SES Chapter 239

Chapter 239

Luo Ren was grinding his teeth in irritation.

But he didn’t try again. He wasn’t three years old—picking a fight with a brat in front of everyone would make him look ridiculous.

Plenty of time. Sooner or later, the kid would end up in his hands.

Keeping his composure, Luo Ren restrained himself. In both words and actions, he became even more protective toward Mu Dai.

Not far away, Yan Hongsha stopped in front of an Indian-style shop and excitedly waved Mu Dai over. “Come here, come here!”

She was dazzled by the colorful Indian saris inside.

Honestly, shops like this existed in Lijiang too. To be fair, they were a bit like Lianshu’s store—built around mood and aesthetic. But food always smelled better in someone else’s pot; what you owned yourself felt ordinary, while other people’s things seemed rare and special. Uncle Zhang often said, “What’s so great about Lijiang? Why does everyone in the country want to come here?”

He’d stared at Jade Dragon Snow Mountain for over a decade but had never actually climbed it himself. The ones excitedly buying tickets were almost always tourists from out of town.

The shrewd shop owner demonstrated different ways to wear the saris and flattered them without restraint. “You two are so pretty—why not go inside and try some on? We’ve got so many colors. You won’t know how they feel until you wear them.”

The inner and outer rooms were separated only by a beaded curtain studded with rhinestones, adding shifting colors and a hazy atmosphere—perfect for stimulating customers’ adrenaline and making them dizzy enough to pull out their wallets.

Mu Dai set Yue Xiaofeng down. “Be good. Auntie’s going to try on some pretty clothes.”

She and Yan Hongsha picked out armfuls of garments and went inside, laughing with the shop owner. The beaded curtain swayed, revealing their silhouettes—like any pair of best friends with matching tastes.

At the shop entrance stood Luo Ren, Cao Yanhua, and Wan San, like three guardian statues.

Wan San said, “Women take longer trying on clothes than doing laundry. Two women together are even worse. Should we go find a café and sit down?”

Cao Yanhua snorted. “Hypocrisy! Humans are hypocrites. If they’re not colorful themselves, they insist on piling bright colors onto their bodies. Honestly, animals are better—at least their colors are natural.”

Yue Xiaofeng wandered around with a finger in his mouth, fascinated by the exotic decorations. At one point, he stood on tiptoe, reaching out to touch something—but he was too short. Muttering “aw man, aw man,” he stretched with all his strength but still couldn’t reach.

He turned to look at Luo Ren, who responded with a smile full of layered meaning—schadenfreude, indifference, and a touch of mockery.

Realizing Luo Ren was useless, Yue Xiaofeng headed toward the inner room, mumbling, “Pocket Auntie…”

Luo Ren elbowed Cao Yanhua. “Get the kid out of here.”

Cao Yanhua jumped. “Get… get him where?”

“Anywhere. Watching him run around is annoying,” Luo Ren said meaningfully. “You think he’s cute, right? Take him out to buy candy or something.”

Having survived life-and-death situations together many times, Cao Yanhua immediately understood—Brother Luo was seizing every chance to mess with Yue Xiaofeng.

He rushed over, scooped the child up before he could react, and bolted outside.

Only after they’d gone far did Luo Ren hear Yue Xiaofeng’s voice carried back by the wind: “What are you doing? What are you doing?!”

A sense of long-awaited revenge swept through him.

But the satisfaction didn’t last. Cao Yanhua soon came back—still carrying Yue Xiaofeng.

The child was sobbing nonstop, eyes red like a rabbit’s. Cao Yanhua was drenched in sweat.

Apparently, once Yue Xiaofeng realized what was happening, he cried hysterically—shouting not only for “Mom and Dad” but also, “I’m going to be sold!”

With the growing public awareness about child abduction, people nearby gave Cao Yanhua suspicious looks. Comparing appearances only made them more doubtful. No one stepped forward to stop him, but plenty of hidden phone cameras were snapping photos.

Cao Yanhua mournfully suspected that during that short outing, his face had already been reposted five hundred times on social media.

Hearing the sobbing, Mu Dai rushed out. “Why is Yue Xiaofeng crying?”

Like a long-suffering child seeing family again, Yue Xiaofeng wailed, “Pocket Auntie!” and ran to her. Mu Dai’s expression changed instantly; she shot suspicious looks at Luo Ren, Cao Yanhua, and Wan San.

One of them must have done something.

Cao Yanhua’s face went pale. His lips trembled as he prepared to confess. “Master, I—”

Yue Xiaofeng suddenly blurted out, saving him: “I don’t like Uncle Knife.”

Everyone except the shop owner immediately turned to stare at Luo Ren.

Unfazed, Luo Ren forced a laugh. “I thought he’d be bored, so I had Fat Cao take him out for candy…”

Inside, he was grinding his teeth. Little brat—sharp as a tack. He’d figured out who was behind it.

Mu Dai crouched down, wiping the child’s tears and coaxing gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Auntie doesn’t like him either.”

Yue Xiaofeng sniffled. “I don’t want to play with Uncle Knife.”

“Then we won’t. Absolutely not.”

“I don’t want Uncle Knife following us.”

“Okay, absolutely not.”

Apparently, marriage really was necessary—girlfriend status just wasn’t secure enough.

Since Yue Xiaofeng wouldn’t let him follow, Luo Ren kept his distance. Mu Dai glanced back at him apologetically from time to time, but he wasn’t angry; his smile only grew softer.

Storming off in a huff wasn’t his style. Years of experience had taught him to focus on winning over the key person.

On the road, Yan Hongsha suddenly got a call from the Mystic. After a few murmured responses, she hung up and quietly abandoned their half-day tour plan. She whispered to Wan San for a while, then to Cao Yanhua.

Soon, everyone had their own excuses: stomachaches that required rest, a need to visit a phone store to change plans, and Wan San’s elaborate claim that an old cycling buddy from the Sichuan-Tibet route had just messaged him and was now in the old town—he had to go meet him.

“Go ahead,” Luo Ren said, unconcerned. Mu Dai, meanwhile, was completely focused on Yue Xiaofeng. “Should we go back too?” she asked him.

“No. Keep shopping.”

So they kept strolling. As they passed a corner, an old, raspy voice called out: “Young lady without a flower in her hair—want your fortune told?”

They turned to see an old man crouching in a corner, his head and face wrapped in coarse cloth, leaving only a pair of cloudy, lightless eyes exposed. At his feet sat a begging bowl and a small stool for customers. Behind him leaned a bamboo pole with a faded banner that vaguely read: “Ge Er—Fortune Telling.”

Luo Ren stopped not far away, careful not to trigger Yue Xiaofeng’s sensitivity.

Mu Dai wasn’t interested in fortune-telling, but she was curious about his wording. “What do you mean, ‘without a flower in my hair’?”

Ge Er’s throat rattled with phlegm as he replied, “Means you’re unmarried.”

Sharp eyes, this old man. To test a fortune teller’s accuracy, you had to bluff back. Mu Dai teased him. “Who says? I got married young—I even have a son.”

She sat down with Yue Xiaofeng on the small stool and kissed the child’s forehead.

Ge Er said, “Young lady, you’re destined to have a daughter. In the future, you’ll be raising a girl. This one isn’t your son—at most a godson… or half a son.”

As he spoke, his gaze lingered on Yue Xiaofeng, and something in his eyes tightened. His throat seemed to dry up.

Mu Dai leaned in, interested. “Go on.”

Ge Er swallowed again, his tone turning strange. “Let me take a closer look at this child.”

His dark, cracked hand slowly touched the back of Yue Xiaofeng’s hand.

Probably bothered by the rough skin, the boy yelped and pulled away, burying his head in Mu Dai’s arms. “What are you looking at?”

Ge Er forced a laugh. “Ah—this child has a very good face.”

He grew more talkative, gesturing for Mu Dai to look carefully. “The face connects to the internal organs. The forehead, chin, nose, and cheekbones are five mountains representing the Five Sacred Peaks. The nose is the central peak—it represents the self. It should be higher than the others, but not too high—too high means loneliness; too low means a lack of independence…”

His explanation was obscure, but he spoke enthusiastically, his trembling fingers tracing the child’s features. Mu Dai was completely lost—until Yue Xiaofeng suddenly cried out.

She quickly looked down. The child was frowning and scratching his head. Ge Er laughed awkwardly. “I’m so sorry—my old hands are rough. I must’ve scratched him. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

His hands were indeed rough and cracked. A child’s scalp was delicate—she worried there might be a cut. Mu Dai checked carefully, but everything looked fine. Ge Er stood up awkwardly, bowing repeatedly in apology.

He was so old and deferential that Mu Dai felt embarrassed—but something felt off. A seed of suspicion took root in her mind, though she couldn’t yet see where it would lead.

Her phone suddenly rang. Holding Yue Xiaofeng with one arm, she answered with the other.

It was Luo Ren. “Take Yue Xiaofeng back now. I’ll handle the rest.”

After hanging up, Mu Dai stood up and looked around. She clearly remembered Luo Ren being nearby—but now he was gone.

The sun hung low. The old town’s weather had been gloomy lately—winds picked up every afternoon, heavy clouds turned the pale sunlight gray, and a perfectly good day began to feel like dusk.

Ge Er shuffled through a dirty alley, carrying his bamboo pole and fluttering banner, a begging bowl, and a folded stool tucked under his arm. He coughed violently as he walked.

At the alley’s end stood his tiny shelter—a few square meters of a storage room rented cheaply from a resident after much pleading. The wooden plank door let in drafts; he’d pasted layers of newspaper inside for insulation.

He pushed the door open. The room was pitch-dark and smelled of incense ash. After setting down his things, he walked to the center and pulled the dangling light cord.

A dusty tungsten bulb flickered to life, its yellow glow revealing a crude altar in the corner.

The altar was made from unpolished scrap wood, nails jutting out along the edges. In the center sat an incense burner filled with thick ash like a small mound. A burnt-out red candle stood in the middle, surrounded by three incense sticks. The soot-blackened wall behind it was plastered with talisman papers, and at the center hung an image of Zhong Kui—bare-chested and fierce, tearing apart little demons.

Ge Er cleared his throat, struck a match, lit the candle and incense, then opened a drawer and took out a large needle used for sewing shoe soles. He pricked his fingertip, squeezed out a drop of blood, and let it fall into the ash.

Then, with a sinister air, he pulled out a coarse yellow paper packet from his clothes, stared at it for a moment, and slowly moved it toward the candle flame.

Just then—a sharp sound cut through the air behind him. A cold, gleaming dagger flew in from nowhere, knocking over the incense burner with a clang and embedding itself deep into the tabletop.

Ash scattered into the air, blown by the wind from the suddenly opened door. Footsteps approached—slow, heavy, deliberate.

Coughing from the ash, Ge Er turned his head. Through the haze, he could only make out a tall figure looming over him.

Luo Ren snatched the yellow paper packet from his hand.

Mu Dai hadn’t seen it earlier—but from Luo Ren’s angle, it had been clear: while Ge Er talked endlessly, his hand had subtly dipped at one precise moment, deftly plucking two strands of Yue Xiaofeng’s hair.

Clutching the packet, Luo Ren walked to the altar, pulled the dagger from the table, and used its tip to poke at something that had rolled out of the overturned incense burner—a tiny kitten’s skull, grotesque and eerie.

The old man reeked of crookedness and dark intent.

Luo Ren sneered, kicked aside the folded stool, and sat down, casually playing with the dagger. “You’re pushing eighty, old man. Care to explain why you’ve got it out for a two-year-old?”

Ge Er backed away in terror until his spine hit the cold wall.

Luo Ren smiled.

“Not talking? I’ve got plenty of ways to make you talk. Or maybe I don’t need you to—there are plenty of ways to make you die in a way that looks completely justified.”