Chapter Seventeen: Eat! Eat! Eat!

Doing business with Old Liao always felt strangely subtle. I often asked him about his past as a Taoist priest, curious about those peculiar stories—Fuxi’s divine divination, celestial star techniques, sword control arts—whether any of it was real. One evening, while we watched an NBA game on TV, I questioned him again, pressing him about his supposed ability to foresee the future.

“Young man, believe in science. Don’t get caught up in superstitions,” he replied. No sooner had he spoken than his eyes fixed on the game. “The Divination Hex is Xun, great fortune comes from the East. Irving is about to make the game-winning shot.” As the English commentator rattled off excitedly, Irving sprang from the right wing, a three-point jump shot over his defender, the ball swishing through the net—a buzzer beater against the Warriors, sending the crowd into frenzy.

I stared, dumbfounded. “You… and you tell me to believe in science?”

“Oh, this is a replay. It’s running a quarter behind real time. The game results have already been pushed everywhere on my phone,” he said.

“Then what’s with the nonsense about hexagrams?”

“Heh, sorry. Occupational habit.”

“…” Old Liao loved to tease me with these mystical feng shui tricks. The problem was, his words alternated between truth and fiction, making me unsure whether to trust him or not.

Life, however, was comfortable. Old Liao and I arranged to go car shopping together. With a bit of spare cash, I wanted to solve our transportation issue. The heat of summer seemed to have faded in a blink. In Guangdong, summer and autumn feel separated by only a single night. To me, Guangdong is absolutely a place worth living in. I’d ride my bike out, crowd into the subway with the morning commuters, then take the long Line 1 journey to Luohu.

Emerging from underground, standing on the escalator, I could see soaring buildings and dazzling sunlight—though sometimes, sudden gentle rain would fall. The climate here is mild. My dry skin, moistened by the air, gradually became oily. Not fond of taking photos, I nonetheless found myself drawn to preserve memories for treats like mango pomelo sago, iced lemon tea, rice noodle rolls, French toast, and pineapple buns.

Holding a box of rice noodle rolls, I entered the auto park. The array of brands dazzled us. With limited funds, the so-called "BBA" were not even considered. For work, we might need to carry some props, so we decided to look at MPVs. After a round, we settled on the BYD Song.

Not to mention anything else, as a traditional enthusiast and for the Song’s emblem, it was my duty to support domestic, Guangdong brands!

Next door, the Cadillac dealership was abuzz. A nanny van was parked sideways at the entrance, surrounded by bodyguards and a crowd of curious onlookers. From afar, I heard a sharp voice—a woman in black, efficient and fierce, berating someone inside: “Eat, eat, eat! All you do is eat! Do you know how many meals you have a day? Do you realize how much money the company loses because of you? With your image, who would cast you? Who’d give you endorsements? Still eating—why don’t you just eat yourself to death?!”

Her shrill scolding drew our attention. With the spirit of those who love a spectacle, Old Liao and I moved eagerly into the crowd.

Inside the van sat a young woman, about twenty, with a delicate, beautiful face. She wore yellow curls, her makeup styled in a cute Korean fashion. But strikingly at odds with her pretty features, she clutched two fried chicken drumsticks—one in each hand. On her lap lay a pizza and two skewers, and beside her seat were several cups of milk tea. Her face was small and idol-like, but her limbs and belly were shockingly obese, easily weighing two hundred pounds.

Perhaps seeing her appearance, the crowd began to chatter.

“That’s what a real foodie looks like.”

“Whoa, she’s got some luck!”

“She’s so fat—will she ever get married?”

“Hey, isn’t that Su Jin, the actress from that palace drama last year?”

“I think so! How did she get so fat? She used to have a perfect figure!”

“Hey, Miss Su, how did you gain so much weight? Tell us!”

The teasing voices swelled all around. I glimpsed her aggrieved expression—beautiful eyes shedding crystalline tears, falling onto her drumstick, onto the pizza box on her knees. Yet she took another large bite of chicken, ignoring the world outside.

I seemed to see a dense black mist enveloping her hands, her belly, her hips. With every bite, the darkness grew thicker. I glanced at Old Liao; he nodded at me, and I understood—this was a supernatural affair.

Old Liao quietly approached the black-clad woman, feigning a soliloquy at her side: “Water from the well beneath the Phoenix tree; the city intoxicates with beauty. This girl should have a lovely appearance; she never had such an appetite before, did she?”

“Who are you, you old geezer, spouting nonsense? Get lost.”

“This girl’s destiny is guided by the Purple Star, her fortune supported by the Wolf and Celestial bodies—a fate blessed by auspicious stars. She shouldn’t suffer like this. Here’s my card. If you wish, consult us at Peaceful Yin-Yang Embroidery. Fortune and prosperity, avoid calamity.”

From afar, I couldn’t make out what Old Liao said to the black-clad woman, only saw her face darken as she took his card. Old Liao turned back, flashed me an OK sign, and my heart leapt. He’d succeeded!

“Old Liao, how’s it looking? Can you handle this?”

“It’s tricky. That girl eats like a starving ghost. Someone’s cast a spell on her!”