Martial Cultivator

At dusk, a scholar stepped along the last lingering ray of the setting sun and arrived at a small county town under a remote commandery city in Ying Prefecture.

The commandery city’s name was unremarkable, called Changshi, but this small county town had a pleasant name, Yuqian.

The scholar happened to squeeze into the county town just before the city gates were closed. The gatekeeping soldiers were half a quarter-hour late changing shifts, but seeing the scholar’s apologetic expression and his polite smile, they did not feel annoyed.

One of them even kindly reminded him, “Sir, do you have relatives or old acquaintances in the city to rely on? If not, then you should hurry. The inns in the city all close rather early. If you go too late, I’m afraid you’ll be shut out.”

But as he said this, the soldier noticed that the scholar was not even carrying any luggage, and he laughed quietly. Perhaps this was someone from the city after all, and he had been meddlesome.

However, the scholar, dressed in a light blue robe that had been washed until it was somewhat faded, nodded in thanks and even asked, “I remember there being a small teahouse in the city, over in the eastern quarter of the town. The name was rather elegant, called Mist Rises, Green Mountains. I wonder if it is still open?”

The soldier froze for a moment, then slapped his forehead and said proudly, “Sir, you’ve asked the right person. If you’d asked someone else, they definitely wouldn’t know the place you mean. Asking me is exactly right. That teahouse doesn’t have much business, but it’s still open. The old proprietor is a very good person. Every time I pass by on duty, he always calls me over to drink a cup of tea before I leave." "Sir, are you related to that old proprietor? How about we go together? I’m heading back after my shift change anyway, and it’s right along the way.”

The scholar thought for a moment and nodded. “That works.”

Afterward, he quietly stood by the city gate. Once the soldier had changed shifts, the two of them went together toward the eastern quarter.

Having taken off his armor and changed into plain clothes, the soldier walked along and asked curiously, “What kind of relationship do you have with the old proprietor, sir? If you’re close, and if you don’t have much going on, you really should make time to visit him more often. The old proprietor looks fairly healthy, but it’s been so many years already. You never know.” The scholar smiled and said, “A distant nephew. I live far away, over in Changban Commandery. It’s not easy to make the trip.”

The soldier nodded solemnly. “That’s true. It’s too far, and the mountain roads in between aren’t easy to travel. But these past few years it’s gotten much better, hasn’t it? At least the demons outside the city aren’t as rampant as before. That Lord Warden Commander really has done quite a lot of practical things for us. Life is looking more and more hopeful.”

The scholar smiled and asked, “Is life really that good?”

The soldier waved his hand and laughed. “If you say it’s good everywhere, all the time, that’d definitely be false. But don’t things have to be done little by little? The demon trouble in Great Liang has gone on for over two hundred years. Isn’t it visibly reduced by quite a lot now?" "Besides, since His Majesty ascended the throne, these past ten-plus years, those high-and-mighty immortals haven’t been nearly as arrogant as before. Haven’t you noticed? Now the officials who actually keep their word are doing real work, doing good things for the people below. Isn’t that something you can plainly see?”

“My son even knows that meals are eaten one bite at a time, and roads are walked one step at a time. As long as you can see hope, that’s a good thing.”

The soldier spoke on his own, his face truly filled with cheerful expression.

The scholar could feel his contentment and happiness, and so he nodded as well, softly saying, “It is fairly good. The world is, after all, getting better.”

“Right, right. The times look one way today and another way tomorrow. Before, it always made people uneasy, but now it feels a lot more solid.”

The soldier accompanied the scholar all the way to a spot in the eastern part of the city. This area was rather secluded. The small tea house was inconspicuous, with a wooden sign hanging outside the door, bearing the words Mist Rising, Green Mountain. The handwriting was crooked and uneven. Forget any sense of elegance; even an ordinary child who had gone through basic schooling would not have written so poorly.

“This is the place.”

The soldier went up to the door and thoughtfully called out to the old shopkeeper a few times, but no sound came from inside. He scratched his head and laughed. “The old shopkeeper’s getting on in years. His health is still all right, but his hearing really isn’t great. How about I go in and help you look for him?”

The scholar smiled and politely declined, saying there was no need, that he would go see his uncle himself.

The soldier nodded. He was quite tactful, but after sizing up the scholar for a moment, he still said, “There’s something I might say that doesn’t sound very nice, but I still want to say it. Sir, you’re coming to see your uncle, yet you didn’t even bring a gift?”

The scholar did not seem offended. Instead, he took out a packet of tea leaves from his sleeve and smiled. “I brought tea specially. My uncle likes many things, but not all that much. If it’s good tea, though, then he truly likes it.”

The soldier gave an awkward smile, apologized, and then went on his way.

The scholar stood at the doorway, watching the soldier’s retreating figure for a long while before finally walking into the tea house, which was small to begin with.

Inside the tea house, there were really only two wooden tables set out. The space was limited, and there was no room for more.

At the counter in front stood a large iron kettle, bubbling and steaming, filling the little tea house with mist, as if it were some immortal realm.

An old man with white hair and beard, his frame hunched, lay in an old bamboo chair behind the counter. As his body rocked, the bamboo chair creaked in response.

The old man seemed unbothered by the noise, keeping his eyes closed as he slept.

The scholar placed the tea on the counter, untied the thin string around it, and spread open the oiled paper, revealing a small cluster of verdant tea leaves.

Just as the scholar opened the packet, the old man’s nose twitched, and he muttered, “Good tea, good tea.”

As he spoke, he frowned, as if he could not quite figure out how there could still be such good tea in the world.

But he soon opened his eyes and sat up, looking toward the counter. His gaze passed over the large iron kettle and landed on the young scholar behind it.

The old man blinked. A trace of disbelief surfaced in his clouded eyes. Just as he was about to speak, the young scholar spoke first, introducing himself. “Surname Cao, given name Chong. Old Lu, you don’t remember?”