Permutations and Combinations 08

According to Old Ma’s repeated descriptions, the person they were looking for was Xiao Qian. After discussing it among themselves, early the next morning, Awang drove a taxi carrying Old Ma and Aren toward Xiao Qian’s home.

Aren’s rural hometown was now nearly empty, with only his grandmother still living in a few dilapidated tile-roofed houses at the eastern edge of the village. Since his parents passed away, Aren rarely returned home. It wasn’t that he didn’t care—on the contrary—but every time he went back, he had to hand out red envelopes to relatives, each visit feeling like a disaster relief official distributing aid. The relatives would thank him profusely, but Aren never felt grateful. He was a typical businessman, though not exactly wealthy. After the first time, Aren quietly vanished from his relatives’ view.

Some relatives had come looking for him in town, but Aren feigned misfortune, claiming bankruptcy in business. Sometimes, to make it more convincing, he even called a mentally challenged beggar on the street “big brother.” Only then did that relative finally give up. Now, returning to his hometown again, Aren felt a deep discomfort within.

Old Ma, on the other hand, seemed extremely excited. This was a matter involving millions, and success was imminent—his heart was racing with anticipation! Throughout the journey, he eagerly chatted with Awang and Aren. Aren looked at this deceived, simple giant with cautious eyes—outwardly, he behaved like an elder brother, but inwardly, he remained vigilant. There was still eighty thousand yuan missing, so don’t get too familiar too quickly.

Awang’s feelings were complicated. After all, if they obtained the algorithm, Old Ma had agreed to share everything with him. But he still worried about his cousin. If it had been someone else who knew this lottery expert, it would be one thing—but it was his own cousin, and that made him uneasy. Given Aren’s style of handling matters, things seemed quite unstable. What if they were deceived? And there was still that eighty thousand yuan—he wasn’t sure if Old Ma could even produce it. In any case, he was resolute: he would never part with any more money to his cousin Aren.

The three men in the car each harbored their own schemes, and silence fell over the vehicle for more than half an hour.

Soon, the car stopped at the end of a gravel road. Ahead lay a bumpy, muddy path. Unable to proceed, they all got out.

“The road’s no good. This car’s too low—can’t go further!” Awang surveyed the conditions ahead, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“What now? How much farther?” Old Ma looked to Aren, who stared blankly at the muddy road, puzzled by how different it was from years ago.

Aren sighed inwardly but kept his true thoughts to himself, stiffly saying, “No need to take the car anymore; if we walk a bit, we’ll be there soon.”

In truth, Aren had already forgotten the way, but now that the money was secured and Haikou had been praised, he could only gamble on walking forward, hoping to jog his memory.

He first removed his shoes and socks, rolled his pant legs up to his knees, and stepped into the mud path. Old Ma and Awang exchanged a glance and followed suit.

It was not yet eight o’clock. Late spring sunlight had not fully released its warmth; walking in the mud still carried a chill. Awang recalled childhood visits to his cousin’s home—running and chasing one another in the early light of the fields, savoring the simple joys of youth. Now, happiness meant earning enough to support the family, and if the debts could be paid off, that would bring even greater joy. The thought brought a pang to Awang’s heart. How he wished he could return to those childhood days! He sighed quietly.

The three proceeded a short distance along the muddy road until a modest hill appeared in the distance. Suddenly, Aren brightened.

“Keep up! We’re almost there!” he urged.

Old Ma perked up instantly. “Where? Where?”

They arrived at a rundown tile-roofed house at the foot of the hill. Old Ma was stunned—the place resembled the lottery shop in his own neighborhood. Aren knocked on the door first; it was ajar, unlocked. Inside, a musty, moldy odor lingered. A disheveled man, dressed in tattered clothes and looking like a beggar, sat before a peeling old school desk. There were no books on the table, but the “beggar” clutched paper and pen. Suddenly noticing the three at the door, he froze, staring straight out as if more people stood beyond.

“Who are you looking for?” A startled voice came from behind them. They turned to see an elderly woman standing quietly.

Aren recognized her immediately—she was Xiao Qian’s grandmother. He quickly sidled up to her.

“Grandma Qian, hello, it’s me, Aren, from the east side of the village. Do you remember me?”

Old Ma and Awang grew excited on hearing Aren had found Xiao Qian’s grandmother, crowding close and calling “Grandma” repeatedly.

Grandma Qian chuckled softly.

“You’re looking for Xiao Qian, right? He’s just inside! Didn’t you see?”

The three were dumbfounded. Grandma Qian led them inside and found some wooden boards for them to sit on. Seeing their astonished expressions, she understood their purpose without waiting for questions and began her story.

Back when the national sports lottery was first introduced, it sparked a frenzy in both rural and urban areas. Many delved into the then-popular “Seven Star Lottery,” costing two yuan per ticket, with a chance to win five million. As the only math teacher at the village high school, Xiao Qian had been curious and joined the “small bet, big win” crowd.

Old Ma’s eyes welled with tears hearing of Xiao Qian’s fate. Awang showed no emotion. Aren smiled slightly—his task was done; now the matter of reclaiming that eighty thousand yuan remained.

Filled with sorrow and disappointment, Old Ma stood to bid farewell to Grandma Qian. Before leaving, Awang inadvertently noticed four characters written on paper by the deranged Xiao Qian: “Permutation Combination.” Curious, he followed Old Ma out, with Aren trailing behind last.

They stood silently at the foot of the hill. Suddenly, something struck Awang—those four characters: permutation combination. Yes, that was it!

Though Awang was the least successful of the three, he had the highest education—a high school graduate. Had his family been able to afford university, he might have entered a top-tier institution. Fate, however, had other plans.

Now, Awang pondered those words. He had studied permutation and combination in high school math, but merely understanding the term did not amount to a sophisticated algorithm.

A spring breeze stirred, and Awang’s gaze settled on a row of sparrows perched on a tree branch. They lined up, some hopping intermittently. In that fleeting moment, clarity struck—he understood the true answer hidden behind permutation and combination.

Everything before his eyes seemed to cooperate with his realization, forming an orderly sequence. Discarding certain elements would yield the optimal solution. A fully formed mathematical model took shape in his mind.

Awang couldn’t help but smile subtly, his lips curling with a hint of mischief. Though Aren did not grasp the meaning of those four characters, years of business experience enabled him to read Awang’s expression clearly. He was certain Awang had likely uncovered the algorithm and knew how to apply it.

Old Ma, however, seemed petrified. The thought of having found a madman, realizing the chances of obtaining the algorithm were nil, left him disheartened. The fifty thousand yuan he had brought from his northeastern hometown was all spent, and his mind drifted back to when his apprentices had deserted him.

He gazed toward the rolling hills behind the house, wisps of smoke weaving through the landscape. There, right before him, stood that shabby lottery shop. Without another word, he turned away from the others and walked alone into the mist.

Awang’s eyes shone brightly as he got behind the wheel, taking Aren back to town. Aren abandoned any intention of demanding the eighty thousand yuan from Old Ma; at that moment, his mind was occupied with a bigger deal—the other party was already on the road.