Chapter 88: The Hermit Master

“Heh, now that you’re here, don’t ask me anymore—go find out for yourself.” Mo Shanhe’s unwavering air of mystery made Mo Shu regard his father with newfound respect.

As soon as Mo Shanhe found a parking spot and stopped the car, Mo Shu, unable to contain his excitement, immediately pushed open the door and jumped out, even forgetting to pay any attention to Uncle Zhang Aimin.

Weaving through a throng of luxury vehicles, Mo Shu realized that these cars each belonged to different owners; he could tell just by glancing at the contact numbers for moving the cars. Some of the vehicles even had people sitting inside, all seemingly waiting for something, as if queuing for a car wash or repairs.

“Dad, are all these people here to visit the great master?” At first, Mo Shu had thought all these cars belonged to the renowned expert they were about to meet.

“It seems so,” Mo Shanhe replied with a chuckle, “though they probably have other motives besides just paying a visit…” He broke off mid-sentence, raising his hand to point ahead, signaling Mo Shu to look for himself.

Following his father’s finger, Mo Shu gazed into a massive workshop ahead, where a number of workers were enthusiastically assembling and modifying all kinds of luxury cars.

So that’s how it was—the great master ran a car modification shop.

To be accurate, this was more of a modification factory. At least, Mo Shu had never seen a shop working at such scale, with such professional equipment.

But there was another discovery: among the tightly packed lineup of modified luxury cars in front of the factory, quite a few bore peculiar license plates inscribed with foreign scripts from various countries.

If they weren’t domestic plates, then they must be from overseas; Mo Shu recognized at least some English among them.

Did that mean even overseas car enthusiasts were drawn here by reputation?

“Heh, you noticed, didn’t you? Even foreigners come here to have their cars modified,” Mo Shanhe finally said something that piqued Mo Shu’s interest.

“But why do they come here?” Mo Shu was puzzled. “Isn’t foreign technology supposed to be more advanced?”

“Haha, the world of true masters is something you youngsters don’t understand yet. Let me tell you something outrageous.” From his tone, it was clear Mo Shanhe held this master in high esteem.

It was five years ago—though the modification factory already possessed extraordinary skills, it lacked publicity and so remained relatively unknown.

But the fact that this great master was unparalleled in car modification inevitably reached the ears of several wealthy magnates from a certain oil-rich country.

Those tycoons decided on the spot to visit this workshop and bring their supercars for an extreme makeover. So, a group of them traveled to China together.

First, they shipped more than ten limited edition supercars to China by ocean liner. After layers of approval for customs clearance, they unexpectedly found themselves stuck at the regulation that foreign-plated cars were not allowed on Chinese roads.

What to do? The magnates, having come so far, began to discuss. Driving the cars themselves was out of the question, but transporting them by truck from the port to the factory would take more than half a month.

Half a month—these tycoons couldn’t simply idle away their time or bounce along after transport trucks; these were people who did multimillion-dollar deals at the drop of a hat.

At that point, one oil baron, who had deep business ties with many Chinese enterprises, stepped forward for help. He reached out to the most powerful local industrial company.

That company, eager to honor the oil baron, pulled every string they could and managed to procure a transport helicopter, which flew directly to the airport nearest the port.

The rest is history: the transport helicopter descended from the sky, landing in an open, weed-strewn lot not far from the modification factory before Mo Shu’s eyes.

Luckily, quite a few local car enthusiasts were present that day and witnessed, with their own eyes, the dazzling arrival of more than ten limited edition supercars worth nearly as much as the helicopter itself.

Some of China’s own wealthy second-generation heirs shot videos and uploaded them to social media across various platforms.

Everyone knows how wide a circle these heirs run in—the videos caused a sensation in modification circles at home and abroad, and over time, the scene of today’s crowded, bustling factory came to be.

As for the master everyone admired and revered, he was the same man who, alongside Mo Shanhe, had once ventured abroad as the chief designer of the national racing team, now founder and promoter of the Nanshan Automobile Association, Mo Shanhe’s closest friend—known as “Old Ghost”—and the legendary car modification master, nicknamed “Smoky,” Tang Xiuxian.

“Uncle Smoky? The one who bought me Transformers when I was a kid?” Mo Shu felt as though his childhood worldview was about to be upended.

“Haha, that’s right! That’s him!” Mo Shanhe laughed. He hadn’t visited Tang Xiuxian in a long time.

You see, “Old Ghost” Mo Shanhe, “Smoky” Tang Xiuxian, and another friend, “Water Ghost” Ji Jianshe, had once been inseparable. People used to call them, in an old-fashioned way, “The Three Ghosts.”

“I remember there was an Uncle Ji as well—do you still keep in touch?” Mo Shu recalled Ji Jianshe; Tang Xiuxian had given him Transformers, and Ji Jianshe always used to slip him a little pocket money.

“Good boy, you remember Old Ji too. Unfortunately, we haven’t heard from him in a long time.” Mo Shanhe sighed deeply. He remembered that after “The Three Ghosts” returned to China, there was a terrible accident—a fire in which Ji Jianshe disappeared, neither seen alive nor found dead, as if he’d vanished from the world.

That fire had caused a fierce argument between Mo Shanhe and Tang Xiuxian; neither could forgive themselves for failing to save their brother. It was, in fact, a major reason why Mo Shanhe left the racing world behind.

Mo Shanhe fell into somber reminiscence, when a familiar voice called out, “Old Ghost?”

Mo Shu followed the sound to see a white-haired old man, frail and stumbling, emerging from the factory. He hardly looked like someone of his father’s generation.

“Haha, Old Tang!” Mo Shanhe’s face lit up with a broad smile as he opened his arms and gave his long-unseen brother a fierce embrace.

“Old Ghost, what brings you here?” Tang Xiuxian grasped Mo Shanhe’s shoulder with excitement.

“It’s all for my son.” Mo Shanhe glanced at Mo Shu, then turned back to look at Tang Xiuxian, his eyes full of heartache. “Old Tang, it’s only been half a year, but your hair’s gotten so much whiter. And your leg—it seems worse. Haven’t you seen a doctor?”

“Bah! The doctors can’t figure it out. They say it’s from burning the candle at both ends when I was young—worn myself out too early, so now I’m aging faster. One of those unsolvable cases!” Tang Xiuxian seemed unconcerned.

Mo Shu watched the two old friends with a wry smile and a heavy heart. His father had aged, but Uncle Tang seemed to have grown old before his time.

He could still remember that day Uncle Tang gave him the Transformer toy—the man’s face had been handsome, full of spirit, not a wrinkle in sight. How swiftly time passes!

“Wow!” Tang Xiuxian suddenly cried out, making Mo Shanhe jump.

“Little Mo Shu! Is that my little Mo Shu?!”

It turned out Tang Xiuxian had too many visitors and hadn’t paid close attention to the young man following Mo Shanhe.

Only when Mo Shanhe mentioned he was there for his son did Tang Xiuxian take a closer look and recognize him.

By his reckoning, it had been more than ten years since he’d last seen the small, skinny Mo Shu from his memories.