The Faith and Salt

The salt fields on the mudflats were bleached white.

Xiao Yan walked along the field ridges toward the village, salt crystals sticking to his boot soles, gleaming gray.

At the village entrance, an old willow tree held a weathered wooden sign.

The characters "Model Village" had been so salt-corroded that only the "Mod…l" remained clear.

Faded red cloth strips hung heavily from the willow branches.

A closer look revealed what they actually were: young girls' undergarments.

The smallest was no larger than a man's palm, with the character for "Fortune" stitched into the fabric.

Dark brown patches stained the loose threads, making it impossible to tell if the spots were dried blood or just mold

Nearby, wooden salt-drying racks leaned at crooked angles, holding nothing but a few rotting fishing nets draped over their split bamboo frames.

Several old men sat in the shade of the tree, playing chess.

The moment they spotted a stranger approaching, they stopped moving.

Their eyes locked onto him with open hostility.

When Xiao Yan stepped up and asked for the location of Zheng Laosi's house, not a single one of them answered.

They pretended he did not exist.

Giving up on the locals, he crouched down to examine the ground.

Four days had passed since he left for Yangzhou.

The dried mud on the ground was a chaotic mess of overlapping footprints. It was completely impossible to distinguish which tracks belonged to Zheng Laosi.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a strip of paper talisman. He crushed it in his fist, letting it silently burn to ash against his palm.

Closing his eyes, the world around him instantly became incredibly loud, yet strangely quiet at the same time.

The tiny rustling of insects amplified as if they were right next to his ears.

In the distance, the hushed whispers of the old men under the tree became crystal clear.

If he focused his mind, he could hear exactly what they were discussing.

He had no interest in their gossip.

His senses shifted to the air.

Every single scent grew thick and heavy.

More importantly, each smell took on a clear physical direction, winding forward like invisible, narrow alleys.

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Cutting through the sour smell of sweat, wet earth, and cheap tobacco of the ordinary villagers, a distinct trail of expensive imported perfume mixed with raw blood drifted from a single direction.

Opening his eyes, Xiao Yan decided to follow the scent.

He soon arrived at an unusually tall, solid grey brick wall.

Piles of half-burned paper palanquins and horses, offerings for the dead, sat scattered outside the perimeter.

The heavy metal door rings were cast in the shape of Haechi, the Moon-Devourer.

Xiao Yan had seen too many of these crests here.

Next door stood another massive brick courtyard.

Strangely, the faces of the painted Door Gods pasted on its wooden gates were entirely covered by blank yellow talismans.

This place was far too wealthy to be Zheng Laosi's house.

But the answers to many of Xiao Yan's questions could probably be found inside.

Stepping up to the first gate, he knocked.

A servant opened the door, and upon seeing Xiao Yan, quickly bowed his head.

"My lord, you have arrived."

"You know me?"

"The clan elder has been expecting you for a long time."

The smell of the perfume here was strong. In fact, it was overwhelmingly thick.

"Please, come inside, my lord."

The iron-bound wooden doors pulled shut behind them with a heavy, hollow rumble.

Everything inside this courtyard looked completely out of place compared to the rotting village outside.

It featured a solid brick wall, carved inner gates, a neatly stacked bluestone well, and even ornate carp decorations along the wooden railings.

Entering the main hall, a wooden plaque hanging directly above their heads.

Its bold characters read:

Model of Virtue.

The clan elder appeared to be in his fifties, wearing a dark skullcap and a thin mustache.

Outwardly, he looked honest, proper, and extremely stern.

Noticing Xiao Yan's youthful face, the elder clearly did not take him seriously at all.

Taking his seat at the center table, the old man signaled a servant with his eyes to brew some tea.

Stepping into the side kitchen, the servant turned to a young kitchen boy and muttered, "Just use the leftover tea dregs for this one."

He had absolutely no idea that Xiao Yan could hear every single word clearly from the main hall.

Waiting until the host had settled, Xiao Yan finally took a seat of his own.

The elder remained completely silent.

Refusing to even look at Xiao Yan, he stared straight out the open doors.

His eyes were hidden in the dark shadows of his heavy, locked brows, projecting a natural, intimidating authority.

A few moments later, the servant returned carrying a wooden tray.

He set a plain ceramic cup on the small table next to Xiao Yan, poured the murky liquid from an iron kettle, and quickly backed away with his head lowered.

Breaking the long silence, the clan elder finally spoke. "Please."

Xiao Yan nodded politely, but his hands stayed perfectly still. He did not reach for the cup.

Noticing this, the elder frowned in obvious displeasure. "What is it? Is the tea bad?"

"It is bad."

The clan elder froze for a brief second, visibly caught off guard by the blunt reply.

Recovering his stern posture, he snapped at the servant, "Then brew another pot!"

As the servant hurried away, his rapid footsteps fading down the corridor, the main hall sank back into a heavy, dead silence.

When the fresh pot of tea was brought out, Xiao Yan remained completely unmoved.

Deeply irritated, the clan elder narrowed his eyes.

"What do you want?"

Xiao Yan wanted absolutely nothing.

He was thoroughly accustomed to this kind of hostile atmosphere. In fact, he found the open tension somewhat comfortable.

Taking a glance at the lavish decorations around them, he said flatly, "Your tea is so garbage. Is this how you treat an imperial official?"

"How dare you?" Enraged by the young man's open insult, the elder said. "You have only been to this village for a few days, and you already think you are some high lord? Let me be blunt: in this village, you are absolutely nobody."

"Then why did your servant say you had been expecting me for a long time?"

"Because I originally thought you were a capable man. But looking at you now, you are nothing but a pathetic fool."

The second those words left his mouth, Xiao Yan stood up and delivered a vicious backhand across the old man's face.

The strike was so heavy it sent the elder's skullcap flying directly to the floor.

Still holding the iron kettle, the servant froze in the middle of the hall, completely paralyzed by terror.

Only after slapping the man did Xiao Yan finally reach out and take a slow sip of his tea.

It always had to be like this.

Some people just insist on learning the hard way.