Permutations and Combinations 07

Arin hid just outside Awang’s house, risking the scorching sunlight on his skin, motionless as he listened intently. At this hour, the alley was nearly deserted, making old-fashioned eavesdropping the safest option.

But after hearing the entire story, Arin abandoned the idea of recording anything. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sighed deeply. Knowing the truth left him thoroughly disappointed—there was no sense of “gain,” only a crushing anticlimax. He had hoped to catch a scandal, perhaps a double betrayal, but instead, he heard a rumor he had known years ago.

This matter had long since passed—surely neither Awang nor Ashiu were unaware of it?

Five years ago, there had indeed been a so-called “expert” in the area who claimed to predict lottery numbers. Not a mathematician by any means—at best, a high school math teacher.

Local official news outlets later debunked the story, clarifying that no lottery algorithm existed. It was just gossip spread by desperate gamblers. Some troublemakers were even detained, and the whole affair quietly fizzled out. Notably, that man was from the same village as Arin, making Arin one of the few with some authority to speak on the rumor.

There is no such thing as a miraculous lottery formula—only fools driven mad by the lust for wealth!

Feeling deflated, Arin initially planned to return straight to the car wash. Yet a small scheme for quick profit suddenly flashed through his mind. Turning on his heel, he knocked on his cousin’s door again.

The conversation inside was abruptly halted by the unexpected knock, the room instantly falling into a tense silence. Awang grew uneasy—who would come to his house at this hour? After a moment’s thought, he exchanged a glance with Ashiu. Still lost in the daze of recent good fortune, Ashiu reluctantly slid off the kang and went to open the door, only to find her brother-in-law, Arin, standing there.

Ashiu paused briefly, but Arin didn’t spare her a glance. With an air of confidence, he swaggered into the living room and sat down between Awang and Old Ma.

“What do you want? I’ll definitely pay you back! My wife is still working for you, isn’t she? Besides, my house is here—no matter how far a monk runs, he can’t escape the temple. There’s no way I’d default on you...”

Hearing this, Awang dared not say a word. As long as Arin was around, Awang behaved like a dog fawning over its master, afraid to offend his cousin.

Each night, as Awang recalled these moments—the barking orders, the constant pointing and scolding from Arin—his resentment only grew, until finally, the very mention of Arin filled him with dread. Not to mention the toll on his wife’s feelings. The only comfort Awang felt was his simple-minded son, Abi. Luckily, the boy’s naivety meant that when others bullied him, it was dismissed as mere teasing—no one stooped to fight with a fool. It was the clear-headed who were truly vulnerable.

At this moment, sensing Awang’s nervousness, Arin gently pressed a hand over Awang’s folded hands. “Cousin, don’t worry. I know where the person you’re looking for is. But I want to make a deal with you. If you can come up with a hundred thousand yuan, I’ll personally take you to him. And if I’m lying...”

Before he finished, a screwdriver suddenly flashed from Arin’s pocket, with a sharp *thunk* embedding itself in the table between his index and middle fingers.

The sight nearly made Awang faint with fear. Yet Old Ma remained remarkably calm.

“All right! I like your spirit!” Old Ma applauded. “But we’ll need a written agreement, and the deposit is twenty thousand up front!”

Though far less than he had hoped for, a deal this easy to earn a hundred thousand yuan had Arin grinning from ear to ear.