Chapter 50: Selling Wine at the Counter (Part 1)

Shen Tang’s words made Chu Yao stop mid-step. The pause lasted no more than a blink before he pressed it flat again, the faint bitterness on his face settling back into calm.

“In this life,” he said evenly, “you need something to believe in to keep going. Even if it’s only to comfort yourself. Like the saying goes—‘A gentleman keeps his tools hidden and waits for the right moment to act.’”

Otherwise, living was too hard.

He had endured it day after day, grinding himself down until it felt like he was burning his own heart’s blood.

A year before his coming-of-age, his Literary Heart had been replaced. Then came that dream. After that, the long drift from one disaster to the next. Fifteen years had vanished in the blink of an eye.

Shen Tang let out a slow breath. “But that’s too bitter.”

She didn’t have to swallow that kind of pain. Instead of clinging to a “prophecy” no one could prove, she could just walk the road in front of her.

Chu Yao shook his head, not interested in arguing.

Had he never wavered when reality crushed down on him?

Of course he had.

He was only human. Anyone would falter when suffering had no end in sight—he had, more than once. The difference was that every time doubt sprouted, he strangled it with his own hands.

One, his temperament wouldn’t allow him to quit halfway. Two, that dream was the only time in his life he had ever used the scholar path. If he didn’t see the outcome—didn’t see his fate—how could he accept it?

Know fate. Cure the stubborn illness.

If the prophecy written into that dream-prescription came true, his life would finally turn. Bad luck would end. The mud would finally let him go. He wouldn’t spend a lifetime trapped in the lowest base registry, rolling and crawling at the bottom of the world.

The only thing he hadn’t expected was—

Chu Yao tilted his head and, without meaning to, stole a glance at Shen Tang.

Wu Lang was nothing like the fate he’d imagined.

In his mind, the one he waited for should have been a fierce overlord, a righteous outlaw, a wandering hero—someone broad-minded and unrestrained. Someone who didn’t fuss over pedigree. Someone who didn’t play favorites or listen with one ear. Someone who wouldn’t sneer at a scholar for losing a Literary Heart, as if that made them worthless. Someone who wouldn’t mind letting a man like him—born low—show his talents.

Reality never cared about dreams.

The fated one riding a white mule looked like an eleven- or twelve-year-old who didn’t know the world. Lively. Naive. Nothing like the countless plans Chu Yao had built and rebuilt over the years.

Shen Tang, oblivious to the storm in his mind, muttered, “Ginseng, rhubarb, aconite, rehmannia… those are herbs. Sibao Commandery?”

She frowned, thinking it through. “A stand-in for Sibao Commandery?”

By coincidence, Xiao City was the commandery yamen of Sibao Commandery.

Chu Yao answered flatly, “Mm.”

Shen Tang’s eyes brightened. “Then I know how to read the prescription.”

“Moonlight, three taels” was the easiest part.

On the surface, “moonlight” sounded like some strange medicinal catalyst—dew gathered from leaves or petals after soaking up enough yin essence. Collect three taels. Use it to simmer the medicine.

But it could also be read another way.

Moonlight could point to the Moonlight Tower. As for “three taels,” it might mean something else entirely. Chu Yao believed it meant “three taels to redeem oneself,” which explained his earlier remark. Still, one thing gnawed at her.

“What exactly is ‘fate’? And what’s the ‘stubborn illness’?” Shen Tang asked. “If I take it literally, I can only assume I’m the ‘fate’… but I don’t know medicine. How am I supposed to cure anything? Or is there some other twist coming?”

Chu Yao lowered his gaze. “I don’t know.”

“Really?”

His face didn’t change. “I don’t.”

Shen Tang didn’t press. Elder Chu had no one. That was rough. If they got along, she could take care of him later—call it repayment for that half-teacher kindness. She was young. Feeding one old man wouldn’t kill her.

The thought warmed her enough that she almost wanted to pin a medal on herself.

“Sir…” The road had been quiet, and Shen Tang couldn’t stand quiet for long. If she wasn’t fidgeting, her mouth was moving, or her thoughts were sprinting. If no one responded, she started itching.

Chu Yao, unlike Qi Shan, didn’t ignore her. He answered at once.

“What does Wu Lang need?”

“Uh…” Now that she’d gotten a response, her mind blanked. Then the scene in the Moonlight Tower flashed back. “Sir, do you know a word-spirit that can pry into people’s hearts?”

“I do. Why ask?”

“I ran into a scholar in the Moonlight Tower,” Shen Tang said. “His mind reading was terrifying.”

“Terrifying?”

“One glance and it felt like he stripped me bare. No privacy at all.” She leaned forward. “How do you deal with that?”

“Hearts Are Walled Off.”

Chu Yao spoke the name like it was nothing.

Shen Tang blinked. “Hearts Are Walled Off?”

“A word-spirit used to resist peeping,” Chu Yao said. “But there’s little point in learning it. Most of the time, you won’t need it.

“Plenty of scholars cultivate mind-peeking word-spirit, but very few actually master it. Each use puts an enormous burden on the Literary Heart. If the target is also a Literary Heart scholar and has defenses, the price is worse. One misstep and you risk backlash.”

Shen Tang exhaled. “So that’s why he looked like a sick ghost. Like a breeze could lift him off the ground.”

Then she frowned. “But if it’s such a burden, why use it on me? Was he bored? Or did he think he had too many years to live?”

Chu Yao hadn’t seen the man Shen Tang described, but he didn’t need to. His voice cooled.

“Not a good sort. Keep your distance.”

“I know. But sometimes you want peace and trouble still finds you.” Shen Tang rubbed her temple. “I just hope the fire doesn’t jump to me.”

With her connection to Gong Cheng, that male courtesan and Sir Gu wouldn’t truly relax. They might even send someone to dig into her background.

An open spear was easy to dodge. A hidden arrow was not.

Still, Shen Tang wasn’t the original owner of this body, and she had no interest in messy power games. Gong Cheng wouldn’t sell her out either. In a sense, they were tied to the same rope. If she went down, he wouldn’t stay safe.

She lifted her chin. “If I’m going to worry about anything, it should be money.”

Food, clothes, shelter, travel—what didn’t cost money?

And once she crossed the river and tore down the bridge named Qi Shan, she’d be stuck relying on Elder Chu. Feeding two mouths would be on her.

She didn’t mind the responsibility. She just needed coin.

A spark lit in her mind.

“All right,” she said, turning on her heel. “Let’s go buy wine jars wholesale.”