Chapter 121: A Big Shot

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That day, He Chang’an had just finished a set of exercises and was preparing to wash up before heading to the herbal shop to look for a few medicinal plants.

Several strangers arrived at the entrance of the Mountain Retreat Inn.

There were four martial attendants, both young and old. All wore dark, close-fitting outfits, and judging by their bearing, none of them had a low level of cultivation. Given He Chang’an’s own realm, he could only make a rough estimate: they were probably sixth-rank martial artists.

The handsome young man leading them was no more than twenty-one or twenty-two. He wore a long robe of goose yellow, and a palm-sized jade pendant hung from his waist. At a glance, he was clearly a young master from a noble family.

He Chang’an glanced at them silently, went into his room to splash some water on his face, casually shut the doors and windows, and then left.

The four attendants paid little attention to him. The young master, however, kept watching him until he slowly entered a narrow alley. Only then did he turn his head away.

“Young Master, is there a problem?” one of the attendants asked in a low voice.

“Nothing.” The noble young man smiled, stepped into the Mountain Retreat Inn, and walked toward the rear courtyard with practiced familiarity.

The four attendants followed close behind, filing in one after another.

…

Today was a rest day. Mr. Azure Feather’s schoolhouse stood empty, while more than a dozen young demons raced wildly through the narrow alley, chasing and roughhousing with one another.

He Chang’an sat outside the steamed-bun shop and ordered three baskets of vegetable buns. He chewed slowly, savoring every taste, his mind as tranquil as still water.

The aunt who ran the shop carried out a small stool and sat by the door to sew. Every so often, she glanced at He Chang’an, her face peaceful.

After enough repeated encounters, He Chang’an had begun exchanging a few casual words with her. He learned that her husband had died young, leaving behind a son about the same age as He Chang’an.

Her son had been injured in childhood and lost one leg. Unable to perform heavy labor, he could only work as a server at Lady Celestial Fox’s tavern, though at least it provided him with a steady income.

Whenever He Chang’an saw the aunt, he would think of that one-legged young man, and his heart filled with emotion.

It seemed that whether in the human world or in a small town of demons, ordinary people lived much the same sort of life. Happiness was similar everywhere, but every household had its own private sorrows.

He ate his buns, thinking of old events, and became slightly lost in thought.

He found himself missing Mr. Lü.

The old scholar had told him to listen more, see more, and think more. That, too, was a form of cultivation. The Confucian saying about traveling ten thousand miles and reading ten thousand books, and the Daoist ideal of riding the whirlwind straight up to the ninth heaven, meant much the same thing.

Martial artists were crude by nature. At the beginning of their cultivation, they had to endure hardship without complaint and temper their bodies relentlessly. In the end, however, everything still came down to the state of one’s heart.

Someone had once said that the harder a crude martial artist’s heart, the harder his fists would be.

That saying had always struck He Chang’an as somehow wrong. Later, after thinking it over, he decided it probably carried the same awkward implication as saying that sometimes a man simply lacked the strength to do what was expected of him.

Then let his fists be harder than his heart.

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After eating three baskets of buns, He Chang’an took out a small piece of silver and placed it lightly on the table. He called out a farewell to the aunt, then headed toward the schoolhouse.

Mr. Azure Feather was down on his luck, but his scholarship was genuinely impressive. He had hidden away several thousand books, which made He Chang’an extremely envious.

He had begun regretting that the gold and silver treasures he had obtained in Azure Stone Town had all been left to Ajiu. With her miserly fondness for money, getting them back would now be rather difficult.

When Mr. Azure Feather saw He Chang’an through the attic window, he hurried downstairs and met him at the schoolhouse entrance.

“Come on,” he said with a smile. “Today I’ll take you outside the town for a look around.”

He Chang’an nodded slightly and followed him.

The two of them left through the eastern end of the town. On a hillside, Mr. Azure Feather pointed toward a distant stretch of water and asked with a smile, “Want to go fishing? I hear a blue fish demon has emerged in that lake and injured several farmers.”

…

In the rear courtyard of the Mountain Retreat Inn, beneath a massive magnolia tree, the young nobleman drank alone, holding a volume of books and reading with keen interest.

The four attendants stood rigidly behind him like four statues, not moving an inch.

As usual, the old proprietress washed clothes and sorted vegetables without haste, pausing now and then to scold the burly old man.

The burly old man did not grow angry at being scolded. He carried two large buckets to draw water from the well, left them beneath the sun for a while, and only then began watering the vegetables.

There was a small wooden gate in the rear courtyard. Beyond it lay a vegetable garden spanning more than a dozen acres. All the rough work of watering and fertilizing was handled by the burly old man alone, yet he seemed perfectly content, as though he truly enjoyed this uneventful life.

Time passed slowly, and the burly old man’s footsteps were light.

When he once again carried the two large buckets past the magnolia tree, the noble young man set down his book and smiled with gentle refinement.

“Old Sir, won’t you rest for a moment? I have some fine wine here.”

The burly old man stopped and grinned.

“I would not dare disturb an honored guest.”

“Not at all. Come, sit and have a cup.” The young nobleman casually summoned a massive stone and smiled. “Though my wine cannot compare with the legendary monkey wine, it is still a fine vintage of the mortal world. I hope you will not disdain it, Old Sir.”

The burly old man remained standing, the two buckets hanging from his hands, and looked straight at the young nobleman.

“What? Relying on your Ancient Ape bloodline, do you dare disobey my young master’s command?” one of the attendants with a thick beard said coldly, stepping half a pace forward.

The burly old man did not even glance at him. He continued staring at the young nobleman and spoke in a deep, rumbling voice.

“Our Yuan family does not involve itself in the affairs of the Royal Court. Guest, would you like me to heat a bucket of water so you can take a bath?”

“The Royal Court belongs to everyone. It is not the Royal Court of my Nine-Infant clan alone, Uncle Yuan.” The young nobleman raised a hand to stop the attendant, calmly lifted a cup of wine, took a small sip, and smiled.

“The witch clans of the southwest are stirring. I hear their ancestral witch goddess shows signs of awakening. She is an old acquaintance of yours. Will you not go pay her a visit?”

The burly old man remained silent for a long while. Then he carried the two buckets toward the vegetable garden.

The young nobleman watched him with a smile that was not quite a smile, but said nothing more.

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The four attendants, however, flew into a rage. They all stepped forward and bowed.

“Young Master, shall we—”

“Enough. Everyone has their own aspirations.” The young nobleman spoke indifferently. “If the Royal Court has any news, inform me at once.”

With that, he rose, stretched, and exhaled in deep satisfaction before leaving the Mountain Retreat Inn.

Dressed in goose yellow, graceful and elegant, he walked through the narrow alley with his hands clasped behind his back, looking about at leisure. Whenever he encountered townspeople, he answered them with a refined smile.

On the way to the schoolhouse, a group of half-grown boys with bare arms were shouting and beating a dark, skinny youth.

The boy made no sound. Even when a rain of fists and kicks battered him into a curled-up ball, he refused to submit and would not let out even a groan or cry.

He covered his head with both hands. Green light flickered in his eyes, filled with resentment and hatred.

The half-grown boys beat him even harder.

The young nobleman stood a short distance away, watching with keen interest. His eyes shifted as though he were considering something.

Only after the boys had grown tired did they stop, cursing as they dispersed.

Before leaving, each of them spat on the boy. One half-grown boy with scales growing across his back even took advantage of the moment to stomp heavily on the boy’s face, laughing loudly.

When the boys had run far away, the youth finally groaned and struggled to his feet.

The first thing he saw when he raised his head was a pair of exquisitely made boots, followed by a robe of superb goose-yellow fabric.

The youth tilted his face upward and stared blankly at the smiling, gentle nobleman. He merely bit his lip tightly.

The eyes that had been filled with malice, savagery, and hatred were now as calm as water, clear and bright as a baby’s.

“What is your name?” the young nobleman asked, bending down.

He slowly opened his palm. A crystal-clear piece of candy gleamed brightly in the sunlight.

“This is for you. Take it and eat.”

The young nobleman’s voice was as warm as a spring breeze, drifting softly through the narrow alley and making everything feel warm and comfortable.

The youth stared fixedly at the candy, swallowed with difficulty, and wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve. Then he suddenly raised his head, looked straight at the young nobleman, and quietly spat out four words:

“Fuck your sister!”