Before the familiar barbecue stall frequented by Mowen, a strong man sat beside a plastic table. His bald head gleamed, without a single hair, and his skin bore a glossy sheen, as though freshly tanned with oil.
The man's thick, unruly eyebrows resembled the doodles of a child, their chaotic lines etched across his forehead. His short, bristly beard hung like a wire ball, prickly and unkempt.
Dressed casually, the man's collar revealed a tuft of hairy chest. Before him lay two jars of beer and several empty beer mugs, evidence of his hearty drinking.
Suddenly, the man squinted his eyes, fixing them on Mowen, who was approaching from a distance.
"There you are, finally!"
His previously restless heart seemed to settle.
At the barbecue stall, the owner greeted him with practiced familiarity, as always: "Hey handsome, still working this late? Haven't eaten yet? Two grilled flatbreads, one roasted eggplant, two spicy peppers, and a pack of beer?"
Mowen nodded politely and found a seat. The stall owner couldn't help but pity this hardworking laborer—working like a horse and eating like one too. He rarely indulged in even a simple barbecue.
Curious, the burly man observed Mowen, who sat there looking bored. He approached naturally, offering a jar of beer. "Hey there, young man, working this late? Come, have mine!" he said.
Mowen hesitated briefly, then accepted the beer the man handed over. "Thank you, big brother," he replied.
The burly man smirked, thinking, "Making connections with men isn't difficult—it's just a pack of beer away."
The cool beer was filled in a transparent glass, and a thin layer of dew condensed on the glass wall, as clear and transparent as pearls. Mowen picked up the glass, and the beer bubbles rose along the glass wall, forming a cluster of tiny bubbles, like miniature fireworks blooming in the glass.
He sniffed the slightly intoxicating malt aroma in the beer, took a big gulp of draft beer, the cold liquor slid into his mouth, the full flavor of malt and the slight bitterness met at the tip of his tongue, leaving a subtle bitter-sweet aftertaste.
The cold beer was a gift from heaven in the summer. Mowen took another big gulp, feeling the dryness in his throat instantly diluted. The smoky flavor was infused into the food and also spread in the air, making the wait more torturous.
Mowen's head began to ache again, as if millions of ants were biting. The headaches were becoming more frequent, a troubling pattern. He rubbed his palms warm, covered his ears, and his fingers rhythmically tapped Fengchi and Fengfu acupoints.
This was a magical massage method taught by his dad, which could always relieve headaches and fatigue. He tapped a full 36 times, gently shook his head, and felt the pain ease. The relief was welcome.
"Little brother, I'm surprised you know the ancient Taoist technique. This is 'Drum Sounding', right? Where did you learn it?"
The big man stepped onto the stool with one leg, his movement rough and uncontrolled. In his left hand, he held a grilled shrimp, while his right hand held grilled squid skewers coated in red chili. His hands were marked by numerous old scars and covered in thick hair, hinting at a turbulent life.
"Would you like a skewer?" The big man offered without much sincerity, as if assuming Mowen should be grateful for the offer.
His question was just one of many that seemed designed to prove his own knowledge. Mowen politely shook his head: "Thanks, I will grill it later. These are some tricks my dad taught me when I was a kid.
When I was tired from studying for exams, my dad often taught me to press it myself."
"Oh, it's a family tradition. That's truly admirable!" The big man said, though his tone suggested he considered the tradition quaint rather than profound.
The big man's mind wandered back to his own concerns. He remembered that Molin was a member of the organization, but he didn't know how much this kid knew about the organization, and whether Molin had revealed the situation of the organization to his son.
"I have to inquire about whether he has any clues about his father's disappearance. After all, this matter is also a mystery to the temple and the abbot," he murmured to himself.
The big man lifted his beer, clinking glasses with Mowen in a friendly gesture. "You seem troubled, my friend. Is something bothering you?" His tone was casual, but his eyes probed for answers.
Mowen hesitated, surprised by the stranger's concern. He gave a slight smile. "Just minor things. Life's challenges, you know," he replied, keeping the conversation light.
The big man leaned forward, his interest piqued. "I've got a knack for fortune reading. Let me take a look." His gaze was searching as he tried to coax Mowen into revealing more.
Squinting, he studied Mowen's face. "Your features tell a story—strength beneath the surface. But the shadow on your forehead suggests challenging times ahead." He delivered his observations with an air of wisdom, hoping to impress.
Mowen offered a polite smile, his skepticism hidden behind his calm demeanor. He chose not to pursue the big man's statements, keeping his true thoughts to himself.
The big man, undeterred by Mowen's reserve, shifted his approach. "Let me take a look at your palm. I can see you need guidance, and I'm the one to provide it," he said, his voice carrying a hint of confidence.
Mowen's interest was piqued despite himself. The idea of fortune-telling seemed intriguing, if not entirely convincing.
"That's amazing! Meeting a fortune teller sounds fascinating," Mowen said, hoping to learn more about the big man's intentions.
The big man read his palm seriously. "Your career line suggests you've been traveling a lot, right?"
"Yeah, for two years now. Is my accent still that noticeable?" Mowen remembered the discrimination he'd faced at work because of his accent.
The big man continued studying Mowen's hand intently, his expression a mask of concentration. "Hmm, your career line is a mess right now. Things aren't going well in your job.
As for your love line, there won't be any romance in the near future. And your life line...oh, you'll face some trouble involving blood and injury soon."
Mowen just kept smiling as he watched the big man's performance.
"From the look on his face, it seems like he doesn't believe me," the big man observed. He thought he needed to add more convincing details.
"According to your palmistry, you lived with your father only, and your family was well-off back then. But your father disappeared three years ago, and since then, life has been tough. You've relied on scholarships and part-time jobs to get through school, right?"
Mowen's eyes suddenly widened with surprise and doubt.
"That's totally right! My dad disappeared after a business trip, and there's been no news since. Can you tell me where he is?"
The big man noticed Mowen's eagerness and saw a hint of worry in his expression, which he considered a good start. His expression quickly shifted to sympathy.
"Ah, I'm sorry, my friend. I shouldn't have mentioned your sad experiences."
"Master, it's okay. It all happened a long time ago."
The big man stared into Mowen's eyes, trying to find some clues.
"Your father's disappearance? Let me guess—it was something you couldn't handle on your own, right? You must get lost in your life!" The big man interrupts Mowen's account, assuming he already knows what happened and taking control of the conversation.
"Do you have any clue how your dad disappeared? Did he exhibit any bizarre speech or behavior before he went missing?"