43: Chapter 43 News from the Teahouse

A long queue had formed at the south gate of Luoyan Commandery.

After changing his appearance, Jiang Yan mingled behind a merchant caravan selling cloth, moving forward slowly.

In front of him was a mule cart piled with a dozen bolts of coarse linen, and the old man driving it was puffing on a dry tobacco pipe, the sparks in the bowl flickering in the morning breeze.

The guards at the gate wore their helmets crookedly as they checked travel permits one by one; when they reached the mule cart, the old man handed over a wooden tablet, and the guard waved them through after a cursory glance.

When it was Jiang Yan's turn, the guard did not even lift his eyelids.

He was a square-faced man in a grey cloth jacket, with a sallow complexion, indistinguishable from any other villager coming to market.

Luoyan Commandery was one of the most prosperous cities in the central region of the Jin Kingdom, where the northern and southern trade routes converged, with a permanent population of over two hundred thousand.

Shops lined both sides of the street—fabric stores, pharmacies, blacksmiths, pawnshops—their signs swaying in the autumn wind.

A few half-grown boys chased a yellow dog at the street corner, splashing mud onto the hem of a vegetable-selling woman's skirt; the woman placed her hands on her hips and cursed a couple of times before turning back to greet a customer buying radishes.

Wangyan Tower was situated in the most prominent spot at the crossroads in the south of the city.

It was a three-story wooden building with a string of faded copper bells hanging from the eaves, chiming tinklingly in the wind.

The lacquer on the "Wangyan Tower" plaque above the door had peeled away for the most part, revealing the pine grain beneath, looking as though it had seen many years.

The door to the ground floor lobby was wide open, and the sounds of laughter, abacuses, and clinking teacups poured out.

When Jiang Yan walked in, more than half the hall was already occupied.

Twenty or so square tables were packed full, and the waiter wove between them carrying a teapot, his cloth shoe soles making squeaky noises on the blue brick floor.

A three-foot-high wooden stage had been set up in the center of the hall, and a storyteller in a blue cloth gown stood on it, holding a gavel and slapping it onto the table with a loud crack.

"Speaking of the legendary heroine of the previous dynasty, Liu Sanniang, she entered the county office at night to steal the corrupt official's ledger—"

Specks of saliva flew glitteringly in the sunlight slanting through the window, and a few idlers in the front row listened with great interest, one of them so engrossed he didn't even notice the sunflower seed shells falling onto his lapel.

Jiang Yan scanned the layout of the entire lobby.

The tables by the window were occupied by local idlers—four or five men looking like thugs in grey cloth jackets.

The tea in their coarse porcelain bowls was near the bottom, and they were chatting in hushed tones about the romantic affairs of Widow Zhang from the south of the city, bursting into vulgar laughter from time to time.

The six large tables in the center were occupied by merchants; ledgers were spread across a table, abacus beads clattering, and a fat merchant shouted at the waiter to refill the water, his voice loud enough to drown out the storyteller for a moment.

In the corner sat two escorts, their swords resting by the table legs, the paint on the scabbards chipped away to reveal the greyish iron underneath, the two of them complaining about how stingy their employer was while chewing peanuts, noting that the escort fee was twenty percent less than last year.

"A pot of coarse tea," Jiang Yan said, sitting down in a corner near the stairs with his back to the wall, pulling a few copper coins from his sleeve and placing them on the table.

The waiter came over carrying a teapot, his gaze sweeping over him before moving away.

A guest wearing a grey cloth jacket and ordering the cheapest coarse tea was clearly not a big spender and not worth the effort.

The teapot was set on the table, a coarse porcelain bowl flipped over, and dark brown tea was poured in, tea stalks and broken leaves swirling at the bottom of the bowl before settling.

Jiang Yan picked up the tea bowl and took a sip; it was bitter and astringent, with the granular texture of tea dregs remaining on the tip of his tongue.

While drinking, his ears were simultaneously filtering the conversations throughout the hall.

A tea house was never short on gossip; the people who came here never stopped talking.

Sure enough, the merchant selling cloth at the center table had just put down his teacup, wiped the tea stains from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"Do you know how General Jiang Ce died?"

The nearby tables quieted down for a moment. Even the thugs by the window turned their heads.

The storyteller held his gavel mid-air, paused, then slapped it down again to continue the story of Liu Sanniang climbing the wall, but the audience's attention was no longer on him.

Seeing that everyone was listening, the silk merchant became even more animated.

His surname was Wang, from Linzi, having just returned from selling cloth in Pingjiang Commandery, bringing back a full cart of silk.

He lifted his teacup, took a large gulp, and then said in a hushed voice: "He didn't die on the battlefield; he died in his own home.

The Generals Mansion—the guards of the entire Generals Mansion were slaughtered to the last man, and General Jiang Ce himself was ground to dust and scattered to the winds.

I know Master Sun from the Pingjiang Commandery magistrate's office; he told me himself."

"You're just bragging," a merchant in a blue gown nearby scoffed.

Shopkeeper Wang grew anxious and slapped his palm on the table, making the ledger jump: "I'll stake my life on it! Master Sun personally went to collect the bodies—no, wait, to collect the ashes!

He said the government constables went to the scene and didn't dare say a word after they returned.

Why didn't they dare speak? Because that was simply not something a Martial Artist could do.

The sword marks on the wall had scorched the blue bricks into glaze, the rocks on the rockery were shattered by the heat, and the whole courtyard was covered in scorch marks from flames.

Tell me, which Innate Martial Artist could leave marks like that?"

The tea house exploded into chaos. Each table began exchanging the versions they had heard.

The merchant in the blue gown put down his teacup and said he had heard in Qingzhou Prefecture that Northern Yan had sent Innate experts to infiltrate secretly, and it took three of them working together to take him down when the General was off guard.

He gestured with his fingers: "Three people, all Innate, one attacking from the front, two ambushing from the sides and rear."

The old man selling medicinal herbs nearby sneered, his goat-like beard twitching: "Since when has Northern Yan had anyone at Xiantian Perfection to send over?

Their strongest one, Tuoba something, was run through with a spear by General Jiang Ce on the battlefield ten years ago and died completely."

"That's different," the blue-gowned merchant argued unconvinced, "Ten years have passed; who knows what kind of figures have emerged in Northern Yan?"

Another man, who looked like an escort, threw peanut shells onto the table, where they rolled twice and landed in the cracks between the floor tiles.

Before speaking, he looked left and right, as if confirming no one was paying attention to him, then lowered his voice and said: "It wasn't people from Northern Yan. It was a hidden Sect that General Jiang Ce had offended at the border years ago, and they came for revenge decades later.

I heard from a Senior who works as an escort that some Sects hold grudges for decades without forgetting, waiting until the enemy is old and lax before sending experts down the mountain."

An idler at the table near the door, who was half-drunk, heard this and slammed his wine bowl onto the table, spilling half of it: "You're all wrong!

My brother-in-law worked at the Generals Mansion—although he was kicked out two years ago—and he said it was an Immortal Master from the Northern Yan Kingdom who personally took action! A bolt of heavenly lightning came down and flattened the entire Generals Mansion!"

"If your brother-in-law really worked at the Generals Mansion, would he have been kicked out?" someone chimed in, and the surrounding area erupted in laughter.

The idler's face flushed red, and just as he was about to argue, he was pulled by someone next to him, muttering as he went back to pouring wine.