Permutations and Combinations: Permutations and Combinations 02

Around four or five o'clock this morning, a flustered middle-aged man with a thick regional accent climbed into A-Wang’s taxi. The moment he spoke, the distinct, unmistakable lilt of a standard Northeastern Mandarin caught A-Wang’s attention.

Although A-Wang frequently picked up out-of-towners, this was his first encounter with someone from the Northeast. Recently, the television series *Northeastern Family* had been a massive hit, and its theme song, "Northeasterners Are All Living Leif Fengs," had become a local household staple.

Suddenly finding himself with a "live" version of a hero in his backseat, A-Wang felt a surge of excitement. He was determined to strike up a conversation; perhaps he could glean some interesting anecdotes to share with his wife and children later—a form of emotional "harvest," as he liked to put it.

As luck would have it, they hit a red light, and A-Wang seized the moment to break the silence.

"Brother, judging by your accent on the phone just now, you aren't from around here, are you?"

"Yes, yes, that’s right." The man sounded noticeably guarded.

A-Wang realized he couldn't let the conversation die now that it had begun. Relying on his impressions of Northeasterners from the show, he decided to cut straight to the chase.

"You're from the Northeast, aren't you?"

The man looked visibly startled. He stammered, "Oh! Oh, yes. How could you tell, brother? I thought my Mandarin was quite standard..."

Hearing the man open up, A-Wang smiled to himself. It was perfect—exactly the kind of reaction he expected from a Northeasterner.

Soon, the two were chatting away. Before long, they were like long-lost brothers, discussing everything under the sun. Emboldened, A-Wang began to probe about the phone call he had overheard and the purpose of the man’s visit.

Years of navigating the streets had taught A-Wang a specific art of conversation. When dealing with strangers, especially when seeking personal information, one couldn't be too blunt, even with a Northeasterner. One had to circle the topic, peeling back layers like an onion, never rushing the process.

A-Wang started by sharing stories of his own past and family struggles. The man’s eyes turned red instantly. As A-Wang watched two tears crawl laboriously from the corners of his eyes down to his chin, the man’s own tear ducts seemed to take a heavy blow. If not for the fact that A-Wang was driving, they might have ended up weeping in each other's arms. Then, A-Wang began to peel the onion.

The man, whose surname was Ma, had a sorrowful history of his own. Back in his hometown, he had been a mechanic. In the early years, although there weren't many cars in town, there were even fewer mechanics, so Master Ma handled almost all the business. Over the years, as the town grew and the number of vehicles increased, his business flourished. Thanks to his skill and integrity, his reputation soared; he had loyal customers from over a decade of service, and people even traveled from neighboring counties to seek his help. At his peak, he employed over a dozen people and mentored several apprentices. He was a prominent figure in the town.

But, as the old saying goes, "Tall trees catch the wind," and "The forest that stands out is the first to be felled." When Master Ma became a wealthy business owner, one of his apprentices, unwilling to remain in a subordinate position, used the skills he had learned to open a competing shop directly across the street, taking several brothers and workers with him.

When Master Ma heard the news, he was so enraged he collapsed and was hospitalized. His family wanted to settle the score with the traitors, but Ma held them back. He confessed his true feelings to his wife, saying, "I know they were harboring resentment. It’s my own fault for sticking to the old traditions—three years of apprenticeship without pay. What era do they think this is? I held them back for too long. Young people today are different." He wept as he spoke, sighing deeply.

After being discharged, Old Ma stayed home to recover. Though his health returned, his spirit was broken. His wife even invited shamans and fortune-tellers to try and change their luck. To Old Ma, these were merely self-comforting gestures, but he appreciated her good intentions and didn't complain.

However, his son was not so understanding. Their only son, just starting high school, had grown accustomed to their former prosperity. With Old Ma no longer working, their income had plummeted, and money was tight. Old Ma promised his son he would go back to the trade eventually.

But the mere thought of the repair shop filled him with agony. He had spent over a decade building his business and training those apprentices, only to see it all crumble. Now, the rival shop across the street blared annoying pop songs from giant speakers all day, and dancers in revealing outfits gyrated in front of the storefront. Old Ma couldn't fathom it; he couldn't understand what the world was coming to.

From that day on, Old Ma stopped going to that street altogether. During his illness, most of his customers had been lured away by his former apprentices, and his heart had gone completely cold.