Chapter 977: No Wooden Sword for Wen Hua

A bustling city has its grandeur, and a remote town has its own lively charm. This small town, located in the southeast of Liyang, had always been far removed from the smoke of war. During times of peace, this might not have seemed particularly noteworthy, but with rumors of conflict and unrest spreading from the prefectural cities, the town’s tranquility felt especially profound. Near the town were several villages named after surnames, and during ancestor worship rituals, they would display impressive portraits. Song Family Village, for instance, boasted a portrait of an ancestor who was a Song emperor, naturally feeling superior to villages that displayed portraits of founding heroes of the Da Feng Dynasty or high officials from Spring and Autumn period minor states. However, while the Song Family Village's ancestors were indeed distinguished, the few families with the Wen surname, who were outsiders, couldn't bask in that glory. In truth, even the village elders, some of whom had received a few days of schooling or meticulously studied the family genealogy, couldn't articulate the exact connection between themselves and that Song emperor. It was said that a curious villager once specifically brought the small wooden box containing the family tree to consult an elderly *xiucai* (scholar) in the town, a man of some academic achievement, but even he couldn't explain it. Unexpectedly, it was the young Wen fellow, generally considered the least ambitious in the village, who, after wandering outside for three years and returning home, confidently asserted that there was a profound reason why the characters "Yinchuan" were carved onto the headstones of their ancestors' graves. He claimed that during the Da Feng Dynasty, it was said that half of the empire’s scholars hailed from Yinchuan Commandery, and the Yinchuan Song clan was a top-tier noble family, producing many esteemed civil officials and scholars. The ancestor who first established himself as a warlord at the end of the Da Feng Dynasty and then became the first Song emperor, came from a minor branch of this distinguished Yinchuan Song clan. The origins of Song Family Village, he deduced, must be linked to the downfall of that warlord faction and the subsequent southward migration known as the "Sweet Dew Southern Crossing," a renowned historical event, during which they continuously journeyed before finally settling and establishing roots here. After the young Wen man clarified the lineage, the village elders, to varying degrees, understood him. Even those who didn't fully grasp it pretended to, thinking, "Listen to that! Both the Yinchuan Song clan and the Sweet Dew Southern Crossing—what grandeur! It shows that even though our Song Family Village hasn't produced a single *tongsheng* (entry-level scholar) in a hundred years, our ancestors were truly wealthy and noble. Perhaps their good fortune was so immense centuries ago that their descendants are fated to live humbly, simply not destined for riches and honor." The young Wen fellow, originally quite unpopular in the village, unexpectedly transformed after returning home impoverished and with a limp. Not only did he shed his carefree, wooden-sword-wielding demeanor, but he also found work as a handyman in a town tavern. Far from depending on his elder brother and sister-in-law, he even managed to send money home. Even more surprisingly, the young man married a virtuous and charming wife. Her presence at the wedding banquet held on the open ground outside the village ancestral hall had captivated many young Song men, married or not.

After Wen got married, he no longer stayed in the tavern's utility room. Having saved some money, he rented a small courtyard in town with three rooms. Besides the bridal chamber, adorned with festive red paper-cuttings on the windows, one small room was used for storage. The third room was not left empty; it was meticulously cleaned and kept spotless by his resourceful wife, with fresh bedding, because her husband had said that his brothers might visit in the future, and there had to be a place for them to stay. Otherwise, it would be improper. Besides, making friends pay for lodging at an inn or tavern would be both distant and wasteful, not thoughtful. She agreed, thinking his reasoning made sense. Although their household wasn't well-off, she came from a humble but financially stable family. Yet, she was truly a generous-minded woman. When she insisted on marrying him, no one in her family approved, and she didn't even receive a dowry. She gritted her teeth and asked nothing of her parents. Fortunately, time reveals character. Now, when she wanted to take him to her parents' home, her parents still showed some displeasure, but her brothers had, more or less, put aside their reservations. They understood their father couldn't bring himself to socialize openly with his son-in-law at the dinner table, but each of them had privately visited her courtyard, never forgetting to bring wine and meat, already acting like family. She knew that once she had a child, and her parents held their grandchild, they would find a way to reconcile fully and completely let go of any lingering resentment towards him. However, even in a small town, expenses were not trivial. While living on her husband's earnings as a tavern assistant, they managed comfortably. But with a third mouth to feed, things would become difficult. Fortunately, her needlework was famously exquisite. She had a sister who owned a fabric shop, and her meticulously stitched small items, displayed as complimentary gifts for customers buying fabric, boosted the shop's business by a few percent. So, each month, she would earn two or three taels of silver, nearly as much as her husband, the head of the household.

The town had been bustling these past two days. Around the time of *Chushu* (End of Heat), the southeastern Liyang region traditionally observed the Zhongyuan Festival, also known as the Ghost Festival in local dialect, which included ancestor worship and autumn welcoming activities. It was believed that King Yama, in his great mercy, specifically opened the gates of the underworld during this period, allowing the deceased to return home and visit their living descendants, easing the longing caused by the separation of yin and yang. In reality, it only sounded slightly eerie; neither adults nor children felt any apprehension, viewing it simply as an occasion for excitement. Monks and Taoist priests would begin rituals for the salvation of souls and almsgiving, while ordinary folk would erect lamp poles and release river lanterns. Especially for young children, nestled in their parents' arms, or standing on tiptoes supported by bridge railings, or even lying on the riverside flagstones, their eyes filled with the vibrant, colorful lotus lanterns, their hearts swelled with joy and delight, no less than during the Mid-Autumn Festival when they could eat mooncakes. Yesterday, he went to the village to pick up his nephew, planning to let his wife take the child sightseeing. Conveniently, his wife, being exceptionally skilled, had made two large bamboo baskets full of river lanterns to sell by the bridge. He was confident that with her craftsmanship, they would quickly be bought up by people enjoying the evening stroll. He had watched her personally in the courtyard as she wove and assembled the lanterns, in a myriad of styles: flowers, birds, fish, insects, precious lotuses, turtles, cranes, dragons and phoenixes representing auspiciousness. He truly wondered how there could be such skillful hands in the world. So, at the time, he just sat on a bench, enjoying the cool breeze, knowing he couldn't help without getting in the way, and simply amused himself. His young scholar nephew, initially a bit reserved upon arriving in town, was taken to the tavern first during the day, where he obediently listened to the storyteller in a corner, completely engrossed. The child inherited his father's reserved and earnest nature, not speaking much. As an uncle, he felt both fondness and concern: fondness for the child's genuine character, but concern that his excessive honesty might lead to him being taken advantage of later in life. The tavern where Wen worked as a waiter was now considered a famous spot in town. While most taverns in town nowadays hired storytellers to narrate tales of the *jianghu* (martial arts world), only their tavern consistently presented the freshest and most captivating stories. This was, of course, entirely thanks to him. Earlier, it was he who, after much persuasive effort, successfully convinced the tavern owner not to be stingy with the travel expenses for the storyteller to visit larger cities, even prefectural capitals. Thus, when this tavern first recounted the tale of the female martial arts alliance leader from Daxueping who achieved enlightenment by observing snow overnight, or was the first to speak of the Buddhist-Taoist debate at Wudang Mountain, the ancestral temple of Taoism in the Northwest, or the turbulent changes in the martial arts holy land of Wudi City, and the hundred riders from Wu Family Sword Tomb journeying to Beiliang, it caused a sensation in the town. The townsfolk’s conversations after meals were led by the tavern’s storytelling, and the tavern’s business naturally flourished. Though business zoomed and the owner reaped immense profits daily, Wen, as the undisputed top contributor, had secretly paid for the storyteller's first journey to the prefecture city to "seek inspiration." He had never once asked the tavern owner for a share of the profits. Besides the occasional copper coins given as tips by drunk patrons, his wages from the tavern remained exactly what they were on his first day of work—not a single copper coin more. The owner stood smiling behind the counter every day, observing the diligent Wen always running errands, watching the sharp-witted young man serve tea, deliver wine, and offer smiles. What this old man was truly plotting in his heart remained a mystery.

Today, the tavern storyteller, full of spirit and spitting enthusiasm, recounted an extraordinary event: a sword master named Qi Jiajie from the imperial capital of Liyang, who served as a sword instructor to many imperial princes and noble scions in Tai'an City, for some unknown reason, requested the forging of an unparalleled famous sword from the Dongyue Sword Pool, a place known for its towering mountains, long rivers, and formidable sword aura. Then, Qi Jiajie himself arrived first at the foot of Beiliang Wudang Mountain, in a small town not much more famous than their own. His flying sword arrived later, soaring millions of miles, and delivered a strike towards the young, non-imperial prince who guarded the northwestern frontier. It was an earth-shattering, soul-stirring blow! The cloud sea parted for ten thousand miles, and sword energy stirred heaven and earth. Yet, to everyone's astonishment, that young prince was even more formidable, rising from the ground to stand proudly above the cloud sea at the border of Beiliang Dao and Lianghuai Dao, actually blocking that flying sword capable of slaying immortals! The storyteller spoke voluminously, and as he reached the climax, even the old man himself was dumbfounded, let alone the tavern patrons who were drinking and eating while listening to the story. They were all speechless and stunned, pausing their cups and chopsticks, their minds reeling. After coming back to their senses, the story was still unfinished, and they hadn't yet heard that most annoying phrase, "Tune in next time for the full explanation," they would, of course, order another one or two pots of wine from the tavern. It was the first time Wen's nephew had ever heard a storyteller, and certainly the first time he'd heard tales of jianghu characters and events. He was utterly dumbfounded, listening as if to a divine scripture. Sitting on the small stool his uncle had brought for him in the corner, he clenched his fists, pricked up his ears, and widened his eyes, feeling that listening to jianghu stories was somehow even more interesting than reading books by sages.

Every story has an end, and taverns eventually close. As the storyteller's tale concluded, night had fallen outside, and the tavern was nearly ready to close for the day. The tavern owner, who had made a good profit today, was likely in a good mood. He instructed the chef to prepare a special meal and invited Wen, the waiter, and his nephew to join him at the table for a delicious dinner. The unworldly child was overjoyed. However, being a young scholar who had attended private tutoring, he ate with a certain formality, sitting upright. Despite his cravings, he didn't pick up his chopsticks quickly, nor did he dare to take more than a few bites of the large fish and meat, dishes usually reserved for holidays. The tavern owner, however, smiled and helped the child pile his bowl high with food. The child felt a bit embarrassed and shyly looked at his uncle. The waiter smiled and told him to eat freely, saying, "Your Grandpa Owner is a great benefactor in this town; he's very generous." The child then gave the owner a shy smile, and the old man burst into laughter. Pouring wine for himself and the waiter, he pointed upstairs with his chopsticks and told the well-behaved child, "Come visit the tavern often in the future. Next time you come to hear a story, Grandpa will find you a spot by the railing of the second-floor courtyard." The old man toasted the waiter with a cup of wine, jokingly remarking, "This child is not like you; he's honest and lovable." The waiter proudly replied, "Of course he is! He takes after my brother, which is a blessing. He's excellent at studying; who knows, he might become a *xiucai* someday." The child earnestly retorted, "My teacher said it would be good enough if I could just pass the *tongsheng* exam." The old man, who had always deeply respected scholars, stroked the child's head and sighed, "The county, prefectural, and academy exams are all formidable obstacles. Listen to Grandpa Owner: for every exam you pass, our tavern will give you a big red envelope. And if you achieve scholarly success, whether as a *tongsheng* or a *xiucai*, don't forget to write a plaque for our tavern to bring Grandpa Owner some prestige." The child nodded vigorously and happily told the old man, "Uncle bought me a lot of paper and brushes, but I haven't dared to use them yet. I still practice writing by the village stream with a twig dipped in water, like before, and I draw characters on the ground when I'm herding cattle. My teacher says that a clumsy bird has to start early to make up for its shortcomings. There will always be a time when I can write well, and then I'll write a big plaque for Grandpa Owner to hang up." Perhaps it was the rare opportunity to drink alcohol, but the waiter-uncle joked, "Studying is good; only through study can you achieve something. A well-read fellow will find it easier to 'trick' a wife into coming home." The nephew, who secretly liked a girl his age in the village, immediately turned red and glared at his uncle. Wen, the waiter, and the tavern owner exchanged smiles and raised their cups, "Cheers, cheers."

After dinner, he sent his nephew home, as he still had to help clean up the tavern. They would meet later by the bridge in town.

The tavern owner watched the young man busy clearing dishes. Sipping his wine, he said with a slight tipsiness, "When I took you in, I never imagined a day like this. Back then, I just felt sorry for you, thinking you wouldn't come to this humble little place to simply waste away unless you were truly desperate. How could I have known you'd help the tavern earn so much money? Honestly, this past year alone, we've made more than in the previous ten years combined."

The young man looked up and smiled, "Good people get good returns, owner. It's only right."

The old man smiled and countered, "Only right?"

The young man asked, puzzled, "Isn't it?"

The old man sighed, "A truth like 'good people get good returns' is fine for a child like your nephew to believe, but an old man like me, I truly don't dare to believe it."

The old man looked directly at the diligent waiter, who was constantly bustling about. "Guests who come here to drink, eat, and listen to stories all think you're a mild-mannered fellow. But I don't think so. I've always felt you..."

The young man interjected playfully, "You want to say I'm good-for-nothing, right, owner?"

The old man chuckled, scolding him, "Nonsense! I truly don't know how your wife came to fancy you!"

The young man pointed at his own face, grinning cheekily, "My parents made me handsome, owner. You really can't be jealous of that."

The old man waved his hand, "Enough of this nonsense. Today, I want to talk to you about something serious."

The young man's smile faded, and he stood respectfully by the table. "Owner, please speak freely if there's something you need. It's true that I, Wen Hua, haven't achieved much, but I remember everyone who has been kind to me in my heart. I wouldn't dare boast about repaying a drop of kindness with a gushing spring, nor do I have the ability to return such favors. But I will repay every bit of kindness, even if it takes my entire life to do so. So, owner, please don't be formal with me. If you hadn't been willing to take me in, I'd probably be chopping wood, burning charcoal, or working as a day laborer somewhere, let alone getting married. At best, I'd barely manage to feed myself and not starve. Even saving money to buy paper and brushes for my nephew would be difficult."

The old man smiled, gazing at the sincere young man, and put down his wine cup. "You've taken care of most of the tavern's affairs single-handedly, leaving me, the owner, quite idle every day. So, I listen to all the *jianghu* stories the storyteller spins, or tales of scholars and beauties, or strange fox spirits. Some I hear and forget, but a few phrases I've taken to heart. One, in particular, which probably no one else pays attention to, has truly struck me: 'It has always been difficult for people to be genuinely kind.' The more I think about it, the truer it seems. It's true in business, and even more so in friendship. That's why I later entrusted you with handling the tavern's finances. Initially, I wasn't without concerns; I actually intended to see if you would secretly pocket some money. After all, all great businesses in this world are built coin by coin. But I was very surprised. From beginning to end, you didn't take a single copper coin. The accounts are perfectly clear, and everything behind the scenes is spotless. This is truly rare. Fine wine reddens faces, and wealth sways hearts – that's human nature. So, you, young man, are a truly honorable person."

The young man said gravely, "Owner, you speak like a stranger. Any peace and stability I, Wen Hua, have today are thanks to your kindness. If I were to secretly take money from the tavern against my conscience, I wouldn't be a human being. I can't do such a thing!"

The old man nodded. "As you know, I'm getting on in years. All my life, I've dreamed of buying a large estate in the prefectural city to retire, especially since both my daughters and their husbands are making a living there. Although the old saying goes that 'a married daughter is like spilled water,' what parents in this world don't wish well for their children? My two daughters didn't marry particularly well, and life in the prefectural city isn't easy for them. So, they've set their sights on my little nest egg—I want them to live more honorably, without having to rent rooms or be dependent on others. Before, I had the desire but not the means. The three or four hundred taels of silver I saved were barely adequate in the county town, but certainly not enough for the prefectural city, where land is precious. Thanks to you, Wen Hua, my savings have doubled this year, to nearly eight hundred taels of silver. As long as it's not a place where aristocrats gather, like Qingtu Lane or Haier Lane, it's almost enough to buy a decent house. And since you're here at the tavern, I've been thinking recently about whether to transfer the tavern to you..."

The waiter was stunned for a moment, then gave a wry smile. "Old owner, even if I sold everything I own, I definitely couldn't afford such a large tavern."

The old man chuckled. "This tavern used to be worth around one hundred eighty taels of silver. Nowadays, it's different; it should be valued at three or four hundred taels. You know that, and I certainly know it better. As for how much savings you have, I know that even more clearly. So, I thought of a compromise; see if it works for you. We'll value the tavern at three hundred taels of silver. You don't need to pay this money immediately; just remember to give me a share of the profits every year. But let me be clear: after you've repaid the three hundred taels for the tavern's purchase, if the tavern continues to make money, I, as the old owner, will still expect an annual 'filial' contribution from you. As for the exact amount, I won't insist; you can decide. In short, first take good care of your own family."

The young man hesitated, on the verge of speaking.

The old man waved his hand, signaling the young man to sit down. "Don't feel indebted to me. I'm clever, you see. I know you'll definitely make the tavern business grow bigger and bigger in the future. With your honesty, how could the annual profit share be small? I'll be lounging in my grand house in the prefectural city, enjoying myself, and I'll still get a sum of money every year for free. I'm making a huge profit!"

The young man sat back on the long bench, straightened his back, and said, "Old owner, words cannot express my gratitude for such great kindness!"

The old man made a finger-twirling gesture and teased, "Don't just say it. In the future, speak with silver."

The young man suddenly laughed, "Old owner, aren't you afraid I'll default on the payment later, and after paying back the three hundred taels, I'll be reluctant to give you a share of the profits?"

The old man raised an eyebrow, then pointed to the young man's chest, and then to his own eyes. "The reason this deal is happening is, first, because I trust your conscience, and second, because I trust my own judgment!"

The young man and the old owner each filled a cup with wine. After raising their cups, the young man said, "It's all in the wine!"

Both drained their cups.

After finishing his wine, the old man said, "You rascal, go see your wife quickly. Oh, and go get a pot of that newly arrived Green Ant wine from behind the counter. Consider it my celebration for you finally having your own family business."

The young man stood up and laughed heartily, "Alright!"

The old man didn't forget to remind him, "Celebration is one thing, but the cost of the wine will be on your tab! This Green Ant wine isn't cheap. They say a pot is less than two *qian* of silver from Beiliang Dao, but it goes up to one *liang* or more in Lianghuai, and then from Jiangnan Dao to here, tsk tsk, it's a full four *liang* of silver! That's not selling wine; it's practically selling silver directly. Drink slowly, young man, don't finish it before you've even properly tasted it."

The young man chuckled, "I wouldn't dare drink it all myself!"

The old man asked curiously, "What then? Are you giving it to your brother, or your father-in-law?"

The young man, who had been heading straight for the counter, suddenly paused, turned, and grinned. "Neither. I'm saving it for my brother. If he ever comes to stay with me and freeload, I'll use this wine to entertain him. Back then... a long time ago, when we were wandering together, he always said that among all the wines in the world, Green Ant wine was the most flavorful. He used to tease me with it. Later, we parted ways. Once, I passed through his hometown alone, but I was in a hurry and didn't get to drink it, nor did I ever truly understand its taste."

The old man grumbled, "What taste? It's just expensive; nothing else to it. I don't like drinking it. It's too strong and fiery, burns your throat, and has a powerful aftereffect. In my opinion, it's truly not as pleasant to drink as our local home-brewed rice wine."

The young man smiled, "My brother is half a *jianghu* man. When riding a horse and drinking, naturally he'd want the strongest wine. Drinking that soft rice wine wouldn't be worthy of a hero!"

The old man chuckled, "Oh, a *jianghu* man? And judging by your words, you traveled quite far when you roamed the *jianghu* back then?"

The young man scratched his head, "I only traveled far, that's all."

The old man rolled his eyes, "And you suffered quite a bit, didn't you!"

The young man just smiled.

The old man, sitting alone at the table, slowly sipped his wine, watching the waiter carefully carrying the wine pot from a distance. Without preamble, he asked, "Wen Hua, our tavern's storyteller has mentioned several times that the Prince of the Northwest admits to having a brother he met in the *jianghu*, who just happens to have the same given name and surname as you? Then your brother, shouldn't his surname be Xu?"

The young man, standing at a distance, gave a brilliant smile. "What a coincidence, he actually is!"

The old man burst out laughing, waving his hand, "You rascal! Get out of here!"

The old man, whose cup was now empty, shook the wine pot; it was also empty. He turned to look at the young man, who was limping towards the tavern entrance. Yet, his gait conveyed neither misery nor absurdity. Suddenly, the old man burst out laughing and asked loudly, "Wen Hua, you aren't truly that famous swordsman from the capital, are you?"

The young man, holding the pot of Green Ant wine with both hands, slowly turned around and made a funny face. "Owner, do I look like him?"

The old man smiled without answering, waving his hand again.

The old owner sat back down, his pot and cup both empty. Bored, he pondered for a moment, then looked towards the main door, muttering to himself with a self-deprecating laugh, "No, not really. And why would he be?"

After leaving the tavern, the young man walked quickly towards the small bridge. Along the way, people flowed endlessly on both banks of the river. Looking out, the tranquil river surface was dotted with illuminated river lanterns, twinkling like stars in a summer night sky. According to local custom, on the Zhongyuan Festival, if wandering, unattached spirits of the deceased could find a river lantern with their name written on it, they could be reincarnated. He had once heard his brother, with whom he'd wandered the *jianghu*, say that Buddhism had a method of reincarnation through lanterns, especially for vengeful spirits and tormented souls unable to find peace in the underworld; they could achieve liberation by means of a lotus lantern on the rivers of the living world. One of his lifelong regrets was that he and his elder brother's family could only afford for one of them to study. His brother had given him the opportunity, but he didn't love studying and didn't cherish it, constantly dreaming of chivalry and justice, yearning for the world of martial arts and bloodshed. That's why he now lectured his nephew more than his brother or sister-in-law, urging the child to study hard. The paper and brushes he bought for his nephew were the most expensive and best in town. He didn't necessarily hope his nephew would achieve scholarly success or bring glory to the family. Instead, he genuinely believed that for a man to study, to gain extensive knowledge, to write beautifully so he wouldn't need to ask others for spring couplets every year, or later, when he had children, to be able to choose names for them from books himself—these were all truly great things.

To practice sword-fighting and become the greatest in the world, ultimately only one person can achieve it. When it comes to being strong, there are always martial arts masters in the *jianghu* with even harder fists. However, the wisdom scholars derive from books will always be far greater than the pronouncements made by emperors, generals, or high officials.

Upon reaching the familiar bluestone bridge, his wife had indeed sold both baskets of river lanterns, and his nephew was holding the last one.

She waited for him to come closer, then softly asked, "Why did you want me to keep one lantern? And to write 'Beiliang' on it?"

He smiled slightly. "The young man I've told you about, he's from Beiliang. There's a war going on in the west, so I thought of praying for him."

The three of them walked down from the bridge, reached the bank, and he bent down to gently place the river lantern into the water.

The three simply sat shoulder to shoulder on the bank. He ruffled his nephew's hair, asking the child to hold the pot of Green Ant wine, then looked up at his wife and smiled, "If we ever meet him in the future, and that fellow calls you 'younger sister-in-law,' whatever you do, don't agree! He must call you 'elder sister-in-law'."

Her eyes crinkled in a playful smile. "You two even argue about things like that."

He laughed happily, "I can concede on other things, but on this one, I absolutely cannot give in!"

She blushed slightly, resignedly saying, "Then are you still thinking about becoming in-laws with him later? You said you arranged a childhood betrothal back then, and he agreed?"

He said with a confident tone, "How dare he not agree?!"

His wife smiled. For some reason, her husband usually didn't care about anything, but only when he spoke of his brother did he become exceptionally proud.

Sometimes, she even felt a little pang of jealousy.

She didn't know what her husband and his brother had gone through together years ago to make her husband unable to let go of him.

Yet, she knew better than anyone that this man, Wen Hua, could pick up anything and put down anything, even his pride, which a man should value most; he could always let it go when he said he would.

He looked at the river surface and said softly, "Wife, don't worry. I'm not longing for the *jianghu* I once traveled. I'm just longing for my brother."

Then he turned and grinned, "There's no helping it. I know that without me in the *jianghu*, no matter how well he fares, he'll still find it meaningless."

Look, listen—that tone again.

She rolled her eyes at him.

He chuckled, "Wife, you really shouldn't doubt me. Who am I? And who is my brother? When we two brothers roamed the *jianghu* back then, we were..."

Suddenly seeing his wife looking at him with an amused smile, he immediately changed his tune: "We were absolutely full of righteousness! Uh, and of course, things were a bit rough; we'd eat one meal and go hungry for three."

She pressed her lips together and smiled.

He bent down and said to his nephew, "Your 'cheap' uncle used to love reciting a poem. Let me tell it to you. Have you seen it in your books? 'The sun rises a fathom high over Fusang, human affairs are fine as hair. A common man, enraged by injustice, grinds down the eternal blade within his chest.'"

The child, who had only just begun his studies at the village school, was naturally bewildered and vigorously shook his head.

He raised his head again, gazing wistfully at the sparkling water surface covered with river lanterns. A gentle breeze brushed his face, and his expression was serene.

He seemed to be speaking to himself, "The Green Ant wine is kept for you, and there's an empty room at home for you. Xiaonian, if you still consider me your brother, then don't die outside Liangzhou Pass."

(End of chapter)