museum.