Chapter Eighteen: Old Ma

I took a month-long leave from the shop with Wen, the manager. Naturally, he had no objections.

Before setting out, I went to the café one last time to fulfill my duties as deputy manager. I hadn’t let Wen tell the others about my situation.

“Our dear deputy manager, you’re finally back!” As soon as I stepped in, An Zhennan, one of the staff, greeted me as if she’d been granted amnesty. Her striking features bore a trace of aggrieved vulnerability.

Before I could reply, a delicate voice exclaimed with excitement, “Brother Luo! You’re finally back!”

A high-school girl with a side ponytail stood up to greet me, flanked by five or six girls of the same age. I instantly grasped what was happening.

To run a successful business, apart from a comfortable environment and quality products, you also need a “likeable” boss. That was the aspect I’d focused on most since joining. Wen, the manager, was somewhat slow on the uptake and not much of a conversationalist; I was quite the opposite. These girls had become regulars since I arrived, but it wasn’t just my charm that drew them in.

“They come by every day to ask after you. You’d better get over there, Teacher Luo,” An Zhennan teased.

Smiling, I made my way to the group of girls.

The girl with the side ponytail immediately made space for me, saying, “Brother Luo, please show us how to solve these math problems. I’ve been stuck on them for days.”

These girls weren’t slackers but top students in their school. They’d become regulars at the café because of my reputation as a top scholar. Even though I’d been expelled, the knowledge I’d accumulated over the years was still there, easily enough to tutor high schoolers.

Rather than coming for the coffee, they treated me as a free tutor.

Wen glanced at me with concern. I flashed him an OK sign.

Near closing time, I told the staff I was taking a month’s leave. The reason? Blind dates—one after another for a whole month, no breaks. Everyone scoffed in disbelief but didn’t press me for details, merely lamenting the potential loss of customers during my absence.

The next day, I set off for Guangxi, with Wen seeing me off. His presence or absence in the shop made little difference to daily operations.

After saying goodbye, I entered the waiting hall and boarded the train to Guangxi.

Ever since I’d been thrown out, I hadn’t returned to Guangxi. The address Old Chen gave me wasn’t in my uncle and aunt’s city, so I wouldn’t be passing by my family home this time.

After a night on the train, I arrived and headed straight for the address. It was tucked away in an alley beside a shabby market—secluded and old, the perfect hiding place for someone extraordinary. To think someone would choose to live here.

Old Chen had told me the man’s surname was Ma. I wanted to ask for directions, but the area was deserted. Only a raucous commotion echoed from deeper within the alley, so I followed the noise.

As I drew closer, the sounds became clearer—a full-blown altercation. A woman’s voice rose relentlessly, her tirade unbroken, the strength of her lungs impressive.

I thought better of getting involved—no need to get caught in the crossfire. Better to search quietly on my own.

Just as I was about to turn away, I caught sight of a house number: 38. Old Chen had said the man lived at number 44, which must be further in. So, after all this searching, the place was right here!

I continued on and, after rounding a corner, saw a crowd gathered. At the center, a rotund woman pointed at a wizened old man, hurling abuse. The relentless invective poured from her lips.

In all honesty, I’d never seen anyone so uniformly plump—round from head to toe. She wore a tight red dress that accentuated her curves. Her fingernails, painted crimson, jabbed accusatorily as she berated him, her voice eloquent and forceful.

The old man, by contrast, was scrawny with a stooped posture. His half-closed eyes gleamed with a sly cunning—not the look of a respectable elder.

The disparity between them was striking.

“Old Ma! You decrepit lecher! Pinching my behind—how shameless can you be at your age?” the woman bellowed.

A shock ran through me. Was this the master Old Chen had spoken of?

I glanced at the house number—42—so just one more house and I'd be at 44, right where the crowd was gathered.

My heart sank. Was this a joke? Had Old Chen made up a story to brush me off because he couldn’t help, afraid I wouldn’t leave him alone otherwise? This scrawny, shifty old man didn’t look at all like a hidden sage!

The woman’s tirade continued, “There isn’t a young girl in this market you haven’t bothered! Ever since you moved here, you’ve been up to no good. No wonder you have no wife or children—you must have been a rotten apple even when you were young!”

The crowd murmured their agreement, clearly fed up with the old man’s antics.

I couldn’t believe it. Was this really the expert I was searching for? Or was I mistaken, and they just happened to be arguing outside number 44, with this old Ma unrelated to the man I sought?

Nearby, I spotted a tiny herbal tea stand—a home converted into a little shop. An elderly man with graying hair sat at the door, watching the commotion.

I approached and asked if the scrawny old man was indeed the resident of number 44.

“That’s him. Always bothering the girls at the market—quite a nuisance. Just try to keep calm and don’t start any trouble,” the old man replied, taking me for someone there to settle a score. Judging by his words, he was used to people coming to confront Old Ma.

I was dumbfounded. It really was the man being berated—the shifty old man! What an unassuming and bizarre introduction for a supposed master. This was more absurd than being handed a copy of “The Buddha’s Palm” to train from.

Watching the old man, speechless under the barrage of insults, my doubts only deepened. But with a month’s deadline looming, I decided to trust Old Chen for now.

I ordered a cup of herbal tea and sat by the door, waiting for the crowd to disperse before approaching. Might as well enjoy the spectacle in the meantime and see if I could learn more about Old Ma from the tea vendor.

The white-haired old man was rather talkative. He even offered me some pickled snacks he’d made himself to enjoy with the story.

Seeing that the commotion would last a while, I agreed.

As I nibbled on pickled radish, the old man chatted away. From what I learned, Old Ma was notorious for his misdeeds. Since moving here six months ago, he’d been pestering chickens, dogs, and women alike. Even the chickens wilted in his presence, the dogs avoided him, and people loathed him. Out of consideration for his age, most just scolded him. Yesterday, for reasons unknown, he’d pinched that rotund woman—the most notorious shrew in the neighborhood—hence today’s uproar.