Foolish Game of the Chapter 1425: Getting to Know

mory — unknown ti, unknown place.

Cheng Shi opened his eyes and found himself seated on a bus bouncing its way down a rough road. There were about a dozen passengers — all either rich or well-dressed — and most of them were grumbling and cursing under their breath.

They were complaining about the impossible mountain road. Up front, a man smiled apologetically, trying his best to placate them. After listening awhile, Cheng Shi confird this was a tour group that had traveled specially from the south for a mountain camping trip -- and his current perspective was that of one of the group mbers.

Of course, nobody could see him. This was the mory Traveler's vantage point.

He had expected to find Old Jia on this bus. But the old man was nowhere in sight.

So why did the mory begin here?

The bus soon provided the answer.

It pulled up to the entrance of a small mountain village, hemd in on three sides by peaks — clearly a mandatory stop along the hiking route. A lopsided wooden sign had been jamd into the ground at the village entrance. Words were pasted on it, though exposure to wind and sun had peeled away nearly everything. The remnant formatting vaguely suggested so kind of fee schedule.

The instant the bus stopped, soone hamred furiously on the door from outside. The driver didn't open up. The tour guide slid open a window and stuck his head out. Spotting a child, he cursed with a grin:

"Damn — scared the crap out of . A little brat? Who taught you to stop buses like that?"

The passengers crowded over for a look. Sure enough, a child stood at the door — eight, nine years old at most, with dark weathered skin that carried a stubborn edge and a pair of bright, shrewd eyes glinting with mischief.

Cheng Shi recognized him in an instant. His eyes went red.

'The old man was actually kind of cute as a kid...'

But "cute" applied only to those who loved him. What this child said next was anything but cute to the tour group.

The dark-skinned child looked up at the tour guide and declared with utmost seriousness:

"The town issued a notice saying they're going to pave the village road, but they can't co up with all the money, so the village council has to chip in.

The village doesn't have any money either, so the village chief sent my brother with an ID badge to the entrance to collect. The old chief says since the road's really for you outsiders anyway, what's wrong with you pitching in?

Besides, nobody who makes it out here is short on cash. So — pay up!"

"?"

The guide nearly laughed in disbelief. He'd arranged for all these VIP clients to relax in the mountains — not to get "robbed." His pre-trip research had turned up no such fee. But he didn't refuse outright; he pulled out his phone to verify.

At that mont, one of the passengers — clearly a boss of so kind — grumbled: "This road really does need fixing."

The guide killed the call in one second flat, turned around with a conciliatory smile, then eyed the child, barely restraining his irritation:

"How much?"

The kid maintained a very "professional attitude," pointing at the nearly blank sign:

"Per head. Two hundred dollars a person."

Two hundred?

The guide had expected a holdup. Instead what he got was a beggar. At two hundred per head, how much could it be? He couldn't be bothered to verify the legitimacy of the fee schedule. With a snicker, he pulled out a thick stack of bills — no telling how much — and thrust it at the child:

"The extra's a donation from the bosses."

The kid's face lit up. He was about to reach for the money, but the guide yanked it back with a frown:

"Where's your brother?"

The child eyed the cash hungrily, then jabbed a finger toward a hillside on the other side:

"Taking a dump. He'll be back soon. Pay up, keep going straight, take the first right, and go to the village council for a donation certificate. Leave your nas — when the road's finished, they'll carve your nas at the entrance as a morial.

With the certificate, you get ten percent off all food and lodging in the village. The old chief calls it 'economic stimulus.' You city folks know what economic stimulus is, right?"

"..."

The kid's pitch sounded too polished to be a scam. The guide checked his watch, decided he didn't want to waste more ti, tossed the money to the child, closed the window, and waved the driver on:

"Let's go."

The kid pocketed the cash and stepped aside. The bus lurched back into its rocking rhythm. The passengers complained that the village road should have been fixed ages ago, griping all the way toward the village center.

Cheng Shi didn't follow the group. He stepped off the bus and trailed the child — who had snatched up the wooden sign and was sprinting away as though his life depended on it — along a narrow path into the village.

Before long, from the direction of the bus ahead, a hoarse voice bood through the air:

"Hold on, hold on, hold on! The village is paving the road. All vehicles have to pay a toll. Per head — twenty bucks each. No money, no entry.

What?!

You already paid?!

Two hundred?!?

Well I'll be — I don't have a brother! Where's your receipt? Show

the damn receipt!

No receipt? Then what the hell are you on about? Today, even if the gods themselves showed up, it's twenty bucks to enter this village!"

"..."

How the passengers reacted, Cheng Shi had no idea. All he knew was that, apparently, his father had been a con artist from childhood.

'You lived like this yourself, and you had the nerve to teach

that honesty is the best policy?'

Cheng Shi stared at the little rascal's retreating back, torn between laughter and tears.

But what followed was even worse. He tailed little Jia through a maze of alleys to a ramshackle hut, where he watched the boy carefully count out the per-head amount, bury the surplus cash at the base of the wall, and then sit down at the doorway clutching the money, seemingly waiting for soone to return.

The instant little Jia sat down, Cheng Shi's brow arched. He'd already guessed who the boy was waiting for.

Sure enough, before long, a rough-hewn man returned. "Man" was generous — he was really a young fellow, but the weathering on his face made him look older. The second he arrived, he bellowed in that cracked-gong voice:

"Son of a — who told you to ask for two hundred! Didn't we agree on fifty—"

Before he could finish, little Jia handed over a stack of bills. The man blinked. A wide, satisfied grin split his face.

He licked his fingertips and began counting. When the headcount matched up perfectly, he let out a hearty laugh and smacked the kid on the forehead.

"You really got the balls to ask for that much."

Little Jia puffed out his chest proudly: "I saw through the window that they were dressed nice. I knew they had to be loaded."

"Clever little devil!" The man whacked the kid's head again, pulled a hundred-dollar bill from the stack... then stuffed it back in. He dug a twenty out of his pocket instead and pressed it into little Jia's hand.

"Yours."

Little Jia watched the hundred beco a twenty without a flicker of resentnt. He bead like a child.

Which, of course, he was.

But Cheng Shi knew there was still over a thousand buried at the base of that wall. This kid had earned no less than the man.

'Liked hiding money in the wall, did he?'

'But there's no money buried at the base of our wall at ho...'

Cheng Shi rubbed his chin, studying his father with great amusent. In this mont, he forgot every ounce of pressure. He smiled genuinely.

But it didn't last.

Because he watched, with his own eyes, as little Jia followed the man straight to a gambling den set up behind the village chief's house, sat down with practiced ease, and in under two minutes — lost every cent of his twenty.

Under the mocking laughter of the grown n around the table, little Jia's face turned beet red.

"What are you laughing at? Sooner or later, I'll win it all back."

...