Fog City Detective

On a Sunday morning in London, a roadside restaurant was operating as usual. The restaurant had a moderate number of customers—some dining at tables, others sitting at the long bar, sipping hot tea. The middle-aged waitress, holding a coffee pot and a teapot, went around refilling cups for each customer, occasionally stopping to chat with familiar faces. The atmosphere in the restaurant was slow-paced and pleasant. Two kids, each with a packed sandwich, were playing and laughing, disrupting the peaceful atmosphere of the narrow-shaped restaurant. The waitress couldn't help but intervene, "Hey! Hey! Hey! You two gentlemen, keep it down." The two kids stopped and looked at each other. As the waitress turned away, the older one bumped into the younger one, causing him to fall against the side of a chair occupied by a middle-aged man. The man quickly reached out to steady the kid. The younger one stood up, looking apologetic, "Sorry, sir." The middle-aged man smiled, "It's okay, but the restaurant isn't a place for roughhousing." "Yes, sir," the younger one nodded. The waitress announced, "Gentlemen, your breakfast is ready." The older one approached and took the paper bag, and the two kids headed towards the restaurant's entrance. A man in his fifties, sitting on a barstool, balding with a protruding belly, leisurely folded his newspaper and raised his hand to stop the younger kid. He smiled as he spoke, "I'll treat you to breakfast." The younger kid seemed nervous, shook his head, and turned to look at the older one, seeking help. The older one stood near the door, observing silently, seemingly waiting for the younger one to come over. The waitress noticed something amiss and inquired, "John?" The man addressed as John glanced at the wallet in the right pocket of the kid's pants, "I noticed he's hungry, right?" The question was directed at the younger kid, who nodded in agreement. John, satisfied, pulled a barstool beside him, inviting the kid to sit. Meanwhile, the older kid discreetly left the restaurant. John ordered milk and a hot dog, then took out five banknotes from his jacket pocket, placing them in front of the child. The kid hesitated but eventually handed over the wallet from the right pocket. John took the wallet without even looking at it and casually tossed it on the floor, asking, "What's your name?" The kid replied, "Liang Xi." John inquired, "Vietnamese descent?" The kid clarified, "Chinese." At this moment, the waitress, picking up the wallet, exclaimed, "Hey, who's the careless one who dropped the wallet?" Everyone started searching, and the middle-aged man noticed his missing wallet and rushed to claim it. John pushed the milk toward Liang Xi and, looking at the five banknotes on the table, said, "This is your money. You can put it away." Liang Xi picked up the banknotes and asked, "Can I count them?" John chuckled, "Of course." Liang Xi started counting in a unique manner—holding the money in his left hand and pulling one note at a time with his right hand, saying, "One, one, one, one, one." After finishing the count, Liang Xi's hands were empty, but there was only one banknote left on the table. He pushed it back to John, saying, "I'm sorry, sir. I can't take your money." John was genuinely surprised. He knew it was a magic trick, but he was astonished at how well Liang Xi executed it. Taking back one banknote, John thought for a moment, "Liang Xi, I know you're a student at the Blue Overcoat School." This time, it was Liang Xi's turn to be surprised, "How did you know?" John smiled, "I'm a detective." Chinese kids wouldn't resort to pickpocketing unless they were orphans. There was a Blue Overcoat Charity School four blocks away, and the restaurant was close to a bus stop. Combining all the information, John reached a conclusion. Unimpressed by the detective profession, Liang Xi responded nonchalantly, "There are detectives everywhere in England." John thought the statement was accurate and nodded in agreement. He asked, "Do you enjoy being a pickpocket?" Liang Xi didn't answer, sipping his milk silently. John had an idea, "My detective agency is nearby on Berning Street. I need someone to help me with cleaning. If you're willing, I can take care of your troubles." Liang Xi looked up at John, "But... but they're very bad people." John replied, "I'm just asking if you're willing or not. As for how to deal with the troubles, that's my business." After a moment of contemplation, Liang Xi said, "Sir, employing child labor is illegal." John nonchalantly remarked, "It's not employment if you're not paid." Liang Xi was stunned. Was this detective logic? John, seeing Liang Xi's surprise, chuckled, "However, I'll allow you to count the money for me once a week."