SES Chapter 236 Part 2

Yue Feng asked, “Have you been abusing the fortune-teller?”

Damn it—just because of a few newly made friends, he’d been elevated to the level of “abuse.” Brother Mao was furious.

Yue Feng laughed. “It’s just a few rooms—is it really worth it? Put it on my tab.”

Brother Mao said, “So you’re taking his side?”

Brother Mao’s wife burst out laughing nearby. This kind of scene happened all the time between Brother Mao, Yue Feng, and the fortune-teller—grown men arguing like kindergarten kids about who was supporting whom.

Yue Feng refused to take sides. “I’m just worried he’ll starve. Why argue with him? You’ve got a family, a kid, and a comfortable life. He’s out there all year, braving the cold and wandering remote places, sometimes hungry, sometimes full. Only when he stays with you does he get a few comfortable days—let him put on airs and act like a big shot.”

Brother Mao fell silent. After thinking it over, he felt Yue Feng had a point.

After hanging up, he sighed deeply. “Must’ve owed this bastard in a past life.”

Then he got up, filled a bowl with rice porridge, put a few steamed rolls on a porcelain plate, and took them to the fortune-teller.

When he pushed open the door, the fortune-teller was on the phone with Luo Ren.

—“Next week? That’s fine. Better to wrap up those loose ends first.”
—“Yeah, I invited Little Pocket’s senior brother.”
—“Of course it’s convenient. I told you, it’s just a matter of saying hello. He’s very welcoming—he’s right here beside me, urging me to get you here sooner…”

Talking so big without fear of biting his tongue—Brother Mao made a mocking gesture nearby.

The fortune-teller suddenly hesitated. “Tell him what? Just tell me, I—”

Apparently, he couldn’t refuse. After a moment, he awkwardly handed over the phone.

Brother Mao rolled his eyes. “What?”

The fortune-teller grinned nervously. “Xiao Mao Mao, he wants to thank you… just—be polite, okay?”

Brother Mao put on an air of importance, slowly took the phone, and answered with a curt “Hello,” making the fortune-teller nervous.

Luo Ren said, “Is this Brother Mao? We’ve got quite a few people coming, and we’ll probably stay more than a day or two. Even though the fortune-teller says you’re friends, even close brothers settle accounts clearly—especially since you’re running a business. We don’t want to take advantage.”

Brother Mao was a little surprised and gave a quiet acknowledgment. The fortune-teller beside him didn’t dare breathe.

“I mentioned paying before, but he said we were being too formal. So here’s what I propose—you know it yourself. We appreciate his help, but we’ll still settle the room fees with you properly. Just… don’t tell him.”

Brother Mao said, “No need to thank me. The fortune-teller’s friends are my friends. You’re welcome anytime—it’s no trouble.”

The fortune-teller’s eyes went wide. After the call ended, he finally reacted, beaming with joy.

—“Xiao Mao Mao, I knew it! At critical moments, you never drop the ball!”
—“Putting on such a tough act—you little rascal! I starved for days for nothing!”

…

Brother Mao went to the front desk and checked next week’s room bookings with his wife. He set aside several rooms with good lighting and location, including the “Fengtang Room.”

His wife complained he was making extra work for himself. “If you’d agreed earlier, none of this would’ve happened. Why butt heads with each other?”

Brother Mao chuckled.

He had become interested in the fortune-teller’s new friends.

He thought to himself, they really knew how to handle things.

It wasn’t because Luo Ren had offered to pay, but because he was clear-headed—he understood social etiquette, knew how to consider others, and could smooth things over so no one felt awkward, without trying to take advantage financially.

That was the kind of friend worth having.

Brother Mao stepped outside the inn’s front gate, stretched his chest toward the rising sun, and took a deep breath. The air of the old town was crisp and clean, cool enough to feel like it washed out your lungs.

On the bluestone path in front of the gate, an old man shuffled along, hunched over and carrying a food bowl. His head and face were wrapped in burlap. He looked about sixty, with a bamboo pole tucked under his arm, a flag hanging from the top—half unfurled, showing the words “Fortune Telling.”

This was Blind Old Ge Er. Years ago, he had set up a fortune-telling stall in the old town, then disappeared for a while. When he reappeared, he was like this—his face always covered, never letting anyone see it. People whispered that something had bitten his face, leaving it covered in deep scars.

Brother Mao took out his wallet and pulled out a five-yuan bill. “Old Ge, over here.”

Whenever he saw Ge Er, he would give him a little money—not much, just a small gesture of support. They were both long-term residents of the old town. Even if they weren’t close, they were familiar faces.

Ge Er came over, took the money, and said as usual, “Kind boss—thank you.”