Chapter Nineteen: The Wine of the Nose

Listening to the old man with white hair recount his story, my doubts only deepened within.
“What’s Old Ma’s full name? Where is he from?” I asked.
“That, I don’t know. No one knows where he came from or what his given name is. We only know his surname is Ma,” the old man replied.
The fat woman’s insults grew harsher and harsher. The crowd, cowed by her domineering presence, gradually quieted down. Old Ma, unable to retort, simply sprawled out on the ground and started playing the victim.
“Go on, keep talking! If you keep yelling, I just won’t get up today! I’ll squeeze you for a hundred thousand! Oh, my head hurts! My leg hurts! Someone’s attacking an old man!” Old Ma cried at the top of his lungs.
The fat woman froze, her face flushing scarlet with rage. She pointed at him, ready to hurl more abuse, but Old Ma continued theatrically, “Oh, it hurts so much! My leg’s broken! Oh, it hurts!”
“You rotten old man! Stop pretending! I’ve seen shameless people before, but never someone as shameless as you! Absolutely disgraceful!” the fat woman exploded.
Old Ma ignored her, his wailing growing more intense, as if he truly were injured.
The bystanders urged the fat woman to leave—an argument with someone this age could turn ugly fast.
She glared venomously at Old Ma, who lay on the ground howling, and left, every step landing with a heavy thud like a mountain being uprooted.
The crowd dispersed as well.
At last, peace returned to the surroundings.
Once everyone was gone, Old Ma climbed to his feet, patted the dust off his clothes, the sly gleam returning to his eyes. He walked back into the house as if nothing had happened.
I finished my pickles and herbal tea, settled the bill, and approached politely. “Excuse me, are you Mr. Ma?”
Old Ma glanced at me, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve got the wrong person. My surname isn’t Ma!”
He strode toward the doorway, but I quickly stepped ahead, blocking the entrance to prevent him from shutting the door in my face.
I put on a sincere expression. “Mr. Chen sent me. He said you might be able to help.”
“Help you? Not a chance!” He glared, furious. “Don’t think I didn’t see you standing back, eating and drinking while I was being berated out there! Now you want my help? Not happening!”
From the way he said it, it seemed this old man was not without some standing.
He stormed inside, and I slipped into the room after him.

“Sir, it’s a matter of life and death. Only you can help me.”
“Oh, you know it’s life and death? I nearly got killed by that fat woman just now, and you just watched the spectacle! Help you? Impossible! I don’t care if you live or die. Out!” He started shoving me out the door.
Despite his scrawny frame, he was surprisingly strong. Clearly, he took my earlier indifference to heart.
“Wait, don’t be hasty! Mr. Chen gave me something to bring to you. At least take a look before you decide.” I barely managed to grab the doorframe to steady myself as he tried to push me out.
“I don’t know any Mr. Chen! If you don’t leave now, don’t blame me for what happens!” He reached for a broom beside him.
So, it seemed he was venting his earlier frustration on me.
Hurriedly, I produced the divine seal and held it out to him.
Old Ma’s expression froze, his anger instantly vanishing, his gaze locked onto the seal.
I expected him to snatch it up and inspect it, but he simply stared at it, unmoving, his eyes revealing a wistfulness so out of place with his usual sly demeanor, as if he were lost in memories.
There was hope! Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to get this token from Mr. Chen.
He remained fixed on the seal for a long while. I shook it gently. “Mr. Ma?”
He came to his senses, his keen eyes sizing me up. Tossing the broom aside, he barked, still disgruntled, “Come in, and shut the door!”
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
Following Old Ma into the living room, I found it sparsely furnished, befitting the home of a solitary old man.
He settled into the only rocking chair, rocking gently as he eyed me with disdain and a hint of scrutiny. I kept silent, waiting for him to speak first.
After a moment, he said, “What did Old Chen tell you?”
“He said, if I brought this seal to you, you would agree to help me,” I replied honestly.
“That’s all?” Old Ma squinted at me.
“That’s all. Was there something else I should know? Does this seal mean something?”
He seemed about to say more, when a sudden knock sounded at the door, and a voice called from outside, “Mr. Ma! Are you home?”

Old Ma leaned back, composed, as if he knew exactly who had come.
“Mr. Ma? Mr. Ma?” the voice called again.
“Go open the door,” he ordered me, not the least bit politely.
I put away the seal and obediently went to open the door.
When I did, I found two men in suits, looking quite proper. They paused when they saw me, then asked, “Is Mr. Ma at home?”
“And who might you be?” I replied in my best host’s tone, probing for information. Judging by Old Ma’s earlier demeanor, he seemed to know who these men were. Their attire alone marked them as anything but ordinary folk.
It appeared they weren’t well acquainted with Old Ma either, and my feigned authority unsettled them. One of the men said, “Our Second Master wishes to ask Mr. Ma for help.”
Second Master? That sounded significant—anyone important enough to send men like these must have some genuine ability.
I stepped aside and gestured for them to enter, then closed the door behind them.
Returning to the living room, I saw Old Ma had produced a gourd ladle from somewhere, filled with water. Reclining in his chair, he lifted his head and brought the gourd to his nose, letting the water flow slowly along a groove into his nostrils.
I was taken aback—I thought he was cleaning his nose, but then realized he was actually inhaling the water.
Old Ma exhaled with satisfaction, as if he’d just taken a long, blissful drag on a fine pipe.
The two suited men looked bewildered, clearly baffled by Old Ma’s antics.
Was this “nasal drinking”? I’d always thought such an ancient custom existed only in old tales. I never imagined Old Ma would have such a penchant, nor that he could look so pleased. Didn’t it make him choke?
A peculiar scent of mint and cilantro filled the room, emanating from the gourd’s water—which was clearly no ordinary liquid. I’ve always loathed cilantro, and the smell made me distinctly uncomfortable.
“Mr. Ma, our Second Master wishes to ask for your help,” one of the men said respectfully.
The other added, “Second Master said that money is no object—the fee is yours to name.”