SES Chapter 237 Part 2

“She’s busy. I’m going to find her, and it’s not convenient to bring the little guy—so I’m dropping him off here.”

He looked at his son. “Remember everything I taught you? Who are you?”

The boy hung his head, rubbing his little hands together. “A… a little man.”

“Who are your people?”

“Uncle Mao Mao, Auntie Mao Mao.”

The fortune-teller protested, “Why am I not one of your people? What about me?”

“Can anyone bully you?”

“No.”

“Should you be fierce?”

“Yes!”

“What do you do if you miss Mom and Dad?”

“Call.”

“And what must you absolutely never do?”

“Cry.”

When he said “cry,” he rubbed under his nose and sniffed.

Satisfied, Yue Feng patted his head and got back in the car. Sister Mao panicked. “You’re not even coming in for tea? Brother Mao—Brother Mao hasn’t come out yet…”

“No need. I’ll be back in a few days to pick him up anyway.” He started the engine, then suddenly rolled down the window and beckoned the fortune-teller closer.

“Want to come with me?”

The fortune-teller’s eyes lit up; he swallowed several times in excitement. “Is… is it fun?”

Yue Feng gave him a meaningful look. “Right up your alley. Very thrilling.”

Then he floored the gas. With a howl, the fortune-teller sprinted after the car. Under Sister Mao’s stunned gaze, he yanked open the door and leapt into the back seat like a torpedo fired at close range.

The door slammed shut after a few tries; at the intersection, the car executed a beautiful turn and vanished.

That… that was it?

Sister Mao stood in the suddenly quiet air. A few elementary school kids nearby were still playing cards.

Something… felt off.

Then it hit her—the fortune-teller had been waiting at the gate all morning to “welcome” his friends… and he’d just… left?

Even without the fortune-teller as a middleman, Brother Mao’s first meeting with Luo Ren and the others went smoothly.

Based on the fortune-teller’s earlier descriptions, Brother Mao matched each person to their introduction.

In his eyes, although Luo Ren was the most reliable—polite and steady—he wasn’t easy to get close to. In other words, Luo Ren didn’t make friends easily.

On the other hand, he hit it off immediately with Wan Sansan and Cao Yanhua. They reminded him most of his old buddies—easygoing, a bit carefree. After only a few minutes of chatting, Wan Sansan generously offered to help at the bar that night and even give pointers to Brother Mao’s less-than-skilled bartender.

Yan Hongsha was a natural social butterfly, circling him with endless questions, determined to extract every bit of tourist information about the old town.

Strangely, the person Brother Mao noticed most was Mu Dai—precisely because she was the least conspicuous.

She stood behind Luo Ren, speaking little, mostly listening. Occasionally, their eyes met, and she’d give him a faint smile.

It was odd—people had a kind of aura. Luo Ren, Wan Sansan, Cao Yanhua, even Yan Hongsha—all projected outward. Only Mu Dai’s aura turned inward.

Brother Mao thought about all the people he’d met over the years—someone like Mu Dai was rare.

In the back courtyard, armed with the information she’d gathered from Brother Mao, Yan Hongsha took on the role of a seasoned tour guide, issuing orders: everyone should drop off their luggage first, then meet in the courtyard. They’d eat here, visit there, and maybe rent bicycles in the afternoon to circle the old town.

Truly a talent—she’d already mapped out half a day’s itinerary covering food, lodging, and sightseeing.

Mu Dai’s luggage was handled by others—one of the perks of having both a boyfriend and an apprentice. While everyone returned to their rooms, she lingered alone in the courtyard. Brother Mao had decorated it with charm: a glass-roofed sunroom, a swing with a flower trellis, a rock garden, and small flowerbeds.

As she wandered, she suddenly stopped outside the glass sunroom.

Inside was a two- or three-year-old child… crying.

Not wailing—more restrained—but clearly heartbroken. He kept wiping his tears with the back of his hand and, every so often, pulled a tissue to blow his nose.

Mu Dai quietly pushed the glass door open a crack.

She heard him mumbling in a babyish voice:

“I’m so pitiful… I was picked up from the trash.”

Kids that age could usually speak in full sentences, but his words carried a deliberate, earnest cadence that made it especially funny. Mu Dai couldn’t help it—she burst out laughing.

The little guy instantly became alert, spinning around with a fierce look. “Who are you?!”