Chapter 837: There Is a Shop Assistant

As a child, he thought his village of a hundred households was vast, nestled amidst mountains and rivers. Later, as a youth, he visited the town and its market, only then realizing how small his village truly was. When he eventually carried his wooden sword to the county seat, he understood that even a town with bridges and taverns wasn't all that big. Much later, after seeing famous mountains and great rivers, and experiencing countless people and events, he finally grasped the immensity of the world. Yet, for some unknown reason, he eventually yearned only for home. So, he quietly departed the martial world from the largest city under heaven, traveling south all the way back home.

Fearing he would burden his elder brother and sister-in-law, he knew that in a small village, adding an extra mouth to feed, though seemingly just a matter of an extra bowl and chopsticks at the table, was far from simple. It would mean his brother had to plant more rice seedlings and burn more charcoal each year, while his sister-in-law would have to do more needlework, collect more mulberry leaves, and raise more silkworms. Furthermore, his nephew was attending a private school, and he, as an uncle, wanted to earn enough to buy paper and pens for the child. So, while still young and strong, the young man with a broken arm and a slight limp settled down in a small town. Whether it was luck favoring the simple, he found work as a waiter at a small tavern. Later, he even found a remarkable wife, renowned within a hundred-mile radius. There's a flower in this town called "cow dung flower" because it truly flourishes best in roadside cow dung. He remembered how he had laughed uncontrollably the first time he heard the saying, "flowers sticking in cow dung," while wandering outside years ago. Now, reflecting on it, he felt even happier, realizing he was that "cow dung"—and that was perfectly fine.

This autumn, he finally succeeded in winning his wife's hand. Her parents hadn't been entirely without objections, but they couldn't withstand their daughter's determination, nor, perhaps, his shameless persistence. He refused to fight back or retort to their scolding, simply being thick-skinned, which eventually led the two elders to reluctantly give their consent. His wife's two older brothers, however, had always looked down on him. Several times, they cornered him in alleyways when he was out collecting vegetables, fruits, fish, and meat for the tavern. They never resorted to actual violence, but their words were harsh. He didn't flinch or show any fear; though he hadn't made a name for himself out in the world, he had, at least, seen a bit of it. From beginning to end, he maintained a steadfast resolve, simply smiling at them. After repeated attempts, his two brothers-in-law became exasperated. Even though they didn't show much approval on their sister's wedding day, they ultimately didn't stop her. They treated her as water poured out, a woman married off. Otherwise, how could they have truly beaten him to a pulp? While their sister was usually gentle and amenable, sometimes when she got stubborn, she was tougher than any hot-blooded young man, truly unyielding.

For the Mid-Autumn Festival this year, she suggested they return to the village to celebrate with his brother and sister-in-law, as was customary. However, his idea was to first visit her family for the reunion festival, having already discussed it with his brother and sister-in-law, agreeing that they could celebrate Mid-Autumn together next year if not this year. Her family concurred, feeling that she had made a sacrifice marrying into the Wen family and that such minor details shouldn't be haggled over. When she tried to say more, he grandly waved his still-functional arm and declared, "As the head of this household, you must listen to me on this matter!" She smiled, her lips curling up, and nodded.However, when the young couple arrived at her family's door with a box of mooncakes, her elder brother blocked their way. He said his sister could enter, but the man surnamed Wen shouldn't dream of it. As he spoke, the rough man grew furious, snatched the mooncakes they had paid two taels of silver for, and violently smashed them against the alley wall opposite the gate, telling the man surnamed Wen to get out. His wife immediately grew angry, didn't utter a word to her brother, squeezed her husband's arm, and turned to leave. But he stubbornly stood his ground, unwilling to go, smiling as he insisted that his wife must see her parents today, otherwise he wouldn't budge. Seeing his unusually serious expression, she didn't cry out but her eyes reddened. He softly told her, "In this world, family is family; it's for life, and there's no hurdle we can't overcome." She hummed in agreement, lowered her head, pushed past her brother's shoulder, and quickly walked into the courtyard. When she returned to the main gate shortly after, she was surprised to see her brother and husband squatting side-by-side at the entrance. The retrieved box of mooncakes lay by her brother's feet. Upon seeing his sister, the dark-skinned man seemed to blush slightly. He picked up the mooncakes and stood, appearing as if he wanted to utter some harsh words to save face. After a long hesitation, he still couldn't say them, so he merely glared fiercely at his brother-in-law and said, "If I ever hear you dare bully my sister again, I'll break your third leg!"

That night, under the moonlight, they walked slowly along the bluestone path back home. Occasionally, she would playfully skip a few steps with her hands clasped behind her back, then turn and give him a sweet smile. At that moment, he had a single, simple thought: earn more money, let her live a good life sooner, and ensure such a wonderful woman wouldn't face disdain because of him. So, he began calculating how much fragmented silver and copper coins he had saved, and when he could rent a bigger room, then a small courtyard, and finally a large mansion. But as he thought, he couldn't help but sigh. It wasn't that he felt exhausted, but rather that living a down-to-earth life truly meant every copper coin had to be earned with sweat.Fortunately, despite his slight limp, he was diligent, willing to exert himself, always wore a smile, and worked from dawn till dusk. After the earlier days when he was often the target of jokes and ridicule, the self-proclaimed young heroes and great swordsmen around the town were no longer interested in bothering a mere waiter like him. In their words, stepping on dog poop was pointless, only dirtying their shoes without any benefit; bullying a humble tavern assistant who couldn't even "fart loudly" after a few blows was simply beneath them. Moreover, as he frequently invited storytellers to the tavern to recount tales of the martial world, even if they often told old, recycled stories, the smallness of the town proved to be an advantage: listening to stories while drinking tea or wine was better than not having any, wasn't it? Furthermore, whenever other taverns held storytelling competitions, his small establishment always managed to produce some new tricks, and its business was generally getting better and better.The proprietor, despite his constant grumbling, was fundamentally a good man; otherwise, he wouldn't have taken him in. As business improved, he added a few more cents of silver to his monthly pay. Occasionally, when the tavern closed, the proprietor would drink alone, get a little tipsy, and then pull him, his waiter, to share some hearty, greasy dishes. When he got married, the proprietor even gave him a generous red envelope containing three taels of silver, which was quite lavish in a small town. After that, he worked even harder; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he could do the work of two, if not three, waiters.After the Mid-Autumn Festival this year, the proprietor gritted his teeth, realizing that even with such a diligent waiter, the increasingly prosperous business was becoming unmanageable. So, he hired a delicate young woman from a nearby village as a wine seller. She was seventeen or eighteen, with good potential but from a truly poor family, making her look thin and dark-skinned. After she started working at the tavern and had a few substantial, meaty meals, her figure quickly filled out, and she soon developed a charming freshness. This, in turn, increased the tavern's daily income, which delighted the proprietor. What amused him even more was his sharp eye catching that the young woman seemed to have a liking for the man surnamed Wen. He found it both irritating and funny, thinking, "This girl must be out of her mind! Even if this waiter has a good character, he's already married. Why are you blindly rushing in like a moth to a flame? It wouldn't be hard for you to find a young man of suitable status later on. Is she actually thinking of becoming his concubine? Only the wealthiest lords in town could enjoy such a luxury!" What was even more interesting, however, was that the man surnamed Wen, usually quite shrewd, was stubbornly dense in this regard. For any other ordinary man, a young woman actively throwing herself into his arms, a little flirtation, a gentle touch of the hand, a squeeze of the waist, would be considered a good, trivial matter, especially since it cost nothing. But the man surnamed Wen remained utterly oblivious, more proper than even the few educated scholars with official titles in town. This left the proprietor, who was secretly enjoying the show, quite anxious on his behalf.

Winter was approaching. Wealthy gentlemen were likely already counting down the days to the first snowfall, their homes well-stocked with charcoal, eagerly anticipating when they could don their marten and fur coats bought from the county and prefectural cities.For the poor, however, winter would be much harsher. Snow brought cold, and melting snow brought even more intense cold. Buying warm clothes and thick boots cost money, and burning charcoal for heat was essentially burning through their meager funds.

This small town was relatively prosperous, and the times were peaceful. However, rumors from the north, especially beyond the Guangling River—said to divide the Liyang Dynasty into northern and southern halves—spoke of many deaths and fierce battles. The imperial court reportedly had hundreds of thousands of troops stationed there. Some well-informed officials in town even brought news from the county and prefecture, claiming a formidable general under a powerful southern prince had led a hundred thousand troops from the southernmost regions to the Guangling River, causing such bloodshed that the dead bodies nearly blocked the entire great river. Each account was detailed and convincing, naturally terrifying the townspeople, who only prayed that the hard-won peace wouldn't be shattered by this war. It was also faintly rumored that Beiliang, the northwesternmost region of Liyang, suffered even more, with a million Barbarian troops from Beimang reaching their doorstep. When elderly townsfolk discussed these significant national affairs, they couldn't help but sigh deeply. In contrast, many young people were carefree, occasionally contradicting the elders. Most believed war was no big deal, thinking that joining the army might lead to a general's destiny, returning from the battlefield with hundreds or thousands of armored soldiers, proudly seated on warhorses—now *that* would be truly magnificent!

For four or five consecutive days, no storyteller had appeared at the tavern. Not only were the regulars growing restless, with the more impatient ones outright cursing from their benches, but even the proprietor was getting anxious. He cornered the waiter surnamed Wen and began scolding him, spitting as he spoke. The waiter, however, just smiled and explained that he had sent the storyteller to the county seat to "learn from the classics." He pointed out that several larger taverns in town now not only had old storytellers but also beautiful young women playing the pipa for entertainment. To attract more business, their own tavern needed to show some real flair! The proprietor rolled his eyes. While the reasoning made sense, he urged, "But you rascal, hurry up and get that old fellow back to show off some tricks! If we delay any longer, all our regulars will abandon us!" Finally, the proprietor patted the waiter's shoulder, perhaps having a change of heart, and glared as he added, "Next time you send that old freeloader who mooches off our wine, food, and lodging on a long trip, don't secretly pay for it yourself. The tavern will cover the cost."

Before the waiter could flatter him, the proprietor had already turned and walked away, clutching his chest and muttering about how much it pained him, truly pained him. "Being a good person is simply not worth it, not worth it at all," he lamented.

The young waiter, who had been left with a limp at an early age, looked out at the small street, a wide grin spreading across his face.

That day, the old man who had been the tavern's regular storyteller for years finally returned. News spread like wildfire, and the tavern was packed to capacity that very day.

The entire tavern erupted in laughter, especially when the old man, with animated gestures, spoke of a particular matter. Even the proprietor and the young wine seller were overcome with amusement. Everyone turned to stare at the waiter surnamed Wen, and some of the rougher men laughed so hard they held their bellies, tears almost streaming from their eyes.

The storyteller, who had hurried back from the county seat, announced that the greatest martial artist in the world was no longer Wang Xianzhi of Wudi City in the East Sea. Instead, it was a young prince, the King of Beiliang, who commanded three hundred thousand Beiliang Iron Cavalry!

This supreme martial artist, along with Beimang's Military God Tuoba Pusa—who ranked as the world's second or third greatest—had fought a fierce battle in the Western Regions. These two paramount figures of the age had battled across a thousand li, turning the world upside down and eclipsing the sun and moon.

And in that conflict, our Liyang's King of Beiliang had once, with a single sword stroke, forced the most formidable man of the Beimang Dynasty to retreat from the city! He was pushed back not just thousands of paces, but at least hundreds! The city wall seemed as flimsy as paper!

Then, that exceptionally young but powerful prince, who had reached the pinnacle of the martial world, personally declared that he had learned that sword technique from a Central Plains swordsman named Wen Hua.

Amidst the roar of laughter, busybodies constantly yelled out, "Hey, Wen, when did you get so chummy with the King of Beiliang? Or better yet, when are you taking us to the Northwest to witness the might of the Beiliang Iron Cavalry?"

"Exactly! He's a prince, so he must have a princely mansion, right? Waiter, we'll bask in your glory! How about you take us to Beiliang tomorrow? Enjoying delicious food and drinks shouldn't be difficult, should it?"

"Flying sword! Give us a flying sword! Wen, since you can impress such a mighty prince, you must know those flying sword techniques from the martial novels, right? How about I break off a bench leg for you, and you take me for a flight?"

The limping young man, standing dazedly in the tavern's main hall with a pot of wine, momentarily forgot to pour drinks for the guests. He remained silent, not answering a word, yet he couldn't stop laughing.He was, in fact, laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face.

At that moment, a guest who finally realized he had been waiting a long time for his wine slammed the table and roared, "Wen! Where's my wine?! Do you actually think you're that Central Plains swordsman the prince mentioned?! Damn you!"

The waiter suddenly lowered his head, then lifted the shoulder of his disabled arm to hastily wipe away the tears from his face, bursting into loud laughter."Coming right up, sir! Wine's here!"