Author Archives: Thingyan

The Mu family carried a haughty attitude and rejected cooperation.

“The Mu family said that if someone is truly sincere about business, then let the gentleman come to speak in person. Sending a messenger to play tricks and peddle news—our Mu family has never cooperated with such people.”

“This Mu family’s manner is really foul,” the go-between said. “I followed your instructions and told them of a place where new silk has just been produced. In moonlight, it gleams with rippling light, very beautiful. It has not yet spread widely, so the price is cheap. The Mu family replied that they have been in the silk trade for many years, with plenty of contacts. How could they have never heard of such fine silk? They also complained that your request was too demanding—asking them to use caravan manpower to purchase and transport the silk, but without giving them even a share of labor costs. How could there be such a favorable bargain under heaven?”

Qi Beinan only smiled and shook his head.

It was no surprise that the caravans were unwilling to cooperate. Yet Qi Beinan did not think his proposal excessive. With one such piece of information, the caravan could not only build a connection with the silk sellers, but also make a fortune by bringing the silk back. If he had to cover their travel expenses and labor fees besides, then what profit would be left for himself?

If the Mu family did not believe his information, so be it. It did not hurt relations. But since they even accused him of trying to take advantage, such merchants were no longer worth dealing with.

“Would the gentleman be willing to make the trip himself?” the go-between asked.

Qi Beinan waved the matter off.

“The Du family is much easier to talk with,” the go-between continued. “They politely asked for the lead, and they are willing to cooperate with you. Only, they do not trade in silk.”

Qi Beinan understood. “After all, fine silk is too costly for small caravans. A single bolt costs several strings of cash. They cannot carry many, and on the road there is always risk.”

“That’s right,” the go-between confirmed.

Qi Beinan nodded. “If they are willing to cooperate, that is good enough.”

It only meant doing business in cheaper goods. Beyond silks and cloth, there were always cosmetics, rouge, candles, bath powder… everyday goods that were low-cost but profitable enough. Qi Beinan knew well.

Thus, Qi Beinan passed the silk business to the Ming family, and worked out cooperation with the Du family instead.

But the Du family’s mode of cooperation was different. Their trade was in inexpensive daily goods, while Qi Beinan himself was not specialized in such business. Stocking up and reselling had thin profit margins and was troublesome without channels.

So he sent word through the go-between: he would contribute silver into their trade, and they would treat it as a partnership, dividing the profits.

Soon, word came back agreeing to this proposal. Since he was willing to invest money, the caravan would be more secure, and after negotiating a fair division, they signed a contract.

Qi Beinan paid one hundred strings of cash to the Ming family to stock up silk, and another eighty strings to the Du family to invest in this venture.

But the household accounts could only cover one hundred. The extra eighty had to be raised by exchanging away the heavy gifts stored in the storeroom.

In one night, the coffers were once again nearly emptied, leaving only thirty strings to cover daily expenses.

Still, Qi Beinan did not worry. With the autumn harvest, once the grain, livestock, and poultry were sold, there would be a large income. It would be replenished.

Moreover, the caravans would return before the year’s end, bringing back foreign goods. During the lively New Year season, when common folk were willing to spend, those goods would sell well.

By the time Qi Beinan finished handling business, the autumn break was already over, and he returned to the county school for lessons.

Xiao Yuanbao, ever since hearing that Qi Beinan wanted to buy shops in Linzhou, and now seeing him invest in new ventures, guessed it was all to save money for those shops.

He himself also grew a little restless.

Two days prior, his old teacher had come into the city to buy supplies, and Xiao Yuanbao had already taken on three banquets to prepare, keeping him busy.

This year was a bumper harvest, and many households wanted to hold celebrations. Even the village cooks were overwhelmed.

Yet despite this, not a single invitation had come his way.

Xiao Yuanbao understood—now that he was in the county town, the connections he had built in the village were useless. Who in town would trouble themselves to invite a young ge’er with no name to prepare their banquet?

So Xiao Yuanbao thought of taking banquet work in the city.

But he had only recently arrived, with no networks, no master to vouch for him. How could he expect households to entrust him with such work?

Thus, he invited one of the steward-mothers who bought vegetables from their household to drink wine, and asked her for guidance.

The steward-mother explained that in town there was a “Cook Hall,” founded by several old, reputable chefs, very famous in Lin County.

They accepted every sort of banquet, large and small, and under them were two or three dozen cooks.

“So many!” Xiao Yuanbao exclaimed.

The steward-mother laughed: “Not all are in-house cooks. Many just pay the hall fee to be registered under the Cook Hall. When the hall takes more work than their own people can handle, they pass it down to the affiliated cooks.”

Xiao Yuanbao, seeing a path, went to visit the Cook Hall.

The reception there was courteous. He inquired about the hall fee.

They explained: paying two strings of cash gained entry. No need to report in daily—if there was work, they would be notified.

The hall could not guarantee work every month, but every other month there would be a lesson where a master-chef taught a dish.

If he wanted guaranteed work within three months, the fee was five strings. For ten strings, he would be guaranteed one assignment every month, regardless of banquet size.

Xiao Yuanbao clicked his tongue.

Registering under the hall was mainly to gain chances. But not merely for the money earned from each banquet. More important was using the chance at the stove to build connections.

Once connections were built, he could start receiving work directly.

Then there was no need to bitterly rely forever on whatever work the Cook Hall handed down.

To put it plainly, the Cook Hall was just a springboard—created to open doors for cooks without connections. The Cook Hall naturally understood this well. What they earned was not the hall fee, but the “network fee.” So, they kept the price high.

Xiao Yuanbao did some quick math. In the village, going out to take charge of a meal once earned him about sixty copper coins. Just the two strings of cash for hall entry equaled the pay from thirty-some banquets.

Thinking of it made his heart ache.

But it wasn’t even his turn to ache yet.

After asking about the process, the reception attendant instead questioned him on what dishes he could make—what current city-style dishes he knew, how many methods of mutton he could prepare, what his specialty dish was.

When they learned he was a village cook, and that his specialty was cooking offal, they did not mock him. On the contrary, they told him frankly: a countryside cook without city-style dishes would hardly ever get hired in town. Even poorer households in town would not bother inviting such a cook, no matter how skillful.

If he had skill with offal, it would be better to set up a stall in the marketplace. He could earn far more there.

The attendant added that, seeing he was still so young, instead of saving up money to join the hall, it would be wiser to put the money into something else.

The words were blunt, but not wrong.

Xiao Yuanbao had not realized how difficult life in the city was without connections.

Back home, he collapsed face-first onto the couch and lay there reflecting.

In truth, he blamed himself for not knowing enough dishes, for his skills not being refined. He couldn’t even reach the threshold of joining the hall.

In the village, he had been showered with praise so often that he had grown light-headed, believing himself remarkable. Now, doused in a basin of cold water, he had sobered up.

A few years back he had thought of learning some city-style dishes precisely to avoid this kind of humiliation. But there had been no teachers, and little chance for him to practice.

Most rural households only ate mutton, venison, rabbit. If they were better off, they might stew pigeon or turtle.

When Qi Beinan came back from the county school, he didn’t see Xiao Yuanbao in the garden. Iron Niu said he had gone out earlier and, on returning, had gone straight to his room and not come out again.

Whether he was napping or something else, Iron Niu did not know.

Madam Liu went to check once and reported there was nothing wrong, sending Iron Niu back out.

Qi Beinan handed his book box to Iron Niu, not even bothering to change out of his school robes, and went straight inside to look.

Xiao Yuanbao, hearing that Qi Beinan was back, called for him to come in.

Qi Beinan entered and saw Xiao Yuanbao slumped on the couch in the outer room, looking listless and without spirit.

“What’s wrong? Did the people at the Cook Hall bully you?”

Qi Beinan hurried forward.

Xiao Yuanbao pushed himself up. “No, they were polite.”

He choked a little. “It’s just… I wasn’t qualified to join.”

Xiao Yuanbao then told Qi Beinan simply what had happened at the hall.

“In short, the hall shattered our Xiao cook’s confidence.”

Qi Beinan patted Xiao Yuanbao’s head. “To realize one’s shortcomings and strive upward—that is no bad thing. You’re still young. With further effort, you’ll have plenty of time to hone your skills.”

Xiao Yuanbao gave a small laugh. “I know that. It’s just… it will take so much time to learn properly. I won’t be able to contribute much to saving for the shop this time. Thinking of that makes me feel down.”

“There will be many chances in the future. Why mind this moment?” Qi Beinan said. “Don’t always heap burdens on yourself. As long as you have your brother, everything will be handled.”

Xiao Yuanbao pressed his lips together and softly murmured assent.

Then he added: “Or else I could really just set up a little stall, selling offal dishes.”

Qi Beinan lightly knocked his head. “Still thinking about making money? Shouldn’t your first priority be to find a master in the city and learn proper city dishes?”

Xiao Yuanbao covered his head. “That’s true. But staying home all day won’t help me find a master. If I had a stall outside, with people passing by, maybe I’d hear some news.”

“So you’re dead set on this now?” Qi Beinan asked.

Xiao Yuanbao burst into giggles. “Not really.”

Seeing this, Qi Beinan rose from the couch. “I’ll change clothes. I heard from classmates that on Chai Ge Street there’s a shop with spicy lamb trotters that’s especially good. Tonight let’s not eat at home—let’s go try it.”

“Come on, get yourself cleaned up. Look at your hair, all a mess.”

Xiao Yuanbao looked at the broad, elegant hand that Qi Beinan stretched out to him, offering to pull him up. His eyes lingered.

“Don’t want to go?” Qi Beinan asked.

Xiao Yuanbao quickly said, “No!”

And so he grabbed Qi Beinan’s hand, letting himself be pulled up from the couch.

Qi Beinan’s hand was warm, with a thin layer of callus from years of writing. The touch against his own skin was like tiny ants crawling all over his heart—he could not name the feeling.

Since childhood, Xiao Yuanbao had held this hand countless times.

When leaving the house, to keep from getting lost, he had clutched it. When learning to write, Qi Beinan had steadied his strokes with it. That hand had always been there to guide him.

Back then, Xiao Yuanbao had always thought Qi Beinan’s hand was warm. Now, it still was. But somewhere along the way, that warmth, once a comfort that gave him peace of mind, had begun to stir something new inside him.

Xiao Yuanbao felt flustered. After standing stiffly by the couch for a moment, he quickly pulled back his hand. Then, almost as if fleeing, he rushed into the inner room. To cover up his panic, he called out, “Whoever dawdles and makes others wait is a puppy!”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “Then I’ll let you have a few steps’ head start.”

As time passed, the sun tilted westward. The setting light scattered like fine golden powder across the ground, and the sky brimmed with resplendent evening glow. A cool evening breeze carried the mingled fragrance of osmanthus and gardenia.

Qi Beinan waited at the front gate of the residence for some time, but Xiao Yuanbao still did not appear. He did not urge him, nor did he send someone to hurry him along—he simply stood quietly by the screen wall.

About the time it takes to burn one stick of incense, Xiao Yuanbao finally came out slowly from the house.

He wore a robe of Xiangfei-colored cross-collar straight cut, with a thin floral cord tied at his waist, its tassel hanging down at the side. His hair was bound with the same floral cord. The bright hue set off Xiao Yuanbao’s already fair skin, making it seem even more vivid.

Seeing Qi Beinan’s gaze on him made Xiao Yuanbao even more self-conscious, so his eyes flicked nervously about.

“All my clothes were washed, so I just wore whatever I could find.”

Qi Beinan’s eyes softened. “The clothes look very fine—suit you well. You’re even more handsome than usual, by a good margin.”

“Such fine silk clothing, why don’t you wear it often?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face reddened. “I thought the color too gaudy, not suitable for daily wear. And besides, with no occasion, why dress so fancily? So I left it pressed at the bottom of the chest.”

The moment he said it, he realized it sounded wrong. Wasn’t he admitting outright that he had dressed up deliberately just to go out with Brother Beinan?

He cursed himself silently for talking nonsense. Just as he was about to cover it up, Qi Beinan suddenly took his hand.

“Brother understands.”

Qi Beinan’s voice was gentle, and then he tightened his hold, leading him forward.

Xiao Yuanbao froze, dumbly following Qi Beinan’s steps.

Understands…? Understands what?

Does Brother understand that he truly had no other clothes to wear and had to put this one on?

Or does Brother understand that he had dressed up especially to go out with him?

Xiao Yuanbao’s mind was a tangled mess.

“It’s my fault too,” Qi Beinan said lightly, in a tone of visible joy. “I never like to tidy myself up, always wearing sober, old-fashioned clothes. I’ve even made you feel embarrassed to wear bright fabrics.”

Hearing that, Xiao Yuanbao’s heart instantly calmed. He let out a soft hum in agreement, sneaking a glance at the hand still holding his own. Qi Beinan showed no intention of letting go.

Xiao Yuanbao’s ears grew hot. He pressed his lips together, unable to speak, pretending instead that he had seen nothing and turning his eyes elsewhere.

He felt both guilty and excited—like having done something wrong, only to be covered for.

The two of them strolled casually until they reached the little restaurant.

It wasn’t large—five tables inside, with a canopy outside holding three more.

At this hour, the inside was already full, and two tables outside were taken as well.

It was Xiao Yuanbao’s first time coming to this “Lamb Trotter” shop. Since moving into the city just two months ago, he had cooked mostly at home, rarely eating outside.

“The business here really is thriving.”

“I heard it’s an old establishment, been around for years. All the city’s food connoisseurs love it,” Qi Beinan said.

He called for the waiter: “One order of the signature spicy braised lamb trotters, one bowl of hand-pulled lamb, and two bowls of lamb offal soup.” Then he turned to Xiao Yuanbao. “Anything else you’d like?”

“Some cucumber salad,” Xiao Yuanbao replied.

“Alright. And gentlemen, since it’s your first time here, aside from lamb we also do crab noodles and crab rice, both quite good.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes lit up. “You serve crab too?”

“Only during crab season. Otherwise, lamb is our mainstay.”

Qi Beinan asked, “Shall we try a bowl of crab noodles?”

Xiao Yuanbao whispered, “That’s too much. If we can’t finish, it will go to waste.”

“No matter. Just one bowl. If you can’t eat it, I will.”

The waiter glanced at the two of them, smiling. “The gentleman and his husband are truly affectionate.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face instantly flushed crimson.

He hurried to deny, “We’re not—” But before he could finish, the waiter was already off to take another table’s order.

“Please wait just a moment. Your dishes will be right out. For now, have some tea.”

And off he went.

Xiao Yuanbao had no choice but to close his mouth, embarrassed.

He looked back at Qi Beinan, who was calmly pouring tea as though nothing had happened.

Irritated, Xiao Yuanbao poked him lightly. “Didn’t you hear what the waiter just said, Brother?”

Qi Beinan replied, “Let him say what he likes.”

“How can we let people misunderstand? Brother should be more careful in what you say outside.”

Qi Beinan set the tea before him and asked back, “Why? Are you afraid of someone misunderstanding?”

“I—I’m not afraid of that! It’s just—it just doesn’t feel right.”

“What’s wrong with it? Is it me who’s wrong?”

Xiao Yuanbao lifted his eyes toward Qi Beinan, then quickly looked away in guilt. “I didn’t mean Brother was bad. It’s just… I’m afraid people might misunderstand, and it could delay your marriage talks.”

Qi Beinan’s brows shifted slightly. “If it can be delayed, then it was never the right person. If it’s someone truly fitting, no delay would matter.”

Xiao Yuanbao was at a loss for words.

Fortunately, the dishes arrived just then.

He seized the chance to change the subject. “This shredded lamb smells amazing.”

He eagerly picked up a piece with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth. Soft, fragrant, it clung to his teeth, without the slightest gamey odor.

“Brother, taste it.”

Qi Beinan took a bite and nodded his approval.

The lamb trotters were even more marvelous—first braised with spices until the flavor soaked deep, then stewed again with chili sauce. The trotters were tender, the meat falling right off the bone. A single bite filled the mouth with rich flavor, perfect for drinking with wine.

Xiao Yuanbao gnawed down two in a row and said he must someday bring some back for Xiao Hu to enjoy with wine.

“These trotters being good is nothing rare. With money, anyone can come here and eat them.”

“Then tell me, whose cooking is there that money can’t buy?”

“Ah, don’t you know? The other day at a crab shop, while eating crab, a friend told me that an extraordinary cook has come to town. Her dishes—those are not something money alone can buy.”

As Qi Beinan fetched cold tea to soothe Xiao Yuanbao’s spice-reddened face, they overheard a table nearby gossiping.

“Cooks are all just trying to make a living. What nonsense is this about food money can’t buy?”

“But this one doesn’t need money. That old lady cook worked in the Imperial Kitchen of the palace itself. Now she’s retired and come back to our county to spend her old age.”

“Really? Don’t fool me!”

“It’s true. She lives on Hibiscus Lane. Just last month she bought four servants from the brokerage. My own brother works at the brokerage—how could it be false?”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Someone nudged him again, disrupting his focus just as he was about to return to his lane. The leopard demon was on the verge of losing his temper.

In that brief moment of distraction, three opponents burst out from the bush on the right, dived under his tower, secured the kill, and walked away leisurely.

His screen turned gray.

The leopard demon didn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore.

When he turned to see the person who had nudged him, it turned out to be the net manager, Zhong Lianjia. He hesitated but couldn’t hold back. “Why are you bothering me?!”

Zhong Lianjia was too familiar with the leopard demon’s moods to take offense. Instead of arguing, he quietly apologized.

Ever since the incident where the store owner punished the demons after a fight broke out in the café, the demon patrons had noticeably become more polite toward both the owner and the staff.

After Zhong Lianjia’s apology, the leopard demon didn’t press the issue further.

Zhong Lianjia noticed Guanzhong watching him with a curious gaze. He smiled faintly, then returned to the counter.

Guanzhong followed him. “You’re the attendant?”

Xuanfeng had already explained how the café worked, including the role of attendants, so Guanzhong understood they were the go-to for assistance.

Initially uninterested in internet gaming, Guanzhong’s curiosity was piqued after watching the leopard demon’s terrible gameplay. Surely I could do better than that, he thought.

Though the Baixian Mountain lacked spiritual energy, the local demons were surprisingly diligent, spending most of their nights cultivating. As a result, the café was much quieter at night than during the day.

Zhong Lianjia set up an account for Guanzhong.

Guanzhong was determined. He sat down and immediately launched into Canyon.

However, once he began, he realized this “computer” was far more difficult to use than he had imagined. It took him two whole hours to get accustomed to clicking the mouse and pressing the keyboard keys. By the time he finished the beginner’s tutorial, dawn was breaking.

Most of the other patrons had already left, but the leopard demon was still there, furiously typing away at his keyboard, clearly hooked.

Guanzhong, dizzy from hours of gaming, lost interest and sat idly at his station.

At that moment, a middle-aged man walked into the café. His attire was similar to the attendants’, and like them, he was human.

The man approached the counter and produced a stack of strange boxes seemingly out of thin air.

When he opened one, a fragrant aroma wafted through the air.

Guanzhong wrinkled his nose and called out loudly, “net manager, what is that?”

Before Zhong Lianjia could respond, the leopard demon shouted, “net manager! Two grilled sausages, two char siu buns, a bowl of sweet rice wine osmanthus soup, two skewers of roasted sweet potato skins, and a large drumstick!”

With fewer patrons around, Zhong Lianjia fetched a tray and prepared the leopard demon’s order.

During busier times, guests would have to collect their own food from the counter. But for now, Zhong Lianjia delivered the tray to the leopard demon’s table and took his payment in spirit stones.

Guanzhong sat a couple of seats away from the leopard demon. He couldn’t help but glance over and watch as the leopard demon devoured his meal, swallowing involuntarily at the sight.

Though demons typically fed on the dark emotions of humans, with no particular interest in human food, Guanzhong found his appetite stirred as he watched the leopard demon eat.

The leopard demon, still bitter about his losing streak, was in a foul mood. However, the café’s food was perfectly to his taste. After a few bites, he felt much better.

Noticing Guanzhong’s gaze, the leopard demon grabbed a char siu bun from his plate and handed it over. “Try this. These buns are my favorite thing here—way better than anything in Liuxian City.”

Guanzhong didn’t hesitate, taking a bite. The soft, fluffy bun and rich, savory-sweet char siu filling tasted far better than he’d imagined. The more he ate, the more delicious it became.

So this is what human food tastes like.

In just a few bites, he finished the bun and licked the lingering flavor from his fingers. Without saying a word, he stood up and walked straight to the counter.

From receiving the bun to finishing it and heading to the counter, Guanzhong didn’t speak a single word.

The leopard demon was quite satisfied.

The world had gained another char siu bun enthusiast.

Breakfast at the internet café usually started at 5:30 a.m., and the selection was at its peak at this time.

Guanzhong was dazzled by the variety and spent five minutes picking before deciding. Demons didn’t usually eat human food, but the bun given by the leopard demon had piqued his curiosity. He ended up choosing grilled sausage, red bean paste buns, shumai, roasted sweet potato skins, and a bowl of iced rock sugar snow fungus soup.

The net manager packaged the food neatly, collected the spirit stones, and returned to his seat.

Guanzhong noticed there was also a computer in front of the attendant. After completing the transaction, the attendant immediately started staring at the screen, his hands on the keyboard and mouse—something Guanzhong found oddly familiar.

While munching on his grilled sausage, Guanzhong walked behind the counter to take a closer look.

Sure enough, the net manager was playing that same game.

He was even playing the same hero the leopard demon had struggled with earlier. The match had just started, with the first wave of minions spawning.

Guanzhong watched for a few minutes, his expression gradually growing serious. He was so focused he forgot to finish his sausage.

The leopard demon, waiting for Guanzhong to return, noticed he hadn’t come back. Instead, Guanzhong was loitering behind the counter, staring at something like an idiot.

Feeling thirsty, the leopard demon decided to buy some water and wandered over to the counter, only to see Guanzhong watching the attendant play. Curious, the leopard demon joined in.

Huh? The net manager was also playing that game, using his favorite hero.

This piqued his interest. He decided to see how good the net manager actually was.

After a few minutes, the leopard demon’s expression turned grim.

He had lost all night with this hero, finding it useless with its short range and lack of mobility. He’d even sworn to never use this “trash” hero again—yet here was the net manager, dominating the game with it.

The leopard demon glanced at his own hands, then back at the net manager. The thought that the net manager might be better than him was hard to swallow.

Perhaps inspired by the day’s trending gaming news or amused by the leopard demon’s clumsy gameplay earlier, Zhong Lianjia had remembered why he’d first fallen in love with this game. With few customers after midnight, he’d logged into a secondary account to pass the time.

Surprisingly, with his mindset shifted, his gameplay felt smoother than ever.

Instead of his usual jungle role, he tried out top, mid, and support, excelling in each position. This time, using the same hero as the leopard demon, he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the demon being constantly ganked.

Since he needed to keep an ear out for customers, Zhong Lianjia hadn’t put on headphones.

When the leopard demon came to spectate, Zhong Lianjia was just being targeted by the enemy team, who called for their jungler and mid-laner to gank him. Seizing the opportunity, he decided to show off a bit.

He pinged for mid-lane support and stayed under the tower, weaving in and out to bait the enemy.

At this point, Guanzhong and the leopard demon hadn’t realized his intention, nor had they sensed the incoming danger.

When three opponents suddenly jumped out of the bushes, both of them nearly leaped out of their seats.

He’s going to die! He’s going to die!

But the tragedy they feared didn’t happen.

Unlike a panicked novice frantically spamming skills, Zhong Lianjia used his tank build and agile movements to soak damage, baiting out the enemy’s key abilities.

At the perfect moment, his mid-laner flanked from the enemy’s jungle, landing a crowd-control ability that pushed all three opponents back under the tower.

Zhong Lianjia secured the first kill on the enemy mage, his teammate finished off the jungler, and together they dove the tower to take down the under-leveled top-laner.

Guanzhong and the leopard demon were dumbfounded.

The scrawny net manager suddenly seemed larger than life in their eyes.

At 6:30 a.m., Lu Yao arrived to take over the shift. With only two net managers working, the hours were still a bit long. Occasionally, Cheng Ye also had to write programs, making his hours even longer.

Lu Yao was planning to hire another net manager. She had interviewed a few candidates recently, but none were suitable.

Until she found someone, Lu Yao personally came in early in the morning and stayed for a few hours in the afternoon to help cover shifts.

Zhong Lianjia yawned as he logged off, packed his bag, and got ready to leave for the day.

The leopard demon and Guanzhong stood nearby, looking like they had something to say but hesitated.

Zhong waved at Lu Yao, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left the café.

The leopard demon immediately followed him, seemingly trying to catch up, but returned shortly after. The human had disappeared as soon as he stepped outside.

Leaning against the counter, the leopard demon asked, “Lu Yao, is Xiao Zhong really good at games?”

Lu Yao replied, “Of course, he used to be a professional player. You’ve probably never seen him in action during his matches.”

The two demons both shook their heads blankly.

Recently, Lu Yao had taken the time to learn about gaming, including the history, rules, and structure of professional leagues. She enthusiastically shared her newfound knowledge and even pulled up videos of Zhong’s matches as examples.

For the first time, the leopard demon and Guanzhong experienced watching games from a spectator’s perspective.

Humans, with their fleeting lifespans of no more than a hundred years, seemed to expend far more energy pursuing such endeavors compared to demons and devils.

They watched several match highlights in a row. While they didn’t understand much of the strategy, one thing became clear—when it came to gaming, Zhong was far superior to them.

That evening, when Zhong returned for his shift, he noticed a portion of the customers suddenly being exceptionally attentive to him. At first, he thought it was just his imagination.

Later that night, the leopard demon invited him to eat instant noodles. Surprised and flattered, Zhong didn’t dare refuse.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Thingyan: Next chapter pw is zhong

Zeyuan set down his teacup and lifted his eyelids. “Give me your hand.”

Lu Yao froze. “Huh?”

Zeyuan raised an eyebrow slightly, his blood-moon-like eyes locking onto Lu Yao with an unwavering, calm intensity.

Lu Yao hesitated, not moving at all.

Zeyuan seemed to lose patience. He leaned across the wooden table, took Lu Yao’s hand, and traced two characters into her palm: “Zeyuan, my name.”

Where his fingertips passed, they left a faint, tingling sensation.

Lu Yao pulled her hand back. In her palm, the two golden characters shimmered and lingered, refusing to fade.

She looked at her hand, then back at the young man across the table.

Her once-certain thoughts began to waver.

With Lu Mingxiao’s awkward personality, it seemed unlikely he’d act so boldly.

Was she mistaken?

Or could it be that he had lost his memory, just as she once had?

After all, most of what Lu Yao knew about Lu Mingxiao was from after she had bonded with the dream fulfillment system.

She had some knowledge of his childhood and their early days together.

But the time between his departure from the Abyss and their reunion was a blank. She had no idea where he had been or what he had done.

For the first time, Lu Yao realized how little she truly knew about Lu Mingxiao.

Zeyuan’s crimson eyes lowered, his expression calm, as though his earlier action was perfectly normal. “What were you about to say?”

Returning to business, Lu Yao quickly pushed aside her scattered thoughts. “Your Excellency.”

Zeyuan lifted his eyelids, silent. His striking eyes, as brilliant as pomegranate seeds, gazed at her calmly.

Lu Yao’s eyes darted away. She cleared her throat. “Zeyuan.”

His face remained composed. “What is it?”

Lu Yao decided to ease into the topic. “Just now, after trying out the internet café, what did you think? Would the demon clan like it here?”

The young man’s expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts. After a brief silence, he finally spoke. “They would like it—especially that game.”

Lu Yao’s spirits lifted. “If you say so, then there’s no problem.”

She murmured to herself, then looked up again. “I’ve heard that the gateway between the Demon Realm and the mortal world was sealed five hundred years ago. Is that true?”

Zeyuan answered without hesitation. “It is.”

Lu Yao propped one hand against the table. “Then… is there any way to reopen it?”

Actually, all she needed was a narrow tear infused with demonic energy beneath the Bodhi tree, just enough for demon guests to travel between the two realms.

But Lu Yao wasn’t sure of the Demon Lord’s true disposition. She aimed high, leaving room for negotiation.

Zeyuan suddenly shifted his posture. Relaxing further, he leaned back against his chair, his demeanor more laid-back than before. “Of course it’s possible.”

Lu Yao’s eyes curved in delight, ready to follow up with some compliments and begin discussing the details.

But Zeyuan wasn’t finished. “However, how will you thank me?”

Lu Yao blinked twice, as if confirming she hadn’t misheard.

The Demon Lord did seem a bit… strange.

Lu Yao couldn’t bear to let the opportunity slip. As long as Zeyuan agreed, the café could openly welcome demon guests. She decided to see what he wanted.

After gathering her thoughts, she responded with a question, “Your Excellency, what is it that you want?”

Zeyuan’s fingers brushed against the cool teacup on the table, tapping it lightly in an absent-minded rhythm. “Many years ago, I lost something in the human world. I’ve searched across the Six Realms but haven’t found it. If I reopen the gateway, you’ll accompany me to search for it during your free time.”

Lu Yao, prepared for some unreasonable demand, found herself surprised—it seemed she had underestimated him.

“What did you lose?” she asked.

Zeyuan lowered his gaze, a trace of confusion in his expression. “To be honest… I don’t remember. I only feel I lost something very important, but no matter where I look, I cannot find it.”

“I see.” Lu Yao took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and replied firmly, “Alright, I agree.”

The two discussed and decided to first open a narrow fissure of demonic energy beneath the Bodhi tree, with a one-month trial period.

To prevent disturbances in the human world, this fissure would connect directly to the café and only allow demons to return to the Demon Realm. In essence, it would be a door linking the café and the Demon Realm exclusively.

Even though Lu Yao wasn’t sure why Zeyuan had sealed the gateway between the Demon Realm and the human world five hundred years ago, the setup seemed to align with his original intentions. It allowed demons in the Demon Realm to access the café without causing disruptions in the human world.

However, the closure of the gateway hadn’t entirely prevented demons from entering the human world. High-level demons with special artifacts could still open narrow passages of demonic energy by themselves. Yet, out of fear of the Demon Lord, these demons rarely dared to cause trouble.

Zeyuan didn’t share these details with Lu Yao. He simply created the fissure on the wall opposite the café’s front door, as she wished. To match the café’s decor, he even fashioned it into the shape of a proper door.

..

Demon Realm: Weak Water Abyss

The Weak Water Abyss was one of the sixteen abysses in the Demon Realm, located at a moderate distance from the Sky Abyss Demon Palace. It was a bustling demon city, its center filled with numerous demons.

The Demon Realm, vast yet desolate, offered little amusement for its powerful inhabitants. With nothing else to do, they spent their days stirring up trouble and seeking fights to pass the time.

Guanzhong walked aimlessly through the city streets, looking for his next fight. He had traveled from the Deep Abyss, defeating countless demons along the way. By now, he had nearly run out of worthy opponents in the Weak Water Abyss.

Planning to stay one more day, Guanzhong resolved to head to the final city of the Demon Realm’s sixteen abysses, the Sky Abyss Demon Metropolis, tomorrow. His ambition lay with the Sky Abyss’s Demon Palace.

Five hundred years ago, the Demon Lord Zeyuan had ascended to power, leading the demons to withdraw from the human world and sealing the gateway between realms. Many high-level demons had been dissatisfied with this and repeatedly tried to dethrone him to reopen the gateway.

But Zeyuan, though not even three thousand years old, was overwhelmingly powerful. Born with demonic eyes, he was heartless and invincible. None of the demons across the sixteen abysses could rival him.

In just a hundred years, Zeyuan had subdued all opposition and become the undisputed ruler of the Demon Realm. Over the next four centuries, the demons settled under his leadership, seemingly resigned to their mundane, restrained lives, no longer yearning for the chaos of the human world.

Guanzhong, however, had been born with an uncontrollable destructive impulse—and he had no desire to control it. Born a demon, violence and bloodlust were his nature.

Because of the Demon Lord, they were forced to suppress their instincts, confined to the Demon Realm, wasting away day after day. Guanzhong had had enough.

He resolved to train relentlessly, traveling to the Sky Abyss to march straight into the Demon Palace and seize Zeyuan’s throne. Once he ascended, he would throw the gateway wide open, leading the demons back to the human world to subjugate humans and other clans beneath their feet.

Having gone so long without meeting a worthy opponent, Guanzhong felt he was now invincible. Even if he encountered the Demon Lord himself, he was confident he could easily defeat him.

As these thoughts crossed his mind, a sense of isolation crept over him—the loneliness of having no equal.

At that moment, he noticed a sudden fissure of demonic energy appear in a nearby alley. More than a fissure, it resembled a door, just wide enough for a fully-formed adult demon to pass through.

Guanzhong’s interest piqued, and he changed direction toward the mysterious door.

As he got closer, he confirmed it was indeed a door, complete with a handle. However, its design was peculiar—unlike anything he’d seen across the fifteen abyss cities of the Demon Realm.

Could this be a new design from the human world?

Guanzhong pondered for a moment. It was clearly a fissure of demonic energy disguised as a door, though who had created it and why remained unclear.

Regardless, he was intrigued. He lacked the ability to open such fissures himself, so stumbling upon one was an opportunity he couldn’t ignore.

The Demon Lord might still be in the Sky Abyss City, but Guanzhong decided he’d take a quick trip to the human world to enjoy himself before returning to claim Zeyuan’s life.

Without hesitation, he pulled open the door and stepped through.

A blinding white light flashed before his eyes, and though the urge to close them was strong, he resisted.

As the light faded, a cacophony of sounds hit him—a mix of urgent chatter, strange tapping noises, and a heavy presence of demon energy. Guanzhong found himself in a bizarre room.

Was this the human world?

Looking around, he was baffled to see the room filled entirely with demons (demon cultivators). None of them paid him any attention.

They sat at tables, each focused on a strange black box in front of them. Their hands tapped furiously, and occasional curses spilled from their mouths.

What was this place? Could it be a trap set by the demons?

Guanzhong spread his fingers, gathering demonic energy in his palm, ready to destroy the room and fight whoever dared challenge him before heading to the human world.

But before he could act, his wrist was firmly grasped.

From behind the counter, Xuanfeng had been watching Guanzhong since the moment he stepped through the fissure. Amused, he wanted to see what the newcomer would do.

Zeyuan’s agreement to Lu Yao’s request had already shocked Xuanfeng, but what truly caught him off guard was that within mere minutes of opening the door, a demon had already walked through.

Clearly, these demons had been longing to leave the Demon Realm.

Xuanfeng didn’t care much for the human world, but the lack of respect these demons showed for Zeyuan irritated him.

When he saw Guanzhong preparing to cause trouble, Xuanfeng stepped in.

Guanzhong froze. There was another demon here, and this one was much stronger than him. The grip on his wrist alone was enough to suppress him entirely.

He struggled but couldn’t break free. Snarling, he growled, “Let me go!”

Xuanfeng’s voice was low and commanding. “I will, but no causing trouble.”

Guanzhong didn’t argue further. He couldn’t overpower Xuanfeng and had no choice but to comply. Reluctantly, he asked, “What is this place?”

After listening to Xuanfeng’s explanation, Guanzhong dismissed the so-called “internet café” as insignificant, especially when he learned the owner was a human.

Still, wary of Xuanfeng, he refrained from making a scene.

Noticing demons entering and exiting through the door on the other side of the fissure, Guanzhong eagerly rushed over, hoping it led to the human world. To his frustration, the door was sealed with anti-demonic magic.

The enchantment was cast by a high-level demon, making it impossible for demons of lower cultivation to break through.

Assuming Xuanfeng was the one who cast the spell, Guanzhong tried several times but failed. Disheartened, he wandered aimlessly around the café.

Guanzhong had little patience and found it hard to stay in one place for long. The demons sitting at their tables were engrossed in something he didn’t understand, so he kept moving until he ended up behind a leopard demon.

The young leopard demon had created a new account for the Canyon game that morning and had been completely absorbed ever since. After transitioning from bot matches, he began playing ranked games.

In his humanoid form, the leopard demon was slender with long legs and delicate features. He had previously played as a female character in A Dream of Rivers and Lakes but had recently become obsessed with tank champions in Canyon.

As a true novice, the leopard demon was a rare sight in this game. Shortly after entering the match, he was ambushed, and his opponents quickly identified him as easy prey, repeatedly calling their jungler to gank him.

Within the first three minutes, the leopard demon had already died three times, and his teammates were berating him in chat.

Despite his poor gameplay, he refused to back down and switched to keyboard mode to argue with his teammates. Though slow at typing, he was relentless, and eventually, his teammates gave up responding.

Guanzhong, watching from behind, grew impatient. Unable to hold back, he nudged the leopard demon. “Stop wasting time—you’ve respawned.”

Already frustrated, the leopard demon turned around and snapped, “Why are you bothering me? Don’t you have your own machine?”

Guanzhong: “…”

Hearing yet another argument, Zhong Lianjia stood up to check. He had grown accustomed to the demons and their fiery tempers.

Recently, Lu Yao had given him a silver ring shaped like a leaf, which bolstered his confidence when dealing with customers.

After venting, the leopard demon felt a little better. Unfortunately, his in-game funds were barely enough to buy a health potion. Frowning, he bought one and returned to the match.

Zhong Lianjia arrived just as the leopard demon was ganked again, prompting him to angrily slam his mouse. Thankfully, the peripherals were reinforced by the owner, or the mouse would have been destroyed.

Zhong Lianjia glanced at the screen, noting the leopard demon’s poor stats. Looking at the map, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

As the leopard demon respawned and prepared to head back to his lane, Zhong Lianjia reminded him, “There’s someone in the bushes.”

The leopard demon, completely unaware of his surroundings after dying so many times, looked both pitiful and hilarious.

Sigh.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

The next day, after breakfast, Qi Beinan went into the study.

When they had returned to the estate some days ago, he had taken the account books back with him. Yesterday had been occupied with hosting guests, so he had not yet found time to review them.

This morning, as he opened the book, the most recent entries were crude and the handwriting sloppy. Compared with the earlier pages, where the writing was neat and the accounts orderly and clear, it was like night and day.

The ledgers from the previous months had all been managed by Xiao Yuanbao. Once they moved into the city, the bookkeeping naturally fell to Xiao Hu.

It was no wonder the records were messy. Xiao Hu barely knew his characters; the fact he could write down the figures at all was already commendable. Fortunately, the numbers themselves were accurate—otherwise there would have been nothing legible to review.

With the two literate members of the family now in the city, the plan had been to train Tienan to manage the books. But he was not yet ready.

Thus, Qi Beinan had no choice but to shoulder the trouble, going through the accounts once every half a month or so.

He sorted out the few entries recorded by Xiao Hu, then reviewed the earlier pages.

Since the year when Xiao Yuanbao could calculate sums mentally, Qi Beinan had left the ledgers entirely in his hands. Xiao Yuanbao had managed allowances for the household and purchased supplies without fault.

Going over the books, Qi Beinan found no unclear or muddled accounts.

There were only three close family members, all trusting each other. With the ledgers kept openly, every major income and expense was written down.

Only some scattered small earnings were not recorded—after all, everyone needed a bit of private money.

Qi Beinan pulled out the abacus and made his calculations. At present, the family had one hundred and thirty guan of money in the accounts.

Two years ago, they had purchased five mu of thin farmland, and aside from that, there had been no other large expenses. This had allowed some savings to accumulate.

Originally, there had been over three hundred guan, but two hundred had been spent on the city residence.

Still, this year’s autumn harvest income had not yet been counted. Beyond the fields’ grain, the estate’s chickens, ducks, and rabbits were all plump and ready for sale.

The pigs raised since last winter could yield four head, and two sheep besides.

When autumn passed and families held many affairs in the cool clear season, these animals would sell well.

Qi Beinan quickly tallied—about one hundred guan could be expected.

Additionally, Tian Ken’s cultivated mushrooms had only just come into the market, yet already seven or eight city households had set orders. Not a single extra remained to be hawked at the marketplace.

Mushrooms had always been a delicacy without a steady supply. One jin could fetch seventy to eighty coins, and dried mushrooms surpassed a hundred.

The wealthy households who regularly bought produce from their estate knew the price was steep, yet still ordered ten jin at a time.

The reason was simple: mushrooms were rare. Buying them was not only for the taste, but also for gifting—packaged in boxes, they made impressive presents.

Just yesterday, when classmates had come to the house for wine, Qi Beinan had packed some for each of them to take home.

Already, demand exceeded supply—and that was with only a handful of connections opened. Word of mouth would only multiply the buyers.

Yet Tian Ken, though he had mastered the method of cultivation, was in his first season. Production was limited.

After selling two or three batches, the season suitable for mushroom growth would end, and only next year would there be more.

Thus, after fulfilling the current orders, the second crop would have to be sold at a higher price.

Next year, they could prepare earlier, cultivate in greater volume, and then lower the price again.

This year’s added income was wholly due to Tian Ken’s efforts.

Previously, Xiao Yuanbao had asked how they should reward Tian Ken, and Qi Beinan had seriously prepared a reward.

Silver was, of course, essential—ten guan were given to Tian Ken.

Beyond that, Qi Beinan had asked classmates, teachers, and bookshops, collecting four volumes on farming and cultivation, and presented them as well.

Books had always been precious. When Qi Beinan had first come to the village, even asking Zhao Lizheng for help to borrow a few volumes had been difficult. For common farmers, acquiring books was near impossible.

These agricultural texts had been acquired through personal connections—money alone could not have bought them.

For Tian Ken, perhaps they were not immediately useful, but if he learned more characters and could read them thoroughly, their worth would show.

Finishing the calculations, Qi Beinan leaned back in his chair.

Outside the window, osmanthus blossoms bloomed in clusters, fragrant and abundant.

Yet his mind turned to the thin household funds. Though one hundred and thirty guan was no small sum for ordinary families, it was still far from enough to achieve greater ambitions.

For households with weak foundations, hoping to rise within a single generation was a grueling task.

From their village estate and farmlands, to the residence in town, each step forward had required draining nearly every coin they had.

Fortunately, the past few years had been smooth, without great upheavals—otherwise, how could they now have nearly a hundred guan in annual income?

Had this year’s provincial exam not been postponed, and Qi Beinan sat as scheduled, he would have earned exemption from autumn taxes. That alone would have freed thirty guan more.

With peace in the realm and the people settled, the population had visibly grown.

In recent years, Linzhou had demolished two old, crumbling neighborhoods from decades past. With their collapsed walls and broken tiles, many families had already moved out.

Now that the state treasury was flush, the prefecture planned to rebuild those lands, opening many new storefronts.

Soon, the court would issue new laws: curfews would be lifted, and trade permitted all night long.

With the court easing restrictions on merchants, commerce would inevitably flourish.

As more people turned to trade, shopfronts would naturally become more valuable.

If they could purchase shops ahead of time, even if the family did not run businesses themselves or had no need for so many, simply leasing them out would bring considerable income.

Collecting rent was in fact faster and easier than managing enterprises.

The condition, however, was having the silver to buy those shops in advance.

At present, newly built shops in Linzhou were still cheap. For one, the demolished neighborhoods were not in the city’s busiest districts; for another, merchants did not yet know that the court would lift the curfew.

Even so, cheap as they were, the prices of shops in a prefectural city could never match those in small counties.

With the household’s current accounts, they could only afford two small shops, each about the size of a village inner room.

But if they bought before the construction was completed, the price would drop further—ten guan less per shop was not unusual.

When Qi Beinan had taken office in Linzhou, the shops had already been finished, and the laws issued.

That newly built district had become a lively night market, and shop prices had risen two or threefold.

Reviewing records of past prefects, Qi Beinan noted this project listed among their achievements.

Thus, he not only knew the affairs of his own term, but also major works from before.

Qi Beinan wished to ride this new wave, to lay down more foundation for the household’s future.

Serving as an official was prestigious, yes, but without abuse of power or family wealth behind him, daily life could still be meager.

He remembered well that after first entering officialdom, his purse had been thin.

His father’s and his own savings had long been consumed through years of travel and study.

Only after he passed the licentiate exam had he managed to build a few modest sources of income, enough that money no longer flowed out without replenishment.

Later, when he became a juren, stipends followed, and his income grew.

Those were better days, when a little savings began to build.

But then came higher examinations, and afterward taking Xiao Yuanbao into his household, the marriage…

That had cost a great sum, leaving little left over.

After the wedding, when he first took office in Linzhou, he was not a prefectural official and thus had no right to a government residence.

Technically, he could have lived in one of the court-owned houses, but the prefect had denied him, treating him unfairly.

So he had been forced to rent lodgings outside. Though the court gave small subsidies, much still came from his own pocket.

And as an official, appearances mattered; he had needed to keep two servants to tend the household, to receive and serve guests.

Even without paying land tax, monthly expenses piled high. Without family estates or supplemental income, the stipend alone had made their lives tight.

At that time, Qi Beinan had been overwhelmed by official duties, with no time to manage business.

Xiao Yuanbao, unable to read much, had even less understanding of trade.

The household had lived in hardship for several years, until he rose steadily, with higher stipends and greater rewards, easing their life at last.

In those days, he too had carried the pride of a scholar—believing that as long as they ate and clothed themselves, there was no need to pursue wealth or status.

But he had not known how hard it was for Xiao Yuanbao, who managed the household.

Gifts could not be refused outright, yet accepting them meant returning something of equal or greater value.

With their limited stores, Xiao Yuanbao had lacked the means to reciprocate with finer gifts, nor had the cleverness to compensate with thoughtful tokens suited to people’s tastes.

He had feared socializing—every meeting led to obligations they could not afford.

Over time, the wives of other officials had come to see him as small-minded, overly aloof, and had ceased including him.

Thus cut off from those circles, gossip followed.

After years at court, Qi Beinan had seen too many such stories: men of humble birth who, lacking wealth, were lured by profit, committed errors, broke the law.

Some faced demotion, others exile.

Life could grow so tight that families ate nothing but cabbage and radish, had no ice in summer, no coal in winter.

And seeing colleagues dining on meat served in silver dishes—how many could hold fast to their integrity?

This time, reborn, Qi Beinan did not wish to face such trials again.

If they could secure assets early, they could spare themselves endless troubles. The family would live easier, and he too could breathe more freely.

“Something wrong with the accounts?”

Xiao Yuanbao entered the study, carrying four crabs, and found Qi Beinan leaning in thought against his chair.

Qi Beinan gathered himself. “No, everything is already in order.”

Xiao Yuanbao set the crabs before him, along with a dish of fragrant vinegar.

“These crabs that Xin Ge’er brought are so fat. I shelled two for you. I couldn’t manage the eight tools well, and the three I tried came out a mess, so I ate them myself.

Even so, the taste doesn’t change—it’s truly delicious. No wonder they sell outside for nearly the price of gold.”

Qi Beinan chuckled and accepted one. The roe was rich, the meat tender.

“Looking at the accounts, I was just thinking how to bring in more income.”

Xiao Yuanbao raised a brow. “Doesn’t the family now earn a hundred guan each year? Brother still thinks that’s not enough?”

“In the village, that would make us one of the top households. But I’ve heard news that Linzhou has fine new shopfronts. I mean to buy a few.”

Qi Beinan did not hide anything from Xiao Yuanbao, and told him directly what was on his mind.

“There are still many empty shops in our county town.”

Xiao Yuanbao asked, “Brother, when you buy shops, do you mean to run businesses ourselves, or only to lease them out for rent? If the former, that is fine. But if the latter, judging from Yiling County’s situation, steady rent may not be so certain.”

A faint smile rose in Qi Beinan’s eyes. “The fact that you can think of this shows you’ve been carefully observing the conditions in the county.”

“But the prefectural city is not the same as the county. And what I have is solid news—leasing money will surely be collected.”

Xiao Yuanbao hesitated. Since Brother spoke so firmly, it surely would not be wrong. Besides, he himself had never been to the prefectural city and did not know what things were like there.

But hearing of a way to earn money, his eyes still lit up. “If it’s really so, then we must save some silver to buy a few shops.”

Qi Beinan chuckled and called him a little money-grubber.

Two days later, Qi Beinan went to a tea room in the marketplace and summoned a runner, one of those so-called “know-it-all errand men.”

Before speaking, Qi Beinan first rewarded him with ten coins and ordered a cup of tea.

The man was a young fellow, just past twenty, with a small black mole on the tip of his nose. His eyes flickered when he saw Qi Beinan, and he quickly gave thanks for the reward.

“Sir, whatever you wish to ask, please do. Not only for the reward, but out of old acquaintance—I will speak openly.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “Old acquaintance?”

The runner replied, “I do not mean to presume, sir, but perhaps you do not remember me. Yet I truly have met you once before.”

Qi Beinan grew interested. “Then tell me. What old acquaintance is this?”

The runner said, “Years ago, when I was still young, I once showed you the way in the bustling Four Directions Street market. You had a young ge’er with you, and you were looking for Baichun Hall. When the matter was done, you even gave me two coins as thanks. Does sir recall this?”

Qi Beinan smiled. He had not expected it, but indeed there had been such an encounter. That had been nine years ago, when he took Xiao Bao to Baichun Hall for a consultation.

“To remember a single meeting after so many years—that is quite a memory.”

The runner bowed. “It is not that I have such memory, sir. Rather, your appearance is so fine and clear. Even though nearly a decade has passed, your bearing has only grown.”

Qi Beinan thought that the man must be diligent and persistent indeed, to labor at the same trade for ten years and rise from a common runner to a trusted “know-it-all.”

“Since we are old acquaintances, I shall speak plainly. Has the city recently seen merchants traveling out of town?”

“There have,” the man replied. “There are two large merchant caravans and three smaller ones. As for peddlers in groups of three to five, they are too many to count.”

“And what trade do these five caravans deal in?”

The runner explained: “The large caravans—one belongs to Master Ming’s household, dealing in timber. The other belongs to the Mu family, dealing in silks, cloth, tea, and other luxury goods.

“As for the three small caravans—those are run by the Xiong, Du, and Liang families. They have no set specialty. Mostly, they stockpile the best fresh goods from the county and carry them to other regions to sell; on the return, they bring back edibles and necessities from outside.

“If sir wishes to have things carried back by caravans, both large and small will take such work. They keep special boxes to hold such items.

“The large caravans are steady and reliable, but their price is high. The small caravans are riskier, but cheaper.”

Qi Beinan asked, “And among these, which ones are most reputable and trustworthy?”

The runner answered, “The Ming and Mu families are among the county’s foremost merchants. Their reputations have always been solid. Among the smaller caravans, the Xiong and Liang families often return with lawsuits—though resolved, their names are not so clean. The Du family, however, is considered reputable.”

Qi Beinan nodded in understanding.

He further asked about the routes of the Ming, Mu, and Du caravans, and after hearing them, had a clear sense of matters.

“Go privately to the Mu and Du families’ caravans for me.”

Qi Beinan leaned in and spoke a few quiet instructions, then gave the runner half a tael of silver.

The man readily agreed. “Rest assured, sir, I will see this matter well done.”

Leaving the tea house, Qi Beinan did not go home, but made a trip to the Ming family.

This was not a matter of any grand or profound business. It was simply a matter of knowing some news in advance—knowing where good things could be found.

He intended to partner with the caravans, to sell them information, and from this earn profit.

If he had his own caravan, the earnings could be even greater.

But that was like the matter of hoarding ice—without the capital, manpower, or resources, there was no way to enter such trade.

Moreover, caravan work was not easy. Routes, dealings with both the underworld and the authorities, connections in foreign markets—none of it simple.

Without courage, wealth, and generations of experience, common men who tried this trade found only death.

So attaching himself to existing caravans for small profits was far safer than striking out alone.

Still, though the plan was sound, he had no ties to these merchant families. How would they so easily agree to cooperate?

His official standing gave him some credibility, but he could not openly use it.

Thus, he had little hope for the Mu or Du families.

The Ming family, however—through old ties, and from years of understanding Ming Da’s character—there, Qi Beinan felt he could speak directly.

Indeed, the Ming family seemed the most likely to come to an agreement.

“It has been some days since I last saw Qi Langjun. No doubt you have been occupied with studies, for next year you must sit the provincial examination.”

Ming Da was busy with preparations for his merchant caravan’s departure, yet upon hearing that Qi Beinan had come, he still made time to see him.

Qi Beinan exchanged a few polite words, but knowing Ming Da was busy, he quickly came to the point. “I hear Master Ming’s caravan is soon to set out.”

“Exactly so. This time we head north and then west, making a wide circuit before returning. We will pass through three prefectures. If there is anything Qi Langjun wishes brought back, I shall order the caravan to fetch it for you.”

Qi Beinan said, “Master Ming is most generous. I recently came upon a lead in timber trade and at once thought of you, hence I came today.”

Ming Da brightened, asking what business it was.

Qi Beinan revealed some of the information. There was a remote place where the forest was not thick, yet the coffin-timber was excellent, and the price very cheap. Nowadays, in many regions the cost of such timber rose year after year; if this place’s coffin-timber could be resold, it would surely bring great profit.

When Ming Da heard this, his eyes showed surprise, though not delight. He said, “Qi Langjun, do you mean Linghua Ridge to the west? Our caravan is already bound for that very place.”

Qi Beinan’s heart gave a slight jolt. Truly, the Ming family’s information on timber was remarkably sharp. Linghua Ridge was a remote frontier district, known to very few. The coffin-timber trade there had only just begun. Yet Ming Da already knew.

“So it seems I was only showing off,” Qi Beinan laughed. “Master Ming’s information is truly superior.”

Ming Da waved a hand. “Not at all. I only learned of it recently myself. My forebears worked in this trade for many years and built up much connection. Thus my news is sometimes a little faster. But for you to know of timber trade in such detail—that is rare indeed.”

He spoke frankly, and his respect for Qi Beinan deepened.

“Though this business may not work out, our caravan this year is not limited to timber alone. We also trade in tea, silk, and porcelain. To speak plainly, our family’s ventures beyond timber have never flourished, and I am worried. Qi Langjun, with your information, should you have any leads, there is surely business to be made.”

Qi Beinan bowed. “If I obtain such leads, I shall surely make business with Master Ming.”

He stayed only long enough for a cup of tea, then left the Ming residence.

That the easiest business to pursue had not come through surprised Qi Beinan, though he also considered it a path kept in reserve.

If negotiations with the other two caravans failed, he could still sell the silk trade he knew of to the Ming family.

The errand-runner was quick in his work. Early the next morning, he returned with news.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Early in the morning, Xiao Yuanbao finished washing and laid out a set of primrose-colored silk clothes to change into later. For now, he wore a crow-black short-sleeved working robe so he could move easily in the kitchen. Once the dishes were done, he would return to his room and put on the bright silk outfit.

After breakfast, Qi Beinan sent Tienan to the marketplace to buy fresh fruit: two jin of red grapes, three jin of mandarins, six large pomegranates, and some peaches and plums. He also bought lotus pods so guests could peel and snack on them.

From the tavern, they had prepared autumn wine and mild fruit wine, while the tea was fresh Maojian harvested this year.

Beinan busied himself arranging the garden and dining room for receiving guests, while Yuanbao was already working hard in the kitchen.

Because there would be a full table of guests for lunch, and fearing the kitchen would be too hectic, Madam Xiao brought her younger daughter to help with stoking the fire and other chores.

Yuanbao counted: altogether seven guests. It wouldn’t make sense to split the men, women, and Ge’er into separate tables, so he chose to imitate the long-table banquets of wealthy city households. Everyone would sit at one long table, separated down the middle with a screen. Since their home didn’t have such a table, he had rented one for sixty coins.

For today’s menu, Yuanbao planned three mushroom dishes: steamed vermicelli with garlic and aromatic mushrooms, stir-fried mushroom slices, and dumplings stuffed with diced mushroom, lotus root, and fresh lamb.

Only these three—too many mushroom dishes would make it seem like nothing but a mushroom feast.

As for the chicken brought from the countryside, he wouldn’t stew or roast it. Wealthier households were already tired of those two preparations. He had noticed that city folk often stewed pigeon for soup—it was delicate and flavorful, even finer than chicken. But since he didn’t know how to prepare pigeon properly, he dared not experiment while hosting.

Instead, he planned to boil the chicken, then shred the meat to mix with scallions, minced garlic and ginger, peppers, and litsea for seasoning, serving it as cold chicken salad. The chicken broth would be used to blanch tender greens for two small dishes.

For cucumbers, he would make the new city-style dish called jiaobai zha; then one of his specialties, crisp-fried pork tripe; and finally a steamed dish of wind-dried fish.

Other lighter fare—like tofu soup and stir-fried vegetables—he left for Madam Xiao to prepare.

Bai Qiaogui and Zhao Guangzong were the first to arrive, one after the other. They had come expressly to help.

“So many dishes today!”

Qiaogui’s eyes widened at the kitchen counter lined with basins and plates of prepared ingredients. Yuanbao already had a sheen of sweat across his forehead.

She pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed his brow.

“Brother has several classmates coming. Without plenty of dishes, no one would know where to set their chopsticks.”

At the word “classmates,” Qiaogui’s heart leapt. “Thank you for inviting him—and for inviting me.”

By then Yuanbao had washed his hands. With most ingredients prepared, it was only a matter of waiting for the right time to cook. He pulled Qiaogui over to peel garlic together.

“Last time I gave you the letter, you didn’t come by for several days. I also went back to the estate for a bit. I still haven’t asked—what did he write to you?”

Qiaogui blushed and pouted. “What could a bookworm write? Nothing but a few flowery verses.”

Yuanbao leaned closer. “How flowery? Tell me, let me hear a little.”

“Oh, you!” Qiaogui bit her lip, laughing, her cheeks flushed pink. “You really are wicked!”

Yuanbao looked at her sweet, lively face and teased, “Just because I listened to one line, that makes me wicked? I went out of my way to beg Brother to deliver your gift, and now I’m hosting this banquet because he demanded payment.”

“Fine, fine! I’ll tell you.”

Qiaogui said softly: “In his letter he thanked me for liking him, saying it made him happier than passing the prefectural exam. He admitted he had long noticed me too, knew my name was Bai Qiaogui, and that others called me ‘Little White Doctor.’

“Every time he passed Baoshuntang, he would put down his book for a moment.

“He remembered how, when I was a child making mischief in the pharmacy, my grandfather would buy me a skewer of candied hawthorns. That alone would calm me, and I’d sit on a little stool at the door eating for half the day.

“Later, as I grew older and more articulate, I began learning the names of all the herbs in the drawers. After I learned to read, I could read prescriptions and fetch medicine. And later still, I began sitting at the consultation table.

“He said when he saw me treating patients, patient and gentle, soothing them, he thought I was a very good doctor. He praised me for being diligent and ambitious, and said he liked people who worked diligently…”

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, unable to hide her joy. Her voice dropped lower: “I feel the same. I like people who take things seriously. Even a rascal—if he applies himself—won’t seem such a rascal anymore.”

Yuanbao was surprised. “So the two of you already knew each other?”

“Not really. Perhaps he never realized I noticed him, and I never realized he noticed me. When I was at Baoshuntang, I often saw a student who passed by three times a day. He started his schooling early, while I was just learning medicine.

“When he was little, he was always a snot-nosed boy—especially in winter, with long trails, sniffing with every step. Once my grandfather pulled him inside the pharmacy and gave him medicine; only then did he get better.

“At that time he seemed so dull, always slow in everything. The alley children laughed at him, saying even a fool was going to study. We only spoke a few words that one time.”

Yuanbao listened quietly, feeling warm inside at hearing these childhood stories.

Hearing Qiaogui’s words, Yuanbao felt especially warm inside. Still, he had doubts.

“So how did you realize you liked him?”

Qiaogui blinked. “Because I grew up. The way I look at people isn’t the same as when I was little. When I see tall, imposing soldiers, handsome and spirited scholars, or witty young merchants, I can praise their good points like anyone else does. But in my heart, there’s no special feeling.

“With him, though—his build isn’t striking, his looks not especially handsome—and yet whenever I see him, I can’t help but feel happy. When he’s so absorbed in reading that he bumps into a tree or steps into a puddle, my heart jumps, but I don’t find it laughable.”

Yuanbao listened intently. No one had ever spoken to him so deeply about such things.

His father, in earlier years, had been taciturn and heavy with grief. Only recently, seeing the household prosper and Yuanbao grow well, had he begun to recover from the loss of Yuanbao’s mother, becoming brighter. But even then, the only time he’d spoken openly was about the marriage contract—never about what feelings truly meant.

As for Brother Beinan, he had taught Yuanbao everything, except this. Perhaps because of the betrothal, he didn’t know how to approach the subject. It was like an official avoiding conflict of interest in a case involving family.

Qiaogui continued: “I’ve told you all this, but there is a ‘but.’ He said we’re still young—it’s the prime time for studying and learning skills. We can’t drown entirely in feelings. He wants one day to pass the exams, to honor his parents, and make his years of hard study worthwhile. He also wants me to keep improving my medical skills and become a better physician.”

Yuanbao’s eyes widened. “So… you’re not going to keep seeing each other?”

Qiaogui laughed, tapping his head. “Of course we are! Just not openly, not yet. For now, we won’t alarm our families.”

“To ease my mind, he gave me a matching pendant as a token of our bond, along with a written oath. If he ever passes the exams and then breaks his word, refusing to marry me and wasting my youth, I can take it to the Commissioner and accuse him of breach of promise and poor conduct.”

Yuanbao’s eyes curved in a smile. “No wonder Brother says he’s clear-minded. Hearing this, I think so too.”

“If someone truly loves you, they will think of you in everything, planning for your future together. Maybe he won’t get everything right, maybe he’ll fall short—but what matters is that he tries, that he acts.”

Qiaogui squeezed Yuanbao’s hand. “So, my dear brother—you’re lovely, bright, and growing more charming by the day. Many men will come to admire you. But you must learn to discern. Don’t just listen to their words. Look at what they do.”

Yuanbao’s eyes flickered. “Do you really think someone will like me?”

“Of course!”

Qiaogui said firmly: “You’re so good—plenty of people will. So cheer up.”

Yuanbao smiled faintly. He didn’t care if many liked him—he only wanted one person to.

“What are you two whispering about, so engrossed?”

Zhao Guangzong came into the kitchen carrying two strings of fresh fruit to wash and lay out in the garden.

Joking, he broke their moment.

Yuanbao covered smoothly: “We were wondering if you’d been slacking.”

“By Heaven’s witness, I’ve worked up a sweat! You can see for yourself.”

Before long, more people arrived.

When Yuanbao heard Luo Tingfeng had come, he nudged Qiaogui out into the garden to play host, while he finished two dishes before joining the guests.

Luo Tingfeng brought flower teas: one packet of dried golden chrysanthemum, one packet of roses.

Two other scholars arrived as well. One was Gao Rui, Beinan’s desk-mate in front, who brought a jar of aromatic vinegar. The other, Cai Sui, Beinan’s desk-mate behind, brought a jar of fermented bean paste.

Ma Junyi came carrying eight crabs—and to everyone’s surprise, Ming Guanxin arrived with the same gift.

Their carriages arrived almost at the same time. As they stepped down, Ma Junyi’s eyes widened.

“Brother Xin? You’ve come too? Weren’t you in Linzhou, attending your uncle’s birthday?”

“My cousin—birthdays end eventually. Of course I returned home.”

Ma Junyi laughed. “And how are Uncle and Aunt’s health?”

“All well. The birthday celebration was lively.”

“What a pity I couldn’t attend. If I had known the autumn exam would be delayed, I’d have gone without question.”

Ming Guanxin said: “Uncle was very pleased with the gifts you prepared. He praised your filial heart. There’ll be time to gather again later.”

Ma Junyi brightened at that.

Qi Beinan came out to greet them, equally surprised they knew each other.

“Well, that saves me the introductions. Brother Ma, you may not know—Brother Ming is close with my younger brother.”

Ma Junyi shook his head. “Truly, I had no idea. Brother Xin is my cousin—we’re related through my mother’s side, the Ming family.”

Beinan only nodded. Among great households, such family ties were common, especially in the capital.

Ming Guanxin said warmly: “Scholar Qi, where is Brother Bao? I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“He’s in the kitchen finishing the dishes; he’ll be out soon.”

While speaking, Qi Beinan led the guests into the garden.

The garden had already been arranged: tea and fruit set out, several pots of chrysanthemums placed for display. Those who arrived first—Ma Junyi and Ming Guanxin—greeted each other and the others. All were familiar scholars, so the atmosphere was relaxed.

Some sat, some stood, sipping tea and nibbling fruit. The autumn air was clear and refreshing. They strolled about the garden, chatting of academy anecdotes. There was no opera troupe, no pitch-pot or ball games, but with such company, just talking and laughing together was pleasure enough.

Xiao Yuanbao finished changing into his primrose silk clothes and stepped out. The garden was already lively with young people laughing and talking.

“Xiao Bao.”

Beinan spotted him and rose, beckoning him over.

He introduced Yuanbao to the guests, and in turn introduced each guest to Yuanbao.

“I’ve often heard my brother speak of you all. At last, I can meet you myself. No wonder Brother says studying at the county school is such a joy—with so many upright young men as classmates, how could it not be?”

“Scholar Qi, your younger brother is eloquent indeed. Why didn’t you introduce us sooner?”

Ma Junyi studied Yuanbao, whose smile was warm and gentle. His brows were soft, his eyes large, and when he smiled, a small dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. At first glance, his looks were unremarkable. But the longer one looked, the more pleasing he became—his words and smile were like a warm quilt laid over a chilly autumn night. Ma Junyi found his eyes lingering longer than he intended.

Beinan said, “There wasn’t the chance before. Now that we’ve moved to the county seat, it’s only right to bring everyone together.”

Yuanbao stayed to chat for a while, but when the scholars began a game of Flying Flower Verse, he withdrew. He knew some poetry, but this was no occasion for him to show off in front of candidates preparing for the examinations.

Instead, he went to sit with Ming Guanxin and Bai Qiaogui at the pavilion railing, where they fed the red carp in the pond.

Qiaogui’s mind was not fully on the fish. Again and again, she stole glances at Luo Tingfeng.

The “bookworm” was uncharacteristically lively today—he had even joined in the verse game, and won two rounds before bowing out, retreating to one side to peel lotus seeds.

After some time, Tienan came to summon them to the meal.

The group moved to the hall, where the table was set. Guests took seats on either side of the long table, separated by a screen.

“These mushrooms were cultivated at our estate. Brother Xin, you must try them—Sister Gui had them last time she came, but you missed them while away in Linzhou.”

Yuanbao placed a serving of vermicelli mushrooms in Ming Guanxin’s bowl, then served one to Qiaogui as well. “This time I made a new flavor. See which you prefer.”

As they chatted and ate, the other scholars behind the screen also tasted the mushrooms. After all, when Beinan had invited them, he had said they must come taste the new mushrooms.

“I’ve long heard they are as savory as meat. Tasting them today, it’s true. Laugh if you will, but this is my first time eating them,” said Gao Rui. “Black fungus was already a delight, but these mushrooms are even finer.”

“I think this vermicelli mushroom dish tastes almost like abalone,” Ma Junyi added. “Truly rare.”

He praised the dish sincerely, but after tasting one, his chopsticks returned three times to the lamb dumplings. For one, he loved dumplings; for another, the filling of mushroom, lotus root, and lamb suited him perfectly.

Beinan said, “Friends, we’re all classmates and close companions. Please, eat whatever suits your taste. Treat this as you would a meal at the academy canteen.

“If there’s any dish you find lacking, forgive us. My younger brother is still young—his skills not as polished as professional chefs.”

“So this whole feast was prepared by Yuanbao? Then we are truly fortunate today.”

Several pairs of eyes glanced past the screen at Yuanbao.

Yuanbao smiled. “You flatter me. I had thought of ordering dishes from a tavern, but since the guests are all Brother’s dear friends, how could I not cook a few myself? My skills are shallow, I hope you will not mind.”

Cai Sui said, “I’m a gourmand, always hunting new flavors. To my taste, your cooking is good enough to be a master chef at Lingxiang Pavilion.”

“I’m nowhere near that skilled. I only hope the dishes are palatable for family and friends. But hearing such praise stirs a bit of ambition in me,” Yuanbao laughed.

The men’s table chuckled together.

“No wonder Scholar Qi stands so tall and well-fed—he has such cooking at home!”

“That leaves us no chance to match him.”

Zhao Guangzong poured wine for the man beside him. “By that logic, I too have gained from this. Spending so much time with Beinan, I’ve come out looking like a proper scholar myself.”

Learning that the banquet had been prepared by Yuanbao, Ma Junyi found himself unable to look away. He kept glancing past the screen at him.

But as the others grew lively with talk and laughter, leaving him momentarily aside, he quickly joined back in.

With good dishes and fine wine, the feast was a success. By the end, Gao Rui’s face was flushed from drink.

Beinan and Yuanbao personally saw the guests off.

Gao Rui and Cai Sui left together, while Ming Guanxin and Ma Junyi departed side by side.

Bai Qiaogui and Luo Tingfeng each went off separately, but Beinan and Yuanbao exchanged a knowing glance—they both understood the two would leave the lane together.

Zhao Guangzong, drunk from too much wine, lay down in a side room to sleep it off and stayed for supper.

Once the guests were all sent off, Yuanbao stretched his back. “At last the banquet’s over. I’ll have Madam Liu cook a sobering soup for Brother Zhao, and give her daughter eighteen coins—she worked hard today.”

Qi Beinan suddenly caught Yuanbao’s arm.

“What is it?”

Beinan’s hand slid downward until it clasped Yuanbao’s soft palm.

“My head feels dizzy too—must be the wine.”

Yuanbao wrinkled his nose slightly; indeed, Beinan smelled strongly of drink. Yet his eyes, cheeks, and ears showed no flush at all. “Father said Brother holds his wine well.”

“I drank a few cups of autumn wine and some fruit wine. Mixing them makes one tipsy.”

He pressed his temples. “I’m lucky I don’t flush from drink. Otherwise I’d never have managed the guests today.”

“Then Brother should rest. I’ll cook sobering soup for you—it won’t take long.”

Beinan gripped his hand tighter. “You’ve been working since morning. Don’t wear yourself out. Let Tienan tell Madam Liu instead.”

Yuanbao pursed his lips. “Alright. Then I’ll help Brother inside first.”

Beinan nodded, leaning lightly on him as they went into the house.

—

On the main road, Ma Junyi complained he had eaten too much and asked Guanxin to walk with him to digest.

Guanxin refused. “If you’re too full, practice some boxing when you get home.”

“Come down, cousin. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. You’re fourteen, fifteen already. If you grow any rounder, what will suitors say?”

Guanxin’s mouth turned down, his chest heaving. “Cousin, must you always spout nonsense?”

“Don’t be angry. Remember you said your brush was poor? Walk with me, and I’ll give you a purple-tipped brush. Only to you—not to your sister, not even to my own brother.”

Guanxin snorted but stopped the carriage and stepped down.

Junyi hurried to support him.

“Cousin, are you only asking me this because you want to know about Brother Bao?” Guanxin said sharply.

Junyi chuckled, recalling. “The dumplings he made were truly delicious.”

“Is that all you want—dumplings?”

Junyi smiled ruefully. “Of course not. But if I can learn more of him, all the better.”

“You think I can’t see what you’re up to?” Guanxin shot him a look. “Cousin, you love showing off. But today, you lost your composure—your eyes kept straying to Brother Bao. I’m not blind.”

“Weren’t you courting the School Commissioner’s son before? Always currying favor with him. Now after one banquet you’ve forgotten him already?”

Junyi sighed. “I did admire Yang Xu. But the Commissioner wants a son-in-law among county scholars. I’ve no degree, so he dismissed me. Yang Xu toyed with me—tightening the string when I was far, loosening it when I was near. We’re not fated.”

Guanxin cursed. “Uncle is a fourth-rank governor, while the Commissioner is only sixth-rank. What right has Yang Xu to look down on you?”

Junyi smiled bitterly. “My father never favored me. I’m the neglected eldest son. That Yang Xu would scorn me is no surprise.”

“Bah. Uncle is blind and cold-hearted. Cousin, why torment yourself over him?”

Junyi’s expression softened. “But when I met Qi Beinan’s younger brother today, I felt warmth I’ve never known. If I could win such a person as my companion, that would be a blessing.”

Guanxin nodded. “Brother Bao is indeed a good, thoughtful soul. This time, cousin, your eye is sound.”

“But tell me this—Yang Xu dismissed you for lacking rank. Why should Brother Bao take you?”

Junyi fell silent. After a long pause, he muttered, “Cousin, your tongue is as sharp as ever.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Zhong Lianjia’s sudden retirement caught everyone off guard. Contrary to fans’ expectations, he didn’t capitalize on his popularity by immediately starting live streams on any platform.

It felt less like he had retired from professional esports and more like he had disappeared entirely, bidding farewell to the world.

However, as a once hugely popular professional esports player, both Zhong himself and his in-game ID still had considerable heat.

On Big Eye (gaming platform), alone, Xiao Zhong had amassed over five million followers.

When a recording of gameplay featuring his ID hit the platform, it instantly attracted a massive audience.

The uploader, seemingly eager to stir up drama, chose a sensational headline and released it during the lunch break.

Fans flocked to the post, only to discover that it was indeed Zhong Lianjia’s national server account—but he was playing against bots. And terribly at that.

[“K King, K King, K King! Wake up already! No matter how far you’ve fallen, you don’t belong in the bot canyon!”]

[“Is this account hacked?”]

[“You sly ghost, you’ve finally returned!”]

[“LOL, K King’s bot game is being carried by the support!”]

[“So this is what the once great jungle king’s ADC looks like? I’m dying of laughter!”]

Fans who had watched Zhong Lianjia’s matches before mostly took it in stride and joked around.

Come on, this was the former King of the Jungle. No matter how rusty he was now, there was no way he could be this bad!

From another perspective, fans started speculating—since K King had been silent post-retirement, perhaps this sudden comedic buzz was a publicity stunt by his new company to promote an upcoming debut stream. Instead of disappointment, excitement grew.

Meanwhile, Zhong Lianjia’s former teammates, coach, and others familiar with him in the esports circle were bombarding him with inquiries.

Since announcing his retirement, Zhong hadn’t logged into his account once. His social media went dark, and the circle heard nothing of his whereabouts.

Seeing this sudden gameplay recording online, those who knew him were understandably shocked.

Even if he’d been thrashed in a match, it wouldn’t have caused such an uproar.

As for Zhong Lianjia himself, he was completely unaware. His phone, buzzing non-stop, was tossed onto the floor. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

…

At the Interdimensional Internet Café

The Spider Demon handed over ten premium spirit stones in exchange for a much-anticipated Big Eye account.

Unlike other male and female demons in the nearby Baixian Mountain who were addicted to online games, the Spider Demon was naturally disinterested in gaming.

Instead, she registered for a streaming account and began binge-watching dramas.

On the platform, there were many fresh, captivating stories—like live-action retellings of traditional script books. The Spider Demon was soon hooked.

Initially, she picked ones with familiar xianxia settings: The Legend of the Immortal, Linglong Tales, Sword Immortal Romance… All stories of mortals cultivating immortality, filled with love and grudges.

In these stories, demons were either subdued, slain, or tricked by humans, ultimately stripped of their powers and reduced to their original forms.

Demons who stayed beside the protagonists were always either cute and petite or special spirit beasts. Most Spider Demons in the tales were seductive and malicious, if not obsessed with the love of mortal men.

In short, none of them ended well.

After seeing enough of these, the Spider Demon grew irritated and started exploring other genres.

Recently, she’d become fond of a modern romance drama and particularly adored the devoted male second lead.

Because of her infatuation, she paid close attention to the bullet comments discussing him and learned about a place called Big Eye.

It was said to have more content related to the male second lead.

The Spider Demon navigated from the bullet comments to the discussion sections but still couldn’t find Big Eye.

She eventually asked the internet café manager and finally located it.

Unfamiliar with typing on a keyboard, she hesitated for a long time and didn’t register an account.

A few days later, a demon brawl broke out in the café, angering the owner. The café shut down, and the Spider Demon was consumed with regret.

She thought she’d never see that melancholy yet passionate man again.

Today, upon hearing that the café had reopened, the Spider Demon rushed over and handed over her hard-earned spirit stones to create a Big Eye account.

The good news was that the internet café had upgraded to new keyboards, which now allowed the key symbols to scroll and switch between various scripts, including the hidden and companion scripts of the demon clans. This made it much easier for demons to type and communicate with others online.

To help their customers learn, Lu Yao and Alfred created video tutorials, stored on every computer in the café. Most returning customers could self-learn typing by following the videos.

The Spider Demon diligently studied for an hour, barely grasping the rules, and then practiced for another half hour following the tutorial before finally opening the Big Eye icon with great care.

There were also video guides on how to use the most common software, conveniently stored on the desktop.

Step by step, the Spider Demon followed the instructions, executing each action with precision until she managed to correctly type the name of the person she wanted to learn about in the search bar.

“Shua——”

A list of related results appeared under the search box. The Spider Demon read through them one by one, experiencing the joy of surfing the internet for the first time.

After finishing her search, she exited and began exploring other interesting features on Big Eye on her own.

Before long, she stumbled upon the trending video section and saw the now-popular gaming clip.

As a novice internet user, the Spider Demon had no idea about the clickbait tactics of online headlines. Seeing the word “Shocking,” she fell for it and clicked eagerly, only to find game content she had no interest in.

She forced herself to watch for about two minutes but couldn’t make sense of it, so she exited and scrolled down to the comment section.

The comments were filled with internet memes and jokes, many of which she didn’t fully understand. However, in one highly upvoted comment, she spotted a photo that seemed oddly familiar.

Curious, she tried clicking the image to enlarge it and realized that the person in the photo was Xiao Zhong, the café’s net manager.

It was actually an old meme photo from Zhong Lianjia’s days as a professional esports player.

The Spider Demon didn’t understand the context but was thrilled to recognize someone she knew online for the first time.

Unfortunately, Xiao Cheng was the net manager working today, not Xiao Zhong, or she could’ve teased him a little.

The two café net managers, faced with their demon clientele, were always cautious and reserved. Demons, being naturally uninhibited and carefree, often enjoyed poking fun at them.

Suppressing her excitement, the Spider Demon, like a child eager to show off a newly learned skill, clicked the reply box and painstakingly typed out a slow but deliberate message:

[How is the café’s net manager Xiao Zhong showing up here?]

Satisfied with her work, the Spider Demon exited Big Eye and returned to the Kiwi Video platform to catch up on the episodes she’d missed. Every now and then, she paused the video to carefully type her thoughts into the comment section.

The café’s new keyboard was simply amazing.

Her internet surfing experience improved exponentially.

What she didn’t know, however, was that the casual comment she left on Big Eye would stir up an even bigger storm online.

The gaming video’s popularity had already started to decline, but the phrase “net manager Xiao Zhong” reignited the buzz. The comment was shared widely across other platforms, causing the video to trend again.

When Zhong Lianjia woke up in the afternoon and picked up his phone, his inbox across various social platforms had exploded with messages.

Every single one asked him the same question: “Did you really become an internet café net manager?”

As he scrolled through the messages, Zhong Lianjia felt a chill down his spine.

It wasn’t just the embarrassment—he was bound by a strict confidentiality agreement with the shopping street. If its existence were exposed, who knew what the consequences might be?

Panicking, Zhong Lianjia immediately messaged Lu Yao.

Lu Yao, upon receiving the call, calmly reassured the terrified Xiao Zhong.

“This isn’t a big deal,” Lu Yao explained. The Spider Demon’s comment hadn’t revealed any critical information.

In fact, from the very beginning, Lu Yao and the internal network team had set up arrangements to prevent incidents like this. There were information filters and dedicated NPC monitors to ensure key details remained confidential.

If any guests from the Floating World Continent posted inappropriate information online, the internal network would intercept it immediately, ensuring it never appeared on the public internet.

The only victim in this incident was Xiao Zhong.

Lu Yao apologized sincerely: “I didn’t know that was your main account. Sorry about that—I didn’t expect it to cause such a stir online.”

Zhong Lianjia, who had been nervously scratching his head, calmed down upon hearing this: “As long as it didn’t violate the confidentiality agreement, it’s fine. Everything else is no big deal.”

Lu Yao continued, “I really feel bad about this. As compensation, as long as it doesn’t go against any major principles and is within my abilities, I’ll grant you one request.”

She added, “A monetary compensation is also an option.”

Zhong Lianjia hadn’t expected such a pleasant surprise.

He was no longer the naïve rookie employee he once was.

Knowing the scope of the shop owner’s abilities, he realized this promise was worth far more than money.

“Boss, can I save this compensation for later?” Zhong Lianjia asked.

Lu Yao replied, “Sure. Let me know when you’ve decided.”

After hanging up, Zhong Lianjia immediately posted a reply on Big Eye:

“Still alive. Not feeling down. No plans to start live streaming. I’ve joined the world’s most interesting internet café as a professional net manager, and I never want to leave. Don’t persuade me, don’t miss me.”

No matter what new storm brewed online, Zhong Lianjia turned off his screen, took a shower, changed clothes, and got ready for his shift.

Meanwhile, Lu Yao hung up the phone, turned back to see Zeyuan sipping tea, and gave him an eager, expectant smile.

“Your Excellency, I have a small favor to ask.”

Zeyuan lowered his lashes and replied in a slow, measured tone: “I also have a small favor.”

Lu Yao hesitated. “…Then… you go first.”

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Mo Bao and Xuanfeng squeezed up beside Zeyuan, effectively shoving Jizhuang out the door.

Jizhuang’s expression darkened, his face a mix of gloom and irritation, as he raised his gaze to look at Lu Yao.

Lu Yao was caught in self-doubt.

Even though the only resemblance Zeyuan had to Lu Mingxiao was his crimson eyes, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was him.

Her instincts had always been sharp, a subtle yet distinct sense of connection.

When she first encountered Jizhuang, she didn’t feel this way; otherwise, she wouldn’t have repeatedly confirmed things with Wuling at the time.

But if the Demon Lord was indeed Lu Mingxiao, his reaction this time was unusual, far from their previous reunions. Something was off.

She couldn’t tell if she had mistaken someone else for him or if Lu Mingxiao had encountered a unique situation in this world.

Mo Bao, now in his small creature form, hopped straight into Zeyuan’s arms. His bright red eyes sparkled. “Did you come to fetch me, Sovereign?”

Zeyuan looked down at him absentmindedly, uttering a faint “Mm.”

Xuanfeng, feeling conflicted, wanted to speak but hesitated. This trip to the human realm had been too embarrassing—an utter disgrace to their Sovereign’s name. He didn’t know how to begin.

As he wavered, Xuanfeng suddenly noticed that Zeyuan’s gaze seemed to be wandering.

Puzzled, he followed Zeyuan’s line of sight and saw it land on the shopkeeper, Lu Yao.

Not giving it much thought, Xuanfeng proactively introduced her, “Sovereign, that’s the shopkeeper, Lu Yao. Due to certain events, Mo Bao and I will need to stay in her shop for a few more days.”

Zeyuan nodded slightly. “Lu Yao.”

Lu Yao smiled faintly. “Sovereign?”

Zeyuan lowered his eyes. “Zeyuan. Call me by my name.”

Xuanfeng turned his head, and Mo Bao looked up.

Both demons simultaneously felt that something about their Sovereign was… off.

He seemed unexpectedly easygoing.

Jizhuang, left outside and ignored, stepped back in with a frown. His gaze swept over the two of them before settling on Lu Yao. “Come with me for a moment.”

Lu Yao stood still. “The shop is busy, and I have things to do. If the Demon Emperor has something to say, why not say it here?”

The Demon Lord’s identity wasn’t urgent, but Jizhuang was becoming a headache.

Lu Yao thought she had clarified things last time, but the Demon Emperor seemed intent on lingering.

Jizhuang hadn’t expected such defiance from her, increasingly irritated by how she bore such a resemblance to Yu Yao yet acted entirely different.

And now, with Zeyuan here watching the scene unfold.

Before Jizhuang became the Demon Emperor, he had met Zeyuan once.

At that time, he was still just a flower demon in the mountains, when Zeyuan was already the Demon Lord.

Zeyuan had been traveling alone in the human realm and was ambushed by a group of bone demons.

The bone demons, having cultivated for ten thousand years, sought to seize Zeyuan’s physical form and power. Instead, they were crushed—demon cores shattered, their cultivation dispersed.

That was Jizhuang’s first encounter with the mercilessness and might of demons.

Demons were beings without hearts.

Not long after, Zeyuan led the demons out of the human realm and sealed the gate between the two worlds.

In the blink of an eye, five hundred years had passed. Now, the Demon Lord had returned to the human realm.

But for what purpose this time?

Jizhuang frowned, his suspicions deepening, but he still said to Lu Yao, “I have something to say to you. Come with me outside. Don’t worry, I won’t eat you.”

The three or four of them crowding the doorway was indeed making it difficult for customers to come and go.

Suppressing his growing impatience, Jizhuang followed her to a quiet corner, casting several soundproof and visual-blocking spells.

The internet café had only reopened after three days of closure, and the addicted demons were too absorbed in their screens to notice what was happening nearby.

Meanwhile, Mo Bao nestled comfortably in Zeyuan’s arms, rolling around without realizing how unusually patient the Sovereign was with him today.

Xuanfeng, sensing the shift, whispered his thoughts to Zeyuan. “The Demon Emperor once had someone he was deeply infatuated with. Did you know, Sovereign?”

Zeyuan glanced at him, puzzled. “Why should I know?”

Xuanfeng patiently elaborated on the Demon Emperor’s love affair from three hundred years ago. “…Actually, it’s like this… After some digging in Liuxian City, I discovered something interesting.”

Zeyuan, his face unreadable, replied with feigned indifference. “Speak.”

Xuanfeng explained, “The celestial maiden Yu Yao vanished after ascending to the Immortal Realm, and neither heaven nor earth could locate her. The shopkeeper happens to resemble her greatly. I suspect the Demon Emperor might see her as a vulnerable human woman without support, resembling his lost love, and harbor… certain feelings.”

Zeyuan frowned. “What kind of feelings?”

Xuanfeng, knowing his Sovereign’s lack of emotional understanding, felt a twinge of regret. Why was he sharing gossip with someone so clueless about love? He might as well chat with the internet café staff instead.

Yet Zeyuan suddenly said, “Xuanfeng, from the moment I saw her, she felt… familiar. But I cannot recall where I’ve seen her before.”

Xuanfeng froze. “…Who?”

“Lu Yao,” Zeyuan replied.

Xuanfeng fell silent.

…

In the corner of the café, Lu Yao patiently waited for Jizhuang to speak.

Running the shopping street over the past year had tempered her patience and demeanor. She wasn’t passively resigned but had found a sense of inner peace.

She was willing to give the Demon Emperor three more minutes.

But Jizhuang merely stared at her with a look of longing, saying nothing.

Her patience wore thin. Lu Yao sighed softly and said, “Jizhuang, I don’t know how much I resemble that celestial maiden. But I am not her. Beyond appearance, every being—whether human, demon, or devil—has traits that make them unique. You cannot cling to me solely because I look like her. It’s troubling.”

Lu Yao’s tone was calm, her reasoning irrefutable.

But Jizhuang’s desolate expression seemed to light up. He tossed her a jade talisman.

Lu Yao asked, “What is this?”

The talisman was old, its surface smooth and polished, as though it had been handled often.

Jizhuang’s voice was hoarse. “Her.”

Just look, and you’ll see—it’s more than just resemblance.

A faint water screen emerged, showing a pond of lotus flowers. But before Lu Yao could see more, Jizhuang snatched the talisman back, dispersing the image.

Turning abruptly, he walked away, his crimson eyes clouded with self-loathing.

What was he doing?

Lu Yao stood there speechless.

Behind her, Zeyuan was now seated on a rocking chair by the counter, sipping tea. When he saw her return, he casually remarked, “That flower demon is annoying. I’ll set up a barrier so he can’t come back.”

Lu Yao shook her head and sat across from him. “No need, Sovereign. He might have already figured things out.”

Zeyuan leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes locked on her.

Lu Yao grew wary. Was the Demon Lord about to thrust another storyline at her?

Zeyuan’s expression turned serious. “Have we met before?”

Lu Yao didn’t blink. “Sovereign must be mistaken.”

Zeyuan leaned back into his chair, his face clouded with confusion. “…How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” Lu Yao replied.

…Zeyuan gave up.

Lu Yao recalled a matter she needed help with. Since Xuanfeng and Mo Bao were unwilling, she decided to ask.

“Sovereign, as it’s your first visit to the café, shall I give you a tour?”

Xuanfeng and Mo Bao, keeping a close watch, were shocked by the Sovereign’s approachable demeanor—and even more so by the shopkeeper’s audacity.

In the six realms over countless millennia, she was the first woman brave enough to invite the Sovereign for a stroll.

To Lu Yao, whether it was the Demon Emperor, the Demon Lord, or the mountain’s demons, they all seemed to be just customers.

Zeyuan put down his teacup and rose to follow Lu Yao.

Xuanfeng was so shocked that he dropped Mo Bao onto the floor.

Mo Bao rolled around before scrambling back to his feet, too stunned to even scold Xuanfeng. “Why is the Sovereign listening to Lu Yao?”

Xuanfeng shook his head with an air of mystery. “…Lu Yao is just a fragile human. The Sovereign probably doesn’t want to argue with her.”

Mo Bao retorted, “The same ‘fragile human’ who locked up both demons and demon cultivators to fight each other?”

Xuanfeng: “…”

Lu Yao led Zeyuan around the main hall, where about 90% of the customers were engrossed in games—single-player games, simulation games, and online multiplayer browser games all had their fair share of fans.

A few customers were watching dramas, while others, new to chatting apps, slowly and painstakingly typed messages with two fingers.

Nearby, a little leopard demon who had been playing a female character in Dream of Jianghu waved over a staff member, eager to try a newly added game.

Cheng Ye helped him create an account and guided him through the tutorial.

The small sparrows perched throughout the shop immediately perked up when they saw the leopard demon open a familiar icon.

This was the game they’d seen Brother Zhong playing with the two demons a few days ago.

Unlike other games, this one had a steep learning curve and was fiercely competitive, making every victory immensely satisfying.

The sparrows, still captivated from watching last time, chirped with excitement as they gathered around the leopard demon’s screen.

The leopard demon adjusted his keyboard to match the shop’s layout and began the beginner’s tutorial.

Playing as an archer, he learned to clear minion waves and push towers. Shooting down one minion at a time was simple and satisfying.

After finishing the tutorial, he immediately jumped into a bot match.

In the beginner bot mode, all opponents and teammates were AI, but this didn’t dampen his enthusiasm.

Unlike Mo Bao and Xuanfeng, the leopard demon was more familiar with the controls. Within five minutes of the match, he secured his first kill.

As the in-game notification announced his kill, the leopard demon raised his hands off the keyboard in triumph, shouting loudly and drawing the attention of other customers.

Zeyuan, having observed quietly, turned to Lu Yao and said, “I want to play too.”

A row of five computers along the wall had just freed up after two butterfly demons finished their session.

Lu Yao seated Zeyuan and accessed the internal network to generate a terminal code for him.

Recalling her own experience with the game, Lu Yao realized she’d forgotten her old account and password after so much time away.

She turned to borrow Zhong’s account.

Zhong, groggy from his night shift, gave her the login credentials to his main account over the phone.

Lu Yao logged in, ignoring the flood of notifications. Once Zeyuan completed the tutorial, they entered a bot match together.

Lu Yao, who preferred long-range characters, took the bottom lane with Zeyuan. He casually chose one of the free rotation heroes.

By the time Xuanfeng and Mo Bao wandered over, a crowd had gathered behind the two players, fixated on their screens.

The bot match had been set to hard mode, with their teammates now real players. Lu Yao and Zeyuan continued to dominate the bottom lane.

Through her headset, Lu Yao called out, “Control the AD, about to hit level six.”

Zeyuan, perfectly timing his hook, snagged the enemy’s AD. Together, they secured a double kill.

Although it was just a bot match, the demons and demon cultivators watching were fired up.

“Net manager! I want a new account!”

“Hey, net manager! Come here! I want to play this game too!”

“Hurry up, net manager! I can’t wait! Get me an account!”

…

Competitive games had a unique ability to ignite people’s fighting spirit, and MOBA games were no exception.

For the demons and demon cultivators, battling it out on a small map was even more exhilarating than real weapons or spells.

Cheng Ye struggled to handle the influx of demands. Lu Yao logged off, giving up her seat for another eager player, and joined the staff to help manage the rush.

With Lu Yao stepping aside, Zeyuan also seemed to lose interest. He relinquished his seat without fuss and returned to the counter, sipping tea in a leisurely manner.

The café bustled with activity as dozens of demons from the Floating World Continent created new accounts to enter the battlegrounds.

Elsewhere, someone recorded a video of Lu Yao and Zeyuan dominating their bot match and uploaded it to a video-sharing platform with a clickbait title:

“Shocking! Famous pro player Killerclown’s tragic post-retirement life: breaking down in bot matches to regain form!”

A highly upvoted comment below read: “The support is the real MVP!”

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

The next day, at midday.

After eating lunch, Qi Beinan put his food box away in the school dining hall and went back to the classroom.

As expected, Luo Tingfeng was there flipping through a book.

This man always bolted home for lunch the instant class was dismissed, not even eight horses could hold him back. But because he left early, he also returned early. At this hour, most of the other students were either still eating at the dining hall or at home, or taking a walk after the meal to digest. In the hot weather, some even napped for a quarter hour.

Only Luo Tingfeng was unchanging—back in the classroom, reading.

Beinan stood in the doorway for a moment. Luo Tingfeng’s eyes never left the page.

He had thought to wait until the man noticed him, but then shook his head. With someone whose mind was this shut away from the world, how could there be room for matters of romance? He feared the errand entrusted to him at home would be impossible to complete.

With that thought, he went forward on his own.

“Brother Qi?”

Luo Tingfeng noticed the tall figure suddenly blocking half the light and looked up.

“Is there something you wish to teach me?”

“How could I dare? I only saw Brother Luo reading so diligently and thought to come take a look. Forgive me if I disturbed you.”

Luo Tingfeng smiled and invited him to sit. He pointed to a line of verse on the page and said:

“This line, ‘Locust flowers fill the courtyard air, pine seeds fall along the steps,’ is truly marvelous. It makes one feel present in the scene, with the fragrance of locust blossoms lingering at the tip of the nose.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, already lost in the imagined courtyard.

“Hm? Why does the scent of locust blossoms smell like wormwood and mint?”

Luo Tingfeng suddenly opened his eyes again.

Beinan chuckled. “I rather liked the line on page twenty-three: ‘In the east the sun rises, in the west it rains. It seems not sunny, yet it is sunny.’”

Luo Tingfeng paused. “Brother Qi, do you have someone you admire?”

Beinan was a little surprised and gave him a deep look. He then took out two embroidered sachets.

“Let’s not speak of me. Today I come entrusted to tie a red string for another.”

The moment Luo Tingfeng held the sachets, he understood why he’d smelled wormwood and mint—the sachets gave off a cooling fragrance.

“For me?”

Beinan nodded.

Luo Tingfeng suddenly smiled. “I never thought someone like me would be so fortunate as to receive such a rare gift. With the heat and all the mosquitoes, the giver has a thoughtful heart.”

“Do you know which young lady or Ge’er sent it?”

Beinan spoke the name as he had been told at home.

“So it’s her.”

Luo Tingfeng murmured, gazing at the sachets with a softened expression.

“Brother Luo knows Miss Bai?”

He nodded. “Her grandfather is a physician at Baoshuntang, and her father is a registrar in the county’s Works Office. Our families have never interacted, but when we were children, the kids from the neighborhood often played together in the Four Directions Market. I have seen her.”

With that, Luo Tingfeng suddenly rose and gave Beinan a formal bow.

“My thanks to Brother Qi.”

Beinan smiled. “I was only carrying out a request. The task is now complete—no thanks are needed.”

That afternoon there was only one more class before dismissal.

Beinan glanced at Luo Tingfeng several times during lecture. The boy was as he always was: listening attentively, recording notes diligently.

The sachets seemed not to have influenced him at all. He hadn’t even asked Beinan to deliver a message back.

Beinan let out a quiet breath. He thought to himself: once the autumn provincial exams were over next year, he should ask his father-in-law for guidance and finally tell Xiaobao about the engagement.

After class, as Beinan packed his bookcase to go home, Luo Tingfeng approached and handed him a book.

“What is this?”

Luo Tingfeng raised his brows. Beinan accepted it and discovered a folded letter tucked between the pages.

He understood at once and carefully placed the book and letter into his case.

“Rest assured,” Beinan said, patting the case.

Luo Tingfeng bowed again and departed.

“I’m back, Xiaobao.”

Beinan’s voice was light, as if completing his assigned task had earned him a reward.

Yuanbao came out at the sound. “Brother, you came back at the perfect time. Hurry and tidy up—we need to go visit Second Sister’s place to see Big Brother Fang.”

“What happened?”

Beinan set down his case, walking into the house as he asked.

“He’s injured. He just saw a doctor and is now lying in Second Sister’s rented house.”

Yuanbao had only heard the news earlier that afternoon. “I was waiting for you to come back from school so we could go together.”

Beinan washed up and changed clothes. Yuanbao prepared a basket of seasonal fruits, two packs of brown sugar, a small ginseng root, and a pot of congee.

Back when Xiao Hu beat up Xiong Xiezi and was bedridden for months, the Fang family had visited often. Now that something had happened to them, even if they were in the countryside, they would still be obliged to return the courtesy—let alone now, with them living in town.

They called on Zhao Wuge to carry the gifts to Fang Second Sister’s rented house.

On the way, Beinan finally heard the details of Fang Youliang’s injury.

Lately, someone had been spreading malicious words, stirring the common folk to revolt. The county office had been unable to catch the culprit, so they had posted proclamations, warning the people of this treacherous schemer.

If anyone encountered this person and reported him to the authorities, there would be a reward.

The village head hadn’t yet had time to gather the villagers to read the county’s order. But in the meantime, the group of thieves had already slipped out of town and into the countryside.

The agitators had gone into the countryside, stirring up ignorant farmers.

Fang Youliang had been invited by villagers from outside to help harvest rice. On his way home, he happened upon one of those rogues inciting a married woman.

The man was saying: the emperor was unworthy, the heavenly omens were Heaven’s punishment upon him. The common folk ought to follow Heaven’s will, rise against the court, and seek another enlightened ruler.

Fang Youliang had already heard Second Sister Fang mention that such instigators were active in town, but he had not truly believed anyone could be so bold. He never expected to catch one in the act.

The empire was at peace, and the people were living well. If such villains were allowed to sow chaos and bring about war, it would be the common folk who suffered.

Fang Youliang stepped forward and struck down the man. His strength was great, and the rogue was no match—within a few moves, Fang had subdued him.

But the rogue had accomplices, one of whom carried a weapon. Fang, barehanded, grappled with them and was injured in the fight.

“Second Sister said Big Brother Fang personally tied up both rogues and hauled them to the yamen, only collapsing afterward, his whole body covered in blood. It was terrifying.”

When Yuanbao first heard this, a cold sweat broke out across his back. Only after asking Second Sister Fang and learning that the wounds were merely superficial and not life-threatening did he breathe easier.

Beinan said: “Big Brother Fang may be illiterate, but he understands the greater good. He is upright and full of righteousness. These rogues who trick the ignorant into rebellion ruin families, spread fear, and disturb the autumn harvest. Now that some have been caught, the county will finally be a little more secure.”

Yuanbao nodded. Once prisoners were taken, they would be interrogated. Through them, the authorities could trace out the rest of the accomplices, root them out, and restore peace within and outside the city.

When they arrived at Second Sister Fang’s rented home, the small courtyard was lively.

Old Madam Sun and Fang’s younger brother were there, and besides them, a new face—young, neat, and energetic—running about to help.

Yuanbao leaned close to Beinan and whispered: “That’s the one Second Sister mentioned. His surname is Feng; his family runs a rouge shop in town. They’ve spoken of this match for a couple of years now, but at the time they felt they were both still too young. Second Sister wanted to hone her trade a little longer, and Young Master Feng had only just taken over his shop. They got along, so they agreed to wait a few years before discussing marriage.”

“But it’s clear they like each other. They’ve kept up steady contact.”

Beinan replied quietly: “Now that he’s coming openly to her family’s place, it seems the marriage is about to be settled?”

Yuanbao thought the same. Second Sister rarely mentioned her own marriage prospects, so they had not known much. But seeing this, it was obvious the match was nearing completion.

“Scholar Qi, Brother Bao—you’re here!”

Second Sister Fang hurried forward to greet them. “Big Brother is all right now, but you’ve brought so many things.”

They entered the house. Fang Youliang had already been seen by a doctor. His legs were wrapped in bandages, and he lay on a freshly laid bamboo bed.

He had lost much blood, and his lips and face were pale, but his eyes were bright, full of vigor.

“Troubling you both to come here as well. Second Sister must have been frightened by all the blood and so called you over. Truly, much of it wasn’t mine—it was the rogues’.”

As Fang Youliang tried to sit up, Beinan quickly went over and pressed him back down.

“When something happens, great or small, we all should know. Don’t blame Second Sister—she did the right thing.”

Beinan sat by the bamboo bed. “Besides, having heard of your bravery, Big Brother Fang, how could we not come to pay respects to a hero?”

Fang Youliang laughed. “You’re a scholar, don’t go putting a tall hat on me. Hero, nothing of the sort. I just can’t stand seeing rogues take us mud-legged farmers for fools. Still, thinking of that sharp knife in his hand, my heart still jumps.”

Beinan smiled. “What matters is that you weren’t seriously hurt.”

“The doctor said it was just flesh wounds, no bones broken. A few stitches, and it will heal soon enough. Truth is, I can already walk, but Mother, Second Sister, and Third Brother won’t let me move an inch.”

“You’re the family’s pillar. Of course they’re worried.”

Beinan and Yuanbao spoke with him a while longer, then excused themselves. The injured needed rest, not chatter.

By the time they returned home, dusk had already fallen. Walking through the streets, they smelled cooking drifting from other people’s kitchens, and their stomachs growled.

That night, they ate bowls of wontons stuffed with shrimp and two scallion pork flatbreads, until their bellies were round and full.

The full moon of the fifteenth night shone bright and round. The two of them sat in the small pavilion of their courtyard, cooling off and digesting in the night breeze—nothing could have been more pleasant.

“I’ll bring the letter to Sister Gui first thing tomorrow morning. She’ll be overjoyed.”

Yuanbao turned the folded letter in his hands. He hadn’t peeked at the contents, but even the pale lavender stationery was lovely—no doubt it would delight her.

Beinan leaned back in a rattan chair, turned his gaze toward the boy at the stone table, clutching the letter and grinning from ear to ear. “Anyone who didn’t know better would think the letter was for you, the way you’re smiling.”

Yuanbao blinked. “Didn’t you say Scholar Luo might not accept the sachet? Not only did he accept it, he even sent a reply. I had lowered my expectations so much I was already worrying about how to console Sister Gui. Now that things have turned out so well, of course I’m happy.”

Beinan smiled too. “Truly, you can’t judge by appearances. I had thought Scholar Luo a stuffy bookworm, all study and no sentiment. But no—he’s quick, thoughtful, with a fine mind.”

“This one who seems dull-witted is, in truth, clear and perceptive. And some who appear clear and perceptive are, in truth, the dull ones.”

Qi Beinan shook his head.

Hearing this, Yuanbao’s heart gave a sudden jolt. He felt as though it was directed at him, and dared not reply.

Beinan let the autumn night breeze wash over him. Seeing that Yuanbao was unusually quiet tonight, he said: “Brother has accomplished something important for you. Do you not intend to give me a little reward?”

Yuanbao lifted his chin. “And what reward would Brother like?”

“If I were to ask for it myself,” Beinan replied, “wouldn’t it seem as if you were giving it without sincerity?”

Yuanbao thought a moment. “Then tomorrow we’ll go to the market and buy a free-range chicken, and I’ll stew it with fresh mushrooms for soup. How’s that?”

“Cooking can wait a few days.” Beinan smiled. “And it should be a full table of dishes, prepared by the Xiao family’s little cook.”

“You mean to host a feast?” Yuanbao asked quickly, hearing his words.

“My classmates at the academy have pressed me to invite them to my home. Truth is, they’ve often invited me, though I rarely attend. Now that we live in the city, it is only right to return the courtesy.”

Yuanbao’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! Now that we’ve moved into town, Brother should take the time to grow closer with his peers. Invite them, and leave the banquet entirely to me.”

Delighted, he leapt up—too quickly.

Bang! His knee struck hard against the edge of the stone table, and he tumbled to the flagstones.

Beinan was startled, springing up in an instant to lift him and settle him into the rattan chair.

Yuanbao sat there, pain coursing through him, unable to catch his breath.

Beinan crouched in front of him, anxious. “Does it hurt?”

Yuanbao’s eyes brimmed red; he could not speak.

Beinan quickly slipped off his shoe, carefully rolled up the trouser leg, and inspected. The skin was torn, and the knee was flushed red.

He pressed lightly to test the bone. Yuanbao gasped, baring his teeth and clutching Beinan’s arm tight.

“Good thing the bone isn’t broken—it’s only a flesh wound,” Beinan said, looking into the boy’s tear-filled eyes. “I’ll fetch some medicine wine to rub it with, to keep it from aching tonight and bruising tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Yuanbao nodded faintly.

When Beinan went inside, Yuanbao lowered his head to look at his pale leg. The impact had numbed him at first, but now the pain came flooding back, hot all down his thigh.

Soon Beinan returned with the medicine box. He set it beside the chair and, before anything else, placed a piece of osmanthus cake in Yuanbao’s mouth.

Then he dabbed wine on cotton and gently cleansed the wound. Yuanbao hissed at the sting, but the sweetness of the cake spread across his tongue.

As he chewed, Beinan smoothed salve into his palms, warmed it, and rubbed it softly into the swollen knee.

Yuanbao felt the broad, warm hand pressing comfort into his skin. Looking down at Beinan bent over him, lashes thick against his cheek, nose bridge straight and tall—it was rare to see him from this angle.

From above, his face seemed even more striking.

For some reason Yuanbao’s cheeks burned, and even the cool autumn air could not ease the heat.

“Still hurting? You’re staring like a fool, too dazed to speak?”

Beinan looked up, catching him in a trance.

“Mm.” Yuanbao startled back and answered softly, “It still hurts a little.”

“You’re already grown, yet still so reckless, bumping and bruising yourself. What will you do in the future?” Beinan said, packing away the medicine.

Yuanbao’s eyes flickered. In a low voice, he said: “In the future… my husband will look after me.”

Beinan’s hand paused. “And what kind of husband do you want to look after you?”

“One who loves me for who I am.” Yuanbao pursed his lips.

Beinan smiled faintly. “You’re clever and spirited—anyone would love you.”

With that, he scooped Yuanbao into his arms. “The wind is cool in the garden. Let’s go inside and rest.”

Yuanbao’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth but no words came. His gaze fell on the stubble along Beinan’s jaw, and something inexplicable welled up in his chest. His ears flushed red.

Quietly, he looped his arms around Beinan’s shoulders and turned his eyes away.

The moonlight was bright, the fragrance of autumn osmanthus heavy in the air—intoxicating.

…

After some days, the county school closed for the autumn recess. Beinan and Yuanbao returned to the estate for a short stay.

There, they heard good news: the county magistrate had commended Fang Youliang for capturing two rogues. Once healed, he would be given a post in the county yamen—assistant head of the prison office. The monthly stipend would be one string of cash, plus five dou of rice and two bolts of cloth.

Though not lavish, to serve directly in the yamen was a fortune ordinary folk could only dream of. And he would not have to start at the lowest rank of yamen runner—he would enter already as deputy head. How could it not be good fortune?

The Fang family rejoiced. Truly a blessing born of misfortune.

Second Sister Fang’s hairdressing skills were flourishing, and she had built a reputation in town. Business was steady, though supporting a large household still weighed heavily on her shoulders.

They were no longer living as they once had—months without meat—but though life was still modest, Fang Youliang’s new position promised a stable income and better days ahead.

The Fang family was finally seeing light. Beinan and Yuanbao shared their joy.

A few days later, it was time to return to the city for the banquet.

When they left the village, they brought with them fresh vegetables, a hen, a duck, a white rabbit, and four dried fish.

Beinan invited Ma Junyi, Luo Tingfeng, Zhao Guangzong, and two other classmates. Yuanbao, for his part, called his playmate Bai Qiaogui, as well as Ming Guanxin, who had returned to the county seat.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

That day, a cool wind stirred, the clouds lingering and refusing to disperse. It seemed it would be an overcast day.

After autumn, clear skies were many, but such cool weather was rare.

Early in the morning, Tian Ken drove a cart of melons and vegetables from the estate into the city.

This time they weren’t for sale, but sent especially for the family to eat.

Since moving into the new residence, Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t gone out to buy vegetables even once—everything came fresh from the estate.

The produce sold in the city markets wasn’t as good as what they grew themselves. Why waste copper to buy inferior things when the best was already at home?

“Ge’er, come see the mushrooms I’ve cultivated. We’ve already eaten one harvest back home, and they’re delicious—fragrant like meat. Master told me to bring some at once for you and Brother to try.”

The ox cart stopped at the back gate of the residence, and the load was carried into the kitchen.

Tian Ken hopped down from the cart, the first thing he lifted being a basket of mushrooms for Yuanbao to see.

“Why bring so many into the city! Mushrooms fetch an incredible price—they’re a real mountain delicacy!”

Yuanbao picked up a round mushroom, firm and still tightly closed—the best stage for eating.

He brought it to his nose and sniffed lightly. “Yes, that’s the fragrance of mushrooms.”

“These spores came from the prefectural academy when Brother returned from the exam. I’ve been experimenting for years, and this season I finally got the knack of it. Now the mushrooms are growing in abundance.”

Tian Ken’s eyes shone as he spoke. “There aren’t many selling mushrooms in the city. I’ll harvest plenty to bring to the residence. You can eat them at home, give them away as gifts, or dry them to make preserved mushrooms—nothing will go to waste.”

Yuanbao laughed. “You really are thoughtful.”

“Tell me, how did you manage to grow so many? A couple of years ago, you didn’t produce nearly as much.”

“It’s simple. Mushrooms sprout from wood, especially damaged spots. So I cut more notches and battered the logs. This year they grew in great numbers.”

Yuanbao held the mushroom, his face alight with joy. “Mushrooms are hard to come by. In the city they’re expensive and scarce. Now our household has another good trade.”

“You’re amazing at raising vegetables and crops! When Brother comes home, I’ll be sure to praise you and reward you well—it won’t be wasted on these two years of hard work.”

Tian Ken grew bashful at the compliment, scratching his head. “Ge’er, don’t say that. I just enjoy tending to these things. The family has never limited me. In my heart, I’m already grateful—I never thought of asking for rewards.”

“Even if you didn’t ask, the household can’t really ignore your efforts,” Yuanbao replied.

“Still, mushrooms draw envious eyes. Be cautious, and make sure everyone keeps their mouths shut. Don’t let it be like during the drought year, when thieves crept in and stole our crops.”

“I know. Mushrooms aren’t like vegetables in open fields. They’re cultivated in the yard near the livestock pens. Outsiders can’t see them. And when I bring them into the city, I always cover them carefully with blankets.”

Yuanbao nodded, finally reassured.

The two were still chatting when a voice suddenly cut in.

“Oh my, such fresh vegetables! Ge’er, where did your family buy them? They’re wonderful.”

Yuanbao looked up to see a matron carrying a basket, dressed neatly and looking presentable—likely a servant from one of the nearby large households, out early to shop for the kitchen.

Dongyang Lane was full of big residences. The households were large, the residents many, and vegetables were consumed in great quantities.

“Madam, come take a look.”

Yuanbao beamed warmly, quickly inviting her over and showing her the cart. “The cabbages are big and round, the eggplants smooth and glossy. The cucumbers are plump and white, almost as thick as an arm—crisp and sweet.”

“Truly delightful.”

The woman reached out to inspect the vegetables herself. “I saw this cart from afar and knew the produce was good. Even the scent carried over.”

“These were delivered this morning from our estate,” Yuanbao explained. “All grown on our own land—abundant and fresh. If you arrange with us, we’ll have the cart bring them straight to your door. Whatever day you want, that’s the day we deliver.”

“If you find them good, we can deliver directly. No need to sweat in the crowded market at dawn.”

Then Yuanbao showed her the mushrooms. “These make the best soups or meat stews—so fresh, so fragrant.”

“Our master adores mushrooms, but they’re so hard to find in the city—only by chance,” the woman said, eyes brightening. “How ever did you get so many?”

“They’re cultivated on our estate. Here—take some home to try, see how good they taste.”

Yuanbao pulled her basket closer and filled it with three generous handfuls of mushrooms, nearly half a basket full.

“Ge’er, how can I accept this! Please, take some silver.”

Though she said so, she didn’t stop him from piling in more.

“We live together here in Dongyang Lane—we’re neighbors. Sharing some vegetables isn’t worth talking about. If we start counting coins, it only makes things distant.”

Yuanbao pressed down her hand that reached for money, his voice sweet as honey. “Come by to sit with me whenever you have time.”

How could she not be delighted by such words?

Besides, that half-basket of mushrooms alone was worth a hundred copper coins—an extravagantly generous gift.

Yet as she secretly studied Yuanbao, she noticed he was dressed in a fish-belly white robe. The cloth was plain but clean, not like the finery of great households. He didn’t seem like the master of the residence.

But neither did he speak like a mere servant—his tone was bright and confident. She guessed he must be a steward in this household.

In Dongyang Lane, most of the residents were people of some standing. Building connections with a few more households was no bad thing—especially when they were so warm and welcoming.

“Madam, I can’t possibly accept such kindness from you,” the woman said, smiling. “If I come again next time, it will be with a thick skin.”

“Come anytime,” Yuanbao replied, grinning. “I’ll even make you a couple of cups of mung bean soup to cool off.”

After a while, he saw her off with a smile, then passed the address slip she had written—along with the order for vegetables—to Tian Ken.

“Don’t miss the delivery time. Pick out some of the best produce and send it as a free gift too. I recall that until now, only two households in Dongyang Lane had ordered our estate’s vegetables. This Madam is a kitchen steward. If she praises our produce to the other stewards, it’ll bring us more business.”

“Mushrooms are expensive. Ordinary families can’t afford them and wouldn’t dare buy them. But these Madams serve wealthy households—they can. Once they spread the word, our mushrooms will have no trouble selling.”

Tian Ken carefully tucked the slip away. In these past years he had even learned some characters from Qi Beinan.

“Ge’er, you really have a talent for business.”

Yuanbao chuckled. “Alright, move the vegetables inside. Have a cup of tea before heading back.”

With so many mouths in the family, everyone needed to be fed. If business didn’t grow, how could the household thrive?

“Right.”

From the cart, Yuanbao set aside two baskets of vegetables and told Tienan to deliver them to Zhao Guangzong’s family.

He also asked Tian Ken, on his way back, to carry some produce to Fang Jie’er, who rented a small house in the city to run her hairdressing business.

Because he was so pleased that day, Yuanbao prepared a reward for Tian Ken: two packets of fruit pastries, one roast chicken, and two jars of wine, just for him.

In addition, he packed some meat and good wine for his father, Xiao Hu, to take back to the village.

Running here in the east and there in the west, Yuanbao saw it was already getting late.

Madam Liu asked what dish he wanted prepared for Brother today.

Since they had fresh mushrooms, Yuanbao of course wanted to make a mushroom dish. He thought a moment, then told her to fetch a strip of fresh pork.

Before long, Zhao Wuge ran in. “Ge’er, Gui Jie’er has come to see you.”

Yuanbao, just about to tie on an apron, smiled at the words. “Quick, invite her in—she came at the perfect time, as if she knew I was cooking.”

“What’s this good food you’re making, starting the fire so early?” Bai Qiaogui laughed as she came in.

“Come and see for yourself.”

Yuanbao went to greet her, leading her to the stove. “The estate sent mushrooms today. I was just about to cook two dishes with them, then send them over to the county school for Brother’s lunch.”

“So your family not only grows fine vegetables, now you’ve got mushrooms too. Remarkable!” said Qiaogui.

“When you head home later, I’ll give you some to take.”

She laughed. “Then I won’t be polite about it.”

The other day, she had seen Yuanbao’s dark-ringed eyes and truly thought he wasn’t sleeping well in the new house. So today she brought several packets of herbs for sleep, and also some sachets stuffed with spices to ward off musty smells. She had given him such sachets before, and now, hung in the new room, they would help clear away the stale odor.

Yuanbao was moved that she cared so much, yet guilty too for having lied to her before. So he was determined to cook something especially good.

He asked Madam Liu to chop the pork into mince, then dice two cucumbers to mix in. With chopped scallions, minced garlic, ginger juice, and an egg to bind it, the mixture became sticky and held together.

He trimmed the mushrooms, removing the stems, leaving only the round caps. Into these he stuffed the seasoned meat.

Then he coated them in flour and fried them in oil until golden brown—crispy outside, fragrant and tender within.

This dish he had learned from the Jiangnan cookbook Brother had given him. It was called Stuffed Mushrooms.

Bai Qiaogui stood by the stove, watching eagerly as he cooked.

When the mushrooms were done, the aroma of meat and mushroom filled the kitchen. Yuanbao sprinkled them with pepper, cooled one, and gave it to her.

She bit into the crisp shell, the mushroom inside firm and springy, the meat filling infused with mushroom flavor. The two tastes blended perfectly.

“This is too delicious! Bao Ge’er, your cooking is amazing.”

Yuanbao tasted one himself, then offered some to Madam Liu.

As the cook, he was critical, but this was the first time he had made the dish and it turned out truly good. The key was the method and the ingredients. His own skill was only in handling the fire properly.

He thought next time he would try the steamed version, layered over vermicelli with garlic sauce.

He prepared a few other small dishes as well, packed everything into a food box, and sealed it for Zhao Wuge to deliver to Qi Beinan at the school.

Bai Qiaogui had already eaten six of the stuffed mushrooms before she grew too embarrassed to eat more.

Seeing that the food box was meant for the school, her eyes flickered with mischief. “Bao Ge’er, the weather’s cool today, and you’ve cooked such wonderful dishes—why not deliver them to Brother yourself?”

At her words, Yuanbao pressed his lips together. By his nature, he would certainly have delivered it himself—he only felt at ease seeing his brother eat.

But ever since learning about their marriage betrothal, his feelings had become tangled and complicated. His heart was restless, full of hesitations and fears.

“There are guests at home—how could I not stay and keep them company? And besides, it’s usually Zhao Wuge who delivers the meals.”

But Bai Qiaogui wouldn’t accept it. “Oh, what sort of guest am I? Don’t be so distant. Come, I’ll accompany you. After all the food I’ve just eaten, my belly is full.”

With that, she pulled Yuanbao along to wash his face and hands.

Helpless, Yuanbao had no choice but to take the food box and head out with her.

On the way, he glanced at her smiling lips, her bright eyes sparkling with delight. The joy she felt was practically written on her face.

Yuanbao frowned slightly. “It’s only delivering a meal to the county school—why are you so happy?”

Qiaogui lifted her chin with mock mystery, refusing to answer.

Seeing her smug look, Yuanbao couldn’t resist poking her with his elbow.

“Silly brother, your own Brother is studying at the county school, and yet you never deliver his meals yourself. If I had a brother there, I’d be eager to walk him to class in the morning, bring his food at noon, and fetch him home at night.”

“And besides—the academy is full of talented young scholars, all handsome. How can you resist not going to look at them?”

Yuanbao’s cheeks flushed. “I… I never thought of that.”

“Foolish! Where else in the county can you find more fine young men than at the academy? If you spot someone pleasing to the eye, you can ask your family to make inquiries. If it works out, wonderful. If not, you’re still young—there’ll be plenty of chances later. That’s far better than waiting until marriage age, being pushed to meet someone you’ve never seen before.”

Yuanbao thought it over and nodded earnestly. “That’s true. No wonder the matches for city girls and boys are always better—they start planning early.”

Qiaogui really was more worldly than he was.

“Tell me, then—have you found someone you like?” Yuanbao asked slyly.

She pressed her lips shut, but her eyes betrayed her.

“Come on, tell me, so I can judge for you!”

Qiaogui darted ahead. “I won’t say.”

“Good sister, tell me! I promise not to gossip. Next time I’ll cook you another good dish—will that do?”

Yuanbao’s curiosity only grew as he chased after her.

“Oh, fine. I’ll tell you, no harm in that.”

By then they were nearly at the school gates. Qiaogui stopped, lowered her voice, and leaned close to his ear.

“He has bright, clear eyes, a high nose bridge, broad shoulders, a slim waist. His face is elegant, like a pine tree in its prime, like the bright moon and a fresh breeze… He studies diligently, his learning is excellent, and his words are as gentle as spring rain—just listening brings comfort.”

Yuanbao’s grip on the food box slowly tightened. His mind drifted. Wasn’t she describing…

“He’s here—he’s coming out!”

Suddenly flustered, Qiaogui grabbed Yuanbao’s arm. “Quick, check me! Is my hair messy? Are my clothes wrinkled?”

Startled, Yuanbao looked her over. “You look fine.”

Only then did she breathe easier, her gaze shy and delighted as it fixed on one spot.

Following her eyes, Yuanbao saw a scholar in a blue robe walk out of the academy gates. He wasn’t tall or broad—rather thin, even.

As he walked, his eyes never left the thick book in his hands.

His features were decent enough, but not handsome. His shoulders were uneven, one slightly higher than the other.

Like a stuffy gourd, he walked straight on without noticing anyone, still reading as he went.

Yuanbao pulled back his gaze, uncertain, and looked again at Qiaogui—then back at the scholar.

Yes, it was the same man.

He tugged at her sleeve. “You mean him?”

By the time the man disappeared from sight, Qiaogui was beaming, overjoyed at the chance encounter.

“Yes.”

“This… doesn’t quite match how you described him.” Yuanbao couldn’t help blurting.

Qiaogui blinked. “Haven’t you heard the saying? ‘In the eyes of a lover, even a plain one is a beauty.’”

Yuanbao clamped his mouth shut, letting out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I’ve heard it—but I didn’t think it could be so exaggerated.”

She wrinkled her nose with a soft hum. “You’re still young, you wouldn’t understand.

“When you truly like someone, it doesn’t matter if others say he’s plain. To you, he’s good. Others laugh that he’s a bookworm, a dull gourd—but I see him as serious and hardworking. What others find dull, I find interesting.”

Yuanbao froze, thinking this over.

“Well? Have you ever met someone like that?” Qiaogui asked, watching him closely.

He thought carefully, then shook his head. “No.”

He wasn’t brushing her off—his answer was honest.

He thought Brother Beinan was good—talented, steady, reliable. His family thought so too. Outsiders thought the same. Even those who disliked him, when they scolded, only said he was handsome, had some talent, and was too deep-minded, too calculating.

But Yuanbao couldn’t help thinking—wasn’t this just another way of praising Brother all over again? It really wasn’t like what Bai Qiaogui had said.

He grew confused. Could it be that she truly didn’t mean Brother?

“You silly gourd,” Qiaogui teased. “You’ve only grown the vine—no flower yet. When you meet such a person someday, come talk to me again.”

Yuanbao was about to laugh when a voice called out:

“Xiao Bao.”

“Why are you the one here today?”

Qi Beinan had come out of the county school, and the moment he saw Yuanbao waiting at the gate, the smile on his face couldn’t be hidden. He strode quickly over.

“Brother Qi.”

Qiaogui gave him a polite salute and smiled. “Bao Ge’er cooked some fine dishes today and wanted to deliver them to you personally. I kept him company.”

Beinan smiled. “You even had to come along for the trouble?”

Yuanbao said, “The estate sent mushrooms today. I cooked a few dishes—Brother, see if they taste good. Brother Tian managed to cultivate them, and I was just thinking how to reward him.”

Beinan’s eyes softened with laughter. “He surely deserves it.”

The two exchanged a few words when a sudden gust of wind swept past. Beinan instinctively shielded Yuanbao.

Looking up, he saw a scholar rushing past—it was none other than the one Qiaogui fancied.

“Brother Luo, did you lose a book to be running so fast?” Beinan called.

“Oh, I was reading and forgot myself,” Luo Tingfeng answered with a laugh. “Only when I reached my door did I remember I’d left my key back in the classroom. Everyone at home went out to a banquet today, so I had to hurry back.”

He had run so hard that sweat beaded his face. Catching sight of Yuanbao beside Beinan, and Qiaogui blushing furiously, he paused.

“Brother Qi, and this is…?”

“This is my younger brother, Xiao Yuanbao.” Beinan then added, “And this is a close friend of his, Bai Qiaogui.”

They exchanged salutes.

Luo spoke with Beinan a little more, asking him to review a new essay he had written, then took his leave.

When Beinan turned back, ready to tell Yuanbao to go home for lunch, he caught him staring after Luo, eyes fixed as if rooted there.

“Xiao Bao.”

Yuanbao snapped out of it and, seeing Qiaogui’s glowing face, understood at once.

He asked Beinan, “That young man just now—is he your classmate?”

Beinan’s brows shifted. “Yes. Scholar Luo and I were listed together. In the last county exam he ranked third in the first class. Now we share the same classroom.”

“What of it?”

Yuanbao shook his head. “Nothing. Just curious. He looked unfamiliar—I don’t recall ever seeing him with you.”

“Scholar Luo is diligent,” Beinan said. “Always buried in study. He rarely joins others for leisure. It’s no surprise you haven’t seen him before.”

Because of Qiaogui, Yuanbao pressed on. “Is his learning good?”

But Beinan didn’t answer. He only smiled faintly. “I spent all morning writing essays and I’m hungry. Let me eat first—then I’ll tell you more later.”

Yuanbao quickly said, “Of course, Brother. Go eat.”

After Beinan left with the food box, Qiaogui finally let out a delighted breath. She clung to Yuanbao’s arm.

“Bao Ge’er, this is wonderful! He’s in the same classroom as Brother Qi. He’s such a reserved person—so hard to hear news of him. I know where his family lives, but his father and little uncle are both generous, upright men. Asking about them is easier than learning anything about him. But now—it’s perfect. With him and Brother Qi in the same class, I can hear more.”

“You must help me!” she begged, bouncing with joy like a playful cat.

Yuanbao hurried to reassure her. “Alright, alright, I promise.”

Back at the school dining hall, Beinan sat down. Back in the village, he had always eaten lunch here, buying food from the canteen.

Now, with the new city residence, the household delivered his meals daily. Home-cooked food was naturally better than the canteen—but today, even the stuffed mushrooms he had looked forward to lost some of their flavor.

He was lost in thought when someone sat down beside him, snatching two mushrooms with chopsticks.

Beinan turned and saw Zhao Guangzong already chewing, eyebrows raised.

“This is too delicious! I knew something was up—why didn’t you call me to eat with you? So it was good food, hiding to enjoy it alone.”

Beinan’s thoughts were broken. “Xiao Bao brought the food box today. I forgot to call you when I came in.”

“I knew it—only Bao Ge’er could have cooked this. Nothing Madam Liu makes compares to him.”

“What’s this about being better?” Another voice joined in—Ma Junyi, hearing them, brought over his food.

“Stuffed mushrooms. Come sit, Brother Ma,” Guangzong said.

Ma Junyi put down his food box. “A fine dish indeed. I remember once tasting it in Jiangzhou.”

The three sat together at one table, opening their food boxes. Guangzong’s family had sent shredded chicken, tender bamboo shoots, and a small pot of bone soup.

Ma Junyi’s meal was a plate of golden braised shrimp, a plate of stir-fried cucumbers, a plate of tofu dressed in sesame oil, and a small pot of soup.

Together with Guangzong’s and Beinan’s food, the three meals looked like a banquet.

“This stuffed mushroom is delicious. Brother Qi, which cook did you hire? The skill is excellent.”

“You don’t know, Brother Ma,” Guangzong replied. “It was Beinan’s younger brother who made it—his cooking is remarkable. Not some outside cook.”

Beinan said little that day, not joining much of the chatter. He only smiled.

At Guangzong’s words, Ma Junyi said, “So Brother Qi’s younger brother is this talented. I wonder, would I be lucky enough to enjoy a meal at your house someday? I’d happily bring some fruit and call on you, just to taste it fresh.”

“After all, the autumn recess is coming soon. We’ll have some free time,” Guangzong added. “Beinan, why don’t you invite a few classmates for a gathering?”

At this, Beinan could no longer decline. “Very well. I’ll prepare a full table of food and wine, and invite some classmates to enjoy themselves.”

Both men were delighted and each placed dishes from their own boxes into Beinan’s bowl.

That afternoon, after classes, Beinan and Guangzong walked home together. The weather was cool and refreshing, and they barely broke a sweat on the way.

So when Beinan arrived, he didn’t bathe immediately, but went into the study first to finish the day’s lessons.

He stayed there for over half an hour before Yuanbao came to knock, bringing him a bowl of snow fungus soup.

Beinan accepted it gladly and ate.

“Was there much work today?” Yuanbao asked.

“Not too much. I’ve already written it out.”

Beinan spooned the soup. “The weather is cool. Shall we stroll through the streets?”

Yuanbao shook his head. “Better not for now. Just this morning I overheard talk in the lane—that there are unruly thieves outside, using the heavenly signs as an excuse to stir up trouble. Some people have already been hurt. The county yamen is chasing them down everywhere. It’s frightening.”

“You’re right,” Beinan answered. “I’ve heard the same. The magistrate is already troubled with the lawsuits from the celestial anomaly earlier—those trials aren’t even finished yet. And now thieves cause unrest. Truly infuriating.”

After a while speaking of outside affairs, Yuanbao slipped two small embroidered sachets from his sleeve and handed them to Beinan.

“For me?”

One was stitched with orchids on pale green silk, the other with peach blossoms on moon-white silk. Both were beautifully made.

Yuanbao gave a sheepish smile. “They’re for you to pass on.”

Beinan’s smile froze. In that instant, the sachets seemed to reek. His voice cooled. “For whom?”

“Just that man we met today at the school gate—Luo Tingfeng, Scholar Luo,” Yuanbao said quickly.

Beinan set the sachets on the table, looking at him. Yuanbao pursed his lips, embarrassed, blinking at him with pleading eyes.

Bitterness welled in Beinan, but reason told him Yuanbao wasn’t wrong.

“Why send him sachets at all?” His tone was deliberately distant.

Yuanbao clasped his hands together, leaning forward and speaking softly. “It’s Gui Jie’er. She begged me to ask you to pass them on. She’s a girl—too shy. She said Brother has noble character and would never spread word of it, and since Scholar Luo is your classmate, she trusts you. That’s why she asked.”

Beinan paused. “Helping fulfill others’ wishes—there’s nothing wrong with that.”

His brows lifted, and he picked the sachets back up. “You asked me about Scholar Luo’s studies earlier. He is diligent. Even our teacher praises him for his effort. His essays are excellent—he’s one of the top students in the class, and he has great prospects ahead. Gui Jie’er’s eye is sharp.

“Since you’re close with her, I’ll do this errand for you. But Scholar Luo’s mind is set on study. You saw it yourself today—he may not accept.”

“Whether he accepts or not is his matter,” Yuanbao said. “Just tell Gui Jie’er truthfully afterward.”

Beinan tucked the sachets away. “Tomorrow, at the county school, I’ll find a quiet moment and give them to him.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Thingyan: We’re trying a new style of translation so, if you notice some errors, please kindly let us know 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Zhong Lianjia’s half-month plan for the internet café’s renovation took only three days.

Lu Yao spent one day upgrading the interdimensional space.

The next day, when the staff entered the café, they found that the once-small space had more than doubled in size and now even included a small second-floor loft.

Lu Yao had dismantled the small private rooms on the first floor, replacing them with five computers lined up against the wall.

The main hall had two additional rows of computers, bringing the total number of machines downstairs to twenty-five.

The second floor was designed as a ring of private rooms along the walls with the center open. Upstairs featured two double-person rooms and three single-person rooms, housing a total of seven computers.

Installing and adjusting the new equipment took another day.

While Cheng Ye and Zhong were busy setting up, Lu Yao made another trip to Liuxian City.

With Wuling absent, Xuanfeng accompanied her instead.

Xuanfeng, being a demon, had followed the Demon Lord during his early travels in the human world. Compared to Mo Bao, who had spent most of his life in the Demon Realm, Xuanfeng was more familiar with human customs and skilled at disguises.

However, demons generally disdained the idea of disguising themselves, preferring to flaunt their demonic aura wherever they went.

Finding this impractical, Lu Yao asked Xuanfeng to help her disguise herself as she had last time—a low-level lotus demon.

Since Xuanfeng was tagging along, he also needed a disguise.

Refusing to pose as a demon, he instead dressed in a Taoist robe, intending to pose as a cultivator.

Lu Yao rejected this outright.

“What cultivator travels alongside a demon? It looks too suspicious.”

Frustrated, Xuanfeng halfheartedly disguised himself as a flying squirrel spirit.

Lu Yao brought along a sample of the newly developed three-mode keyboard and sought out Liusheng.

Liusheng had already completed a batch of refined keyboards for demon use, which were indeed sturdier than plastic models.

When he saw the new keyboard with switchable input modes, he was surprised.

“Already something new?”

Lu Yao replied, “It’s just an added text-switching function. I’d like you to help produce a batch of these. The latest delivery should be within ten days.”

Liusheng handed over the refined demon-use keyboard to Lu Yao, and the two signed a new commission contract.

He promised to deliver the new keyboards to the café by the agreed date.

After concluding her business, Lu Yao planned to visit some talisman stalls and pill shops other than the Lingdan Pavilion.

She carried a fair amount of spirit stones this time and intended to purchase everything she had missed on her previous trip.

However, every time she finished picking items and prepared to pay, Xuanfeng would stop her and pull her away.

“What’s your problem?” she finally asked, glaring at him.

Scratching his head and ignoring the sharpness of her tone, Xuanfeng muttered, “Too expensive. Liuxian City is under demon management, and the items they sell to cultivators are ridiculously overpriced. Pills, talismans, even storage bags—you could get them for much cheaper elsewhere.”

Lu Yao stared at him. “And how exactly do you know so much about this?”

Xuanfeng replied, “A few hundred years ago, I followed the Lord during his travels in the human world. I’ve been to plenty of these little markets.”

Lu Yao paused. “…And how long has it been since you last visited the human world?”

“About five hundred years, I suppose. This is my first time coming out since the gateways between the Demon Realm and the human world closed.”

“…You do realize that prices from five hundred years ago can’t be compared to now, right?”

Xuanfeng seemed unbothered. “But the talismans hanging in those shops and the pills sold in those pharmacies are still the same as five hundred years ago. Nothing new, yet the prices have multiplied several times. Looking around, the only fresh thing I’ve seen in this human world is your internet café.”

In the cultivation world, time is often measured in centuries, millennia, or even tens of thousands of years.

To Xuanfeng, five hundred years likely felt about the same as fifty days.

Lu Yao, in no rush to shop anymore, continued asking, “Does your lord like coming to the human world?”

Xuanfeng shook his head. “The Lord doesn’t have many preferences. But in the past, every so often, he’d come to the human world. I never understood why.”

“Could it be to meet someone?” Lu Yao asked.

Xuanfeng shook his head again. “No one in the human world is worthy of the Lord’s attention.”

“What color is your Lord’s hair?”

Sometimes Xuanfeng found the shopkeeper unfathomable; other times, her ignorance was startling.

“All demons, regardless of their true form, have black hair when taking human form,” he explained.

The Demon Lord had black hair and red eyes.

Ignoring Xuanfeng’s odd expression, Lu Yao turned toward the teleportation array. “Let’s head back.”

Xuanfeng was caught off guard by her sudden shift. “Not buying anything?”

“You said everything was overpriced. I listen to good advice,” she replied. “I’ll shop somewhere else next time.”

As soon as Lu Yao and Xuanfeng left Liuxian City, the news reached the city palace.

Jizhuang sat at his desk, listening to the report from the Yao official.

After the official left, he picked up the recording jade token on the desk.

A mere mortal, disguising herself as a weak demon to enter the city.

Even wearing a face covering, her eyes alone reminded him of his first meeting with Yu Yao three hundred years ago.

…

That day, the weather was clear, and Jizhuang had just emerged from secluded cultivation. He had arranged to meet Wuling at Tianxiang Tower in the city.

As a flower spirit, Jizhuang preferred the serenity of the mountains while cultivating.

Descending the mountain, he came across an overturned carriage in a valley.

The horse pulling the carriage had broken its neck against a stone, and the coachman and maidservant were both dead.

Only a young girl, carefully shielded by the maidservant, remained alive, albeit barely.

Jizhuang carried her out and healed her with his demon power.

That day, Jizhuang never made it to see Wuling.

The girl refused to return home, so he waited with her in the valley for her family to come.

From dawn till dusk and into the night, her family finally arrived.

Jizhuang quietly retreated into the shadows and watched her return to the Lu residence in the city.

At the time, Jizhuang did not know she was the reincarnated Yao Xianzi undergoing a mortal trial.

Her human name was Lu Yao, the only daughter of Lu Zhiyuan, a wealthy merchant in Lingcheng.

After that, Jizhuang often descended the mountain to visit her.

She seemed especially fond of lotus flowers.

The backyard pond of the Lu residence was filled with them.

Morning or evening, Lu Yao loved sitting by the pond, playing with the water and admiring the lotuses.

Once, Jizhuang took root in the backyard as his true form, but she paid him no mind.

Her eyes only saw the lotuses in the pond. Day after day, night after night, she never tired of them.

Eventually, Jizhuang couldn’t resist revealing himself to her.

She was startled but not afraid. Instead, she brought him a plate of pastries from her room.

…

“Lu Yao…”

The name echoed from the recording jade token, snapping Jizhuang out of his memories.

That woman was named Lu Yao too.

But no, she was Lu Yao, not Lu Yao.

Jizhuang pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes in frustration.

She wasn’t her. So why did she look so much like her, even sharing a similar name?

…

Lu Yao spent an entire day disassembling the keyboards Liusheng had refined with cultivation world materials. She replicated the components with her abilities and assembled a batch of new keyboards.

These keyboards had durability nearly matching that of the refined ones, though not quite as robust.

Lu Yao pondered the reason.

It likely stemmed from her limited understanding of refining techniques. Her replicated components only mimicked the surface.

She also tried using duplication magic, but the World Barrier appeared, preventing her. The duplicated keyboards were far inferior, even to her assembled ones.

The Goddess of Abundance’s blessing seemed like a highly convenient ability, but it had a small prerequisite—continuous learning and understanding of the hidden principles of everything in the world. Only then could it reach its full potential.

Lu Yao diligently worked through the day, hoping these keyboards would last until Liusheng’s next delivery.

After being closed for three days, the Interdimensional Internet Café reopened for business.

Previously, the owner and staff had been fully occupied with repairing and renovating the shop, leaving no time to devise strategies for attracting new customers.

At dawn, as soon as the café doors opened, the waiting crowd of demons surged inside.

“Finally, it’s open! I thought I’d never get to go online again—scared me to death!”
“I told you, Lu Yao isn’t that petty. Of course she’d reopen after a few days!”
“These past days were unbearable! My crops in the game have gone bad, my backyard pet hasn’t been fed, and I still haven’t finished my shows!”
“Net manager, quick! Get me a machine—I can’t hold back any longer!!!”

The demons shouted noisily as they poured into the café, but abruptly stopped at the entrance, retreating to check the signboard again to ensure they were in the right place.

Once reassured, they reentered and gradually began to notice the changes.

They had thought their previous actions might have angered the owner into closing the shop.

Not only was she not upset, but she had taken the time to renovate the place, add new machines, and fulfill her promise of demon-compatible keyboards.

The ground floor now had more stations, making it bright and spacious for gaming. The new keyboards worked seamlessly, although typing practice would still take some getting used to.

For those who disliked the noise downstairs, there were quiet private rooms on the second floor.

Within an hour, all thirty-plus stations were occupied.

The bustling reopening exceeded the staff’s expectations. Cheng Ye reported the good news in the staff group chat, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, Xuanfeng and Mo Bao were hiding behind the counter shelves, clearly uninterested in serving.

“Why are they all these stinking demons?” Mo Bao muttered, annoyed. “Just looking at them irritates me.”

Lu Yao wasn’t about to indulge their laziness. She was just about to give the two slackers a pep talk when Cheng Ye suddenly stood up.

“Boss, someone’s looking for you.”

Lu Yao turned her head to see two figures standing at the entrance.

Her face instantly fell upon spotting the silver-haired, red-clad Jizhuang.

Why is this lunatic here again?

Beside Jizhuang stood another figure.

The young man had a sharp, handsome face and a slender yet commanding physique. Dressed in tight-fitting black attire that emphasized his long legs and narrow waist, he exuded a cold and imposing aura. His ink-black hair was tied high with a silver crown.

He glanced icily at the person next to him, clearly unwilling to let Jizhuang enter first.

The two seemed locked in a silent standoff, neither yielding an inch.

Lu Yao blinked, then walked outside.

The black-haired youth had striking crimson eyes, unlike anyone in her memory.

Yet, inexplicably, she felt certain it was him.

The youth seemed to sense her gaze. His sharp aura briefly softened as he turned to look.

Lu Yao halted.

However, his attention wasn’t on her. Lowering his brows, he said coldly, “You see me and don’t come over?”

Mo Bao and Xuanfeng shot past Lu Yao, racing toward the black-clad youth like swallows returning to their nest.

Lu Yao tilted her head, frowning in confusion.

The black-haired youth was the Demon Lord, but he seemed to have no recognition of her.

Did I mistake him for someone else?

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️