Chapter Ninety-One: The Turmoil at Wangfujing

My eyes lit up. After greeting my master, I walked forward. As I reached the entrance of the stinky tofu shop, the odor grew even stronger. Yet the line was remarkably long, stretching all the way into the corridor. I glanced at the crowd ahead, not daring to cut in, so I resigned myself to waiting patiently at the end.

It felt like an eternity before my turn finally came. My master stood beside me, his face full of disdain. "You kid, you queued so long just for stinky tofu?"

I nodded. "Yes, it's been ages since I had stinky tofu. Would you like a bowl?"

He waved his hand hastily. "No thanks, I can't get used to stinky tofu. This place—it smells foul, and it tastes even worse. I honestly don't know how you people manage to eat it. Feels like it’s been soaked in filthy water for ages. I’ll stick with my scorpion skewers. They taste like chicken—far more fragrant than your stinky tofu."

At that, he shook the skewer of scorpions behind him. I paused, then burst out laughing. "Master, you haven't finished your scorpion skewers? I thought you had! So there are things you fear after all. You dare to eat scorpions, but not stinky tofu? That’s hilarious!"

He looked startled, glanced around at the crowd, then smacked me on the head. "You kid, you won’t even touch a scorpion skewer yourself, yet you laugh at me. Your stinky tofu is ready—pay for it yourself."

He handed me his card, but I pushed it back and took out my phone. "We all use mobile payments nowadays, who uses cards?"

He rolled his eyes at me, then awkwardly looked at the line behind us. I heard a girl behind me let out a chuckle, but she cleared her throat and turned her head, pretending she hadn’t heard anything. After I paid with my phone, I carried my bowl of stinky tofu to my master. He pinched his nose and stepped back. "Take that away from me, the smell’s too much. Are you getting rebellious?"

Ignoring his words, I stepped forward. My master pinched his nose and retreated several steps, only to bump into a burly man. The man was about six feet tall, his arms impressively muscular. My master stared, turned to him, and apologized, "Sorry about that!"

He tried to step away, and I stopped, holding my stinky tofu and watching him. But the burly man grabbed my master’s shoulder and growled, "Hey, you bump into someone and think a simple sorry is enough?"

My master looked confused, turned to the man, who released his hold. My master asked, "What do you want then? I’ll let you have my scorpion skewer—it’s the last one, though I’m a bit reluctant."

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing as my master handed the scorpion skewer to the man. The man frowned, swatted my master’s hand away, and snapped, "What’s your problem? Who wants your lousy scorpion? If you don’t pay up, you’re not leaving."

My master set down the skewer. "Hey, what’s your deal? I bumped into you, I apologized, and you still won’t let it go—are you a dog or something? Want money, do you even know who you’re talking to?"

Now my master was getting annoyed, staring at the unreasonable man. The burly man was bewildered, then retorted, "Are you insulting me?"

"So what if I am? Don’t like it?" my master responded boldly.

I watched the burly man, hearing the tension in his voice, and sensed things were escalating. I stepped forward and, mimicking my master, offered, "Why not take this stinky tofu instead?"

With those words, the surrounding crowd burst into laughter. My master chuckled and shot me a look of approval. I tried hard not to laugh myself. The burly man, feeling humiliated, grew angry. "Kid, get lost. Grown-ups are talking—you stay out of it."

I hesitated, watching him, as my master stepped up and warned, "Watch your mouth, or else..."

"Or else what? This your son? Clearly you can't teach him, let me do it for you. Trying to protect him? Do you know what this is?" The burly man flexed his fist, the size of a loaf of bread, in front of my master.

My master stared back and scoffed, "Of course I’ll protect him. What, you want to challenge me? Want to compete?"

The burly man sneered, pulled up his sleeve to show off his thick arm. "Compete? Compete at what? Look at you, so scrawny."

My master didn’t get angry, but chuckled coldly. "I’m a reasonable man. Since there are many people here, I won’t fight you. Besides, you’re no match for me. Let’s arm wrestle instead. You rely on your muscles—dare to compete?"

He tapped the burly man’s arm with his finger. The man slapped my master’s hand away, "Don’t touch me. I’ve been working out for five years—never lost an arm wrestling match. Let’s do it, who’s afraid? But a single arm wrestle is boring, right?"

My master caught his tone and smiled. "If I lose, I’ll pay you. If you lose, you pay me. How’s that?"

The burly man glanced at my master’s average build and asked, "How much?"

My master held up five fingers. The burly man guessed, "Fifty?"

Master shook his head. The man tried, "Five hundred?"

Master still shook his head. The man hesitated, then ventured, "Five thousand?"

My master finally nodded. "If you lose, five thousand is enough."

"And if you lose, also five thousand?" the burly man asked.

My master smiled and pulled out his card. "There’s fifty thousand in this card. If I lose, it’s all yours. Well? Have you thought it through?"

His words left the crowd stunned, myself included. I stared at my master, shocked. This meant the burly man only had to pay five thousand if he lost, but if my master lost, he’d give fifty thousand? Wasn’t this a huge advantage for the burly man?

But I knew such thoughts only applied to ordinary people, and I was certainly not one of them. Though shocked, I simply watched the drama unfold, because I knew my master could never lose. I’d seen him, three years ago, hold his own against the giant shadow of a shaman dozens of meters tall. How could he possibly lose to an ordinary man now?

The burly man quickly recovered from his surprise, as if he'd just heard wonderful news, and nodded eagerly. "Let’s do it. Don’t regret it."

My master shook his head. "Regret is meaningless."

"Alright," the burly man said, and together they walked into a nearby restaurant. The crowd made space for them, and once my master and the burly man sat at a small table, everyone pulled out their phones, ready to watch the spectacle. I heard people discussing the outcome.

"Who do you think will lose?"

"Obviously this guy—he’s so small, how could he win? Didn’t you hear he’s been working out for five years?" Someone pointed at my master.

But some shook their heads. "Not necessarily. Some skinny guys are incredibly strong, and he’s not exactly skinny—he’s got muscle, just not as exaggerated as the other guy."

Gradually, their talk shifted from arm wrestling to fitness. I leaned against a pillar, calmly watching my master and the burly man. My master pressed his card on the table. "No tricks, let’s do this for real."

The burly man understood, and from his bulging wallet pulled out a thick wad of cash, then tossed a bank card onto the table. "I’ve got three thousand in cash, another three thousand on this card—six thousand in all. I don’t care about the extra thousand. Either way, I’ll win your fifty thousand."

He grinned, and my master smiled back. "Straightforward—let’s go!"

At that, a bystander rushed forward to act as referee. My master and the burly man clasped hands. The referee gripped their hands, counted down, "Three, two, one," and released.

The burly man pressed hard; my master’s hand was forced down a fair bit. The man sneered, "Brother, don’t blame me. I’ll take the fifty thousand—call it payback for that bump."

He pressed again, pushing my master’s hand even lower. But my master showed no surprise, his smile unwavering. The burly man, however, grew perplexed, trying repeatedly but unable to push my master’s hand down any further. He looked disbelieving, exhaled deeply, and exerted himself—his neck veins bulged, face flushed. Yet my master’s hand held firm, resisting all his strength.