480: Chapter 479 A bowl of warm wine to ward off the chill, and salted peanuts to chew on with relish.

The damp malt candy melted completely at the base of his tongue. The sticky sweetness carried a hint of sourness. It was not a particularly sophisticated craft, yet it gave Zhou Wannian a sense of tangible, living flavor in his mouth.

Just moments ago, he had tilted his head back and drained the remaining warm wine from the chipped white porcelain cup. Now, the cup stood empty on the uneven elm wood table, the small notch on its rim appearing exceptionally stark in the dim candlelight.

The late spring chill outside the window showed no signs of abating.

"Whoosh—"

A gust of cold, damp wind poured in through the gap in the half-open latticed window. The wind was not strong, but it carried a bone-chilling cold that seemed to seep into one's very marrow. It stirred the few strands of black hair hanging by Zhou Wannian's temples and caused the flame of the chipped oil lamp on the table to flicker violently, casting twisted, clawing shadows against the mottled, blackened wall.

The rain outside the wine shop grew denser.

"Pitter-patter, pitter-patter..."

This was not the lingering, sentimental drizzle of spring, but rather cold, hard raindrops mixed with a biting chill. They pelted the gray-tiled roofs of the houses opposite, creating a crisp, fragmented sound. Countless shattered droplets gathered together, flowing down the roof tiles to form intermittent lines of water along the eaves, eventually crashing heavily onto the uneven bluestone slabs outside the wine shop door.

"Drip... plop."

Splashes of water flew, and muddy water churned.

The accumulated water on the bluestone slabs had gathered into shallow puddles. Occasionally, a carefree wild sparrow would fly past the eaves, its wings brushing the water surface, creating a sudden flutter before disappearing instantly into the depths of the misty rain curtain.

Inside the shop, the Old Shopkeeper sat on an old rattan chair behind the counter, unconsciously kneading the tattered rag—originally meant for wiping the abacus—back and forth in his hands.

The old man's gaze was somewhat unfocused.

Having balanced that tormenting mess of bad debts, the weight in his heart had finally lifted. Yet, once that burden was gone and the shop grew quiet, the atmosphere became somewhat strange.

He stole a glance out of the corner of his eye at the scholar in green robes sitting by the window.

Zhou Wannian was leaning on the edge of the long bench, his legs stretched out casually, one hand resting on the table, his index finger tapping rhythmically against the wood grain. His posture was so relaxed that it was as if this dilapidated wine shop were his own living room.

The Old Shopkeeper felt a sense of awkwardness.

The pathetic sight of him jumping around in a panic over a miscalculated account had been seen entirely by this penniless scholar who bought on credit. Even worse, the person had broken through his confusion with a single, breezy sentence from two zhang away.

Where was the old man, who had spent his whole life rolling in copper coins and prided himself on being shrewd, supposed to hide his face?

Although he had stiffly tossed two pieces of malt candy over earlier to shut him up, the Old Shopkeeper still felt like he owed something. He might be mercenary and stingy, but having spent a lifetime doing business among neighbors, what he feared most was owing others a favor—even if that favor was given by a credit-buying scholar whom he usually looked down upon.

"This late spring chill is wicked. The rain is falling as if the sky has sprung a leak."

The Old Shopkeeper cleared his throat and gave a dry cough, breaking the silence of the wine shop, which had been filled only with the sound of rain and wind.

Muttering to himself, he braced his hands against the armrests of the old rattan chair and struggled to stand up. His old leg, which suffered from chronic rheumatism, always throbbed in overcast and rainy weather, making his movements stiff and sluggish as he rose.

"You've reached the bottom of your swill."

The Old Shopkeeper didn't look at Zhou Wannian, simply walking over to the mud stove on his own.

Because the charcoal fire in the stove hadn't been tended to, it was covered in a layer of grayish-white ash, and the glow was dim. The Old Shopkeeper picked up the rusty fire tongs nearby and poked forcefully into the hearth.

"Crack... whoosh..."

The charcoal chunks shattered, and sparks instantly shot out through the vent, bursting into a few brief, red blossoms in the dim light. The red embers beneath were stirred up, and a wave of heat immediately dispelled the chill within three feet of the stove.

The Old Shopkeeper put down the tongs and moved aside the coarse pottery wine pot, which had already gone somewhat cold.

He turned around and took out a larger bowl from the shelf beneath the counter. The rim of this bowl also bore the marks of time's bumps, and there was an unremovable ring of yellow wine stains at the bottom.

Next, he walked to the dust-covered jar in the furthest corner and pulled off the clay seal.

This time, he didn't use the small bamboo ladle to scoop the wine; instead, he picked up the not-too-large wine jar directly and flipped his wrist.

"Splash..."

Amber-colored, thick-as-honey aged wine poured from the jar's mouth, falling into the large bowl.

The wine struck the bottom of the bowl, making a dull yet pleasant sound, stirring up circles of fine, yellowish froth. The rich aroma of wine lees, the sour scent of fermentation, and an indescribable, grain-sweet fragrance settled by the years instantly exploded in this small space, even drowning out the earthy smell of the rain blowing in from outside.

After pouring a full bowl, the Old Shopkeeper set the jar down. He picked up the bowl of wine and carefully placed it on the iron rack of the mud stove.

"Wine is something that hurts the stomach when cold. Especially this kind of over-fermented aged yellow wine; if it isn't warmed through, drinking it just fills your belly with noxious energy."

The Old Shopkeeper fanned the stove fire gently with a tattered cattail-leaf fan, seemingly talking to himself, and yet also as if speaking to someone else.

The heat of the charcoal fire soon penetrated the coarse porcelain bowl and transferred into the wine.

The yellow wine in the bowl began to roll slightly, and wisps of white steam floated up from the surface like gossamer threads, intertwining and tangling in mid-air.

Zhou Wannian sat by the window, not interrupting.

He watched the old man's hunched back, watching his movements as he busied himself by the mud stove. These actions were too familiar. Over millions of epochs, he had seen countless Mortals in countless Lower Realm inns, taverns, and teahouses, all busy like this for the sake of living.

They did not understand the Great Perfection Space Law; they did not know that the foundation of the Universe was a rusty, dark green copper coin.

They only knew that when it was cold, one had to build a fire, and when the wine was cold, it had to be warmed.

This was a most simple, bone-deep pursuit of "surviving" and "living a bit more comfortably."

Before long, the wine in the bowl began to bubble with fine, dense froth, and the aroma was concentrated to the extreme, even carrying a hint of burnt scent.

"That's enough. Any more warming and it will be overdone, and the spirit of the wine will dissipate."

The Old Shopkeeper put down the fan, grabbed a thick rag of indeterminate color from the side, used it to pad his hand, and picked up the bowl of piping hot yellow wine.

He carried the wine bowl and walked with a stumbling gait to Zhou Wannian's table.

"Thud."

The Old Shopkeeper slammed the bowl down in front of Zhou Wannian, and a few drops of boiling wine splashed out, landing on the elm wood tabletop and instantly turning into a small puff of white mist.

"Drink! I don't even bear to drink this wine from the bottom of the jar myself usually. Consider yourself lucky today, you sour scholar."

The Old Shopkeeper tossed the rag he was holding onto his shoulder, then pushed the coarse porcelain dish containing the salted peanuts along the table to Zhou Wannian's side.

The bottom of the dish scraped against the table with a "screech."

"Don't leave these peanuts either. In this wretched weather, if you leave them out overnight, they'll get moldy and sour by tomorrow. Finish them along with this bowl of wine for me! It'll save me the trouble of washing a dish tomorrow!"

The Old Shopkeeper kept a straight face, his tone stiff, as if he hadn't served wine, but a bowl of poison.

But Zhou Wannian saw clearly that when the old man turned to walk back to the counter, the corners of his withered mouth twitched upward in a very unnatural way, and his previously tense shoulders visibly relaxed.

The proud, tsundere old man of the streets had repaid his debt of one wen with a bowl of piping hot yellow wine.

Inside the wine shop, only the rustling sound of rain hitting the gray tiles remained.

Zhou Wannian lowered his head, looking at the bowl of freshly warmed yellow wine before him, and the dish of unfinished salted peanuts by his hand.

The large bowl was heavy and somewhat clumsy. The rim of the bowl was rough and uneven, even bearing a few fine cracks. The wine in the bowl was a murky, pale yellow, not clear at all, and contained some small, unfiltered wine lees residue floating within.

Steam rose up, enveloping Zhou Wannian's face.

This temperature was not the absolute high heat of deep space capable of vaporizing stars, but a warmth that could penetrate the skin, seep into the pores, and tangibly dispel the coldness of the rain from his clothes.

Zhou Wannian did not use any magic power to block this heat.

He stretched out his hands—the fair, slender hands that had just been gripping an invisible giant axe to cleave open the deadlocked Universe.

His two palms pressed firmly against the outer wall of the piping hot bowl.

"Hiss..."

As his skin touched the scalding, rough porcelain, a slight stinging sensation came, but immediately after, that warmth, soothing to the marrow, spread wildly up from his palms. Zhou Wannian even closed his eyes slightly and let out a comfortable sigh.

In this brief moment of closed eyes, the grand slaughter he had just experienced at the foundation of the Taiwu Ancestral Court, in the backstage of the Universe, flashed uncontrollably through his mind.

That boundless, dark green copper coin; that dead-silent closed loop that trapped the All Heavens and Myriad Worlds.

That black whetstone engraved with the character "Wu"; that thousand-faced clay statue condensed from the despair of billions of living beings.

Those things were cold, filled with absolute logic and irresistible mathematical formulas. In the face of such power, all temperature was superfluous, and all vitality was viewed as an error that needed to be erased.

He had been there, using Absolute Mass to hold up the collapsing firmament, suppressing the frenzied counterattack with over ninety thousand Jade-ified Chains.

How heart-stirring, how grand a narrative it was.

But.

When he sat before this elm wood table, missing a leg and propped up by a broken tile.

When he held this bowl of flawed, even somewhat murky warm wine in his hands.

Those heaven-destroying cosmic storms, those conceptual killings that would drive a Creator mad.

At this moment, in the rising steam of the wine lees, they dissipated completely, just like morning mist under the spring sun.

"The rules of this world, when it comes down to it, are just a load of crap."

Zhou Wannian slowly opened his eyes, and his eyes, deep as a cold pool, reflected the amber wine gently rippling in the bowl.

"Those guys hiding in mud pits and tin cans, calculating the Universe clearly and thinking that all things are empty. That's just because they live too coldly themselves."

He picked up the large bowl with both hands, lowered his head slightly, and brought his lips to the rough rim.

"If they had drunk this bowl of warm wine and eaten this peanut, they probably wouldn't be thinking about flipping this table over and spending their days guarding a pile of cold, broken stones."

Zhou Wannian didn't sip it little by little.

He tilted his neck back.

"Gulp."

A large mouthful of piping hot yellow wine poured down his throat violently.

The wine hit his mouth.

What exploded first was an extremely intense sourness. It was a sour, spoiled odor produced because the temperature wasn't controlled well during the fermentation process of the inferior sorghum and glutinous rice. This sourness rushed straight into his nasal cavity; if a pampered young master were here, he would likely vomit on the spot.

But immediately after.

As this mouthful of wine slid down his throat.

That spicy, fiery line, like a piece of ignited dry firewood, exploded directly in his chest.

There was none of the softness and spiritual energy filling of immortal jade liquid.

This wine was strong, rough, and carried the coarse vitality of the lowest level of the streets.

It burned his esophagus, it stimulated his taste buds. When this fiery, hot current slammed down, a feeling of groundedness that was hard to describe in words instantly spread to his limbs and bones.

"Haa..."

Zhou Wannian put down the bowl, opened his mouth, and exhaled a hot breath carrying the strong scent of alcohol.

A slight flush appeared on his handsome face.

Satisfying.

This satisfaction of being burned by inferior wine, this satisfaction of being able to clearly perceive the existence of his own Physical Body, was something that the clarity of any high-dimensional Realm could not replace.

The wine went down, the heat was just right.

Zhou Wannian's hands were not idle.

As he set down the wine bowl, his right hand naturally reached toward the coarse porcelain saucer beside him.

With a casual pinch of his index finger and thumb, he accurately picked out a relatively plump peanut from the small pile of poorly-graded peanuts, its shell coated in white salt frost.

The peanut had been boiled until its skin was slightly wrinkled, the dark red peanut skin tightly wrapping the kernel inside.

After the salt dried, it formed tiny crystals in the folds of the peanut skin.

Zhou Wannian did not try to rub off the salt frost, nor did he peel away the slightly astringent peanut skin.

He simply tossed the peanut directly into his mouth.

His upper and lower teeth clamped together.

"Crunch."

A crisp, clear chewing sound echoed in the quiet wine shop.

This sound was not loud, but to Zhou Wannian's hearing, it was ten thousand times more pleasant than the sound of millions of Void Realm blades striking against the white jade pillars in the Taiwu Ancestral Court.

The softness and chewiness of the peanut were released under the grinding of his teeth.

The rich aroma of nut fat, mixed with the unique scent of star anise and cinnamon used in boiling the peanuts, permeated his mouth.

The best part was the layer of salt frost.

Salty.

An extremely pure, even slightly bitter, saltiness.

This saltiness exploded on the tip of his tongue, perfectly neutralizing the sourness and pungency left by the previous mouthful of yellow wine.

The saltiness stimulated saliva production, making the aroma of the peanut grow richer the more he chewed, until he couldn't bear to swallow it.

"Smack, smack..."

Zhou Wannian leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, chewing the salted peanut in his mouth with extreme enjoyment.

He ate very slowly and very seriously.

It was as if this peanut, stained with the scent of earth and coarse salt, were the most precious Immortal Pill in all the All Heavens and Myriad Worlds.

And in fact, deep within Zhou Wannian's body, in the deepest part of this Physical Body that carried the Absolute Mass of the Universe, a transformation more profound than a cosmic explosion, yet silent and soundless, was quietly taking place.

As that mouthful of sour and pungent yellow wine fell into his stomach, and that peanut with salt frost was chewed and swallowed, these two most mundane, most insignificant food residues and scents were not instantly refined into nothingness like they would be for an ordinary Cultivator.

They flowed along Zhou Wannian's Qi and blood, along his perfectly self-contained inner universe Meridians, toward the deepest part of his Divine Soul.

There, ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine Jade-ified Chains lay quietly across the endless Void Realm.

These chains, having previously transformed into white jade pillars to resist that dark green dead-end copper coin, had endured the frenzied scouring of the desperate Death Qi of billions of Universes.

They were Zhou Wannian's ultimate trump card for anchoring his own "existence" and suppressing that limitless Absolute Mass.

At this moment, the earth-shattering pressure that had been unleashed to combat the heat death of the Universe had completely receded from the chains.

However, as the Qi and blood, mixed with the scent of distiller's grains and the savory aroma of salted peanuts, flowed over these Jade-ified Chains, "hum..." an extremely faint, extremely gentle resonance rippled between the ninety-thousand-plus chains.

This was not a roar used to suppress all things.

It was like a bowstring that had been tightened for ten thousand years, finally meeting the musician who understood it best, emitting a soothing, trembling note.

The surface of the chains, originally crystal clear and like top-grade mutton-fat jade, flickered in this instant with a luster that was warm to the extreme.

This luster was not blinding Immortal light, nor was it the cold light of Law.

Its color was like the dim yellow candlelight emitted by the half-burnt red candle on the Old Shopkeeper's counter at this moment, carrying a temperature that made one feel at ease, like firewood burning in a stove.

If someone were able to look inside Zhou Wannian's inner universe at this moment, they would see an inconceivable scene.

The ninety-thousand-plus Jade-ified Chains, representing the Peak Absolute Mass of the Universe, were flickering in frequency and glowing in intensity, actually resonating in an incredible, perfect harmony with this dilapidated wine shop in the outside world.

"Patter."

Outside the door, a bean-sized drop of spring rain slammed heavily into a puddle on the bluestone slab.

In the inner universe, one of the Jade-ified Chains flickered with a warm glow.

"Hoo... ha..."

The Old Shopkeeper sat behind the counter, having broken into a sweat from his earlier haste, and was now leaning back in his rattan chair, breathing heavily and rhythmically.

In the inner universe, that originally dead and silent Void Realm began to expand and contract slightly, following the rhythm of this breathing.

Even the faint barking of a dog occasionally drifting from the muddy alley outside the wine shop, and the distant, drawn-out hawking of the peddler pushing a wheelbarrow to sell tofu pudding on the street—all these clamors of the marketplace, all this worldly noise, all these sounds, all these movements, and all this vitality, at this moment, penetrated Zhou Wannian's Physical Body without obstruction, entering his inner universe and perfectly merging with those ninety-thousand-plus Jade-ified Chains.

This was the anchor point.

This was Great Perfection.

Previously, Zhou Wannian had used these ninety-thousand-plus chains to suppress his Absolute Mass, to prevent himself from crushing the Universe.

He was like a man carrying a bundle of dynamite, carefully restraining everything.

Later, in the Taiwu Ancestral Court, he used this Absolute Mass to break the closed loop and tear apart that dead-end copper coin.

But now, as he sat on this long bench, drank this bowl of warm wine, and chewed up this peanut, he had finally completed the last step.

He was no longer using Absolute Mass to oppose absolute nothingness.

He was dissolving this vast, limitless Absolute Mass thoroughly into every spring rain in the human world, into every bowl of cloudy yellow wine, and into every clamor and cursing in this mundane marketplace.

The most common is the most elegant.

The most extreme mass is hidden within the most insignificant dust.

Those Jade-ified Chains were no longer cold shackles.

They had become the most resilient bond connecting Zhou Wannian to this world.

As long as the rain in this Jiangnan Small Town continued to fall, as long as the Old Shopkeeper's abacus continued to click, and as long as there was still one Mortal in this world bustling and toiling for a few coins to buy firewood and rice, Zhou Wannian's mass, which was enough to crush the galaxy, would not go out of control, nor would it become a source of destruction.

Because the worldly atmosphere of this human Realm, this endless obsession with "living," was the broadest and most fertile soil to carry his power.

"Crunch."

Zhou Wannian pinched another salted peanut and tossed it into his mouth, chewing it up.

He slowly opened his eyes.

The time dao patterns in his eyes had completely faded, and his deep pupils regained the laziness and listlessness of a street loafer.

He picked up the coarse, heavy bowl.

"Gulp, gulp."

Two more large mouthfuls of boiling hot yellow wine went down.

A stream of hot sweat seeped out along his forehead and temples.

The green robe on his body, which had seemed somewhat cold from the rain, now, under the baking of his body heat, actually emitted a faint, imperceptible wisp of white steam.

The cold was completely dispelled.

The stiffness in his bones was smoothed out comfortably.

Zhou Wannian set down the wine bowl and let out a satisfied burp that carried the strong scent of distiller's grains.

"Comfortable."

He muttered in a low voice.

This "comfortable" referred to this bowl of warm wine, and also to the sense of security that those ninety-thousand-plus chains had finally landed.

Outside the wine shop, that cold spring rain that had been falling for half a day seemed to sense the warmth gradually rising within the shop.

The rain, unexpectedly and imperceptibly, eased.

The originally dense curtain of rain turned into a soft, silky drizzle as fine as ox hair.

The wind also stopped.

The thick layer of grey clouds on the horizon inadvertently split open a gap.

A weak but genuinely warm ray of spring sunshine struggled to pierce through the obstruction of the clouds, casting itself diagonally along the direction of the alley.

That streak of sunlight crossed the mottled white wall, crossed the puddles on the bluestone slabs, and landed just right on the half-open, broken wooden door of the wine shop.

The light squeezed in through the crack in the door, pulling a bright golden line across the dirt floor.

The golden line extended all the way, landing right on the green cloth shoe that Zhou Wannian had resting on the edge of the long bench.

In the earthy smell, there was a hint of warmth from the baking sun.

Zhou Wannian did not move.

He tilted his head slightly, looking at the flickering sunlight on the tip of his shoe.

Behind the counter, the Old Shopkeeper seemed to notice the change in light as well.

He stopped the rag in his hand, looked up, squinted with his farsighted eyes, and glanced outside the door.

"Oh my."

On the Old Shopkeeper's face, which was like withered tree bark, a rare trace of surprise appeared, which then transformed into a look of relief and joy.

"This damn heaven has finally opened its eyes. The rain has stopped, the sun is out!"

The old man swept away the gloom of having miscalculated the accounts earlier and stood up from the old rattan chair with nimble hands and feet.

He walked to the door and pushed the half-covered wooden door wide open.

"Creak—"

Wider light and fresher air instantly poured into the dim wine shop.

The Old Shopkeeper stood at the door, took a deep breath of the air after the rain, stretched out his thin, withered arms, and gave a vigorous stretch.

His bones made a few fragile "crack" sounds.

"Once the weather clears up, more people will be walking on the street. Those old customers will probably be coming to buy wine by the afternoon."

The Old Shopkeeper turned around and looked at Zhou Wannian, who was still shelling peanuts by the window.

This time, he did not glare coldly, but instead, for once, said in a slightly teasing tone: "Hey, sour scholar. The rain has stopped, your clothes should be dry by now, right? Once you finish the wine at the bottom of the bowl, move your nest. Don't occupy my best window seat. When the big customers come later, having you sitting here looking like a pauper will affect my business!"

Zhou Wannian listened to this blunt eviction order.

He was not angry, nor did he stand up immediately.

He just tossed the last half of a peanut into his mouth, then picked up the heavy bowl in front of him and downed the remaining cloudy wine at the bottom in one gulp.

"Clack."

The bowl was set steadily on the tabletop.

Zhou Wannian stood up and habitually patted the hem of his green robe with both hands.

Meeting the Old Shopkeeper's gaze, which was filled with both disdain and a hint of familiarity, he pulled up a signature, devil-may-care smile.

"What's the rush? That good seat of yours—besides someone like me who isn't afraid of a cold bench, who would want to sit there?"

Zhou Wannian stepped forward, walking unhurriedly toward the door of the wine shop.

As he passed the counter, he stopped for a moment.

He groped around for a long time in the sleeve pocket of his washed-out green robe.

"Clink."

Two copper coins, stained with a bit of mud and somewhat tarnished, were casually tossed by him onto the greasy counter, landing right beside the yellowed ledger.

"This is the money for today's bowl of wine and this saucer of peanuts."

Zhou Wannian did not look back, continuing to walk toward the door lit up by the sun.

"As for the half-string of coins owed from last month..."

One of his feet had already crossed the threshold, stepping onto the bluestone slab that was shining slightly in the sunlight.

With his back to the Old Shopkeeper, Zhou Wannian waved his hand casually.

"Put it on the tab. Some day when it rains in this Jiangnan Small Town again, I'll come back to your place to listen to you clicking your abacus."

The Old Shopkeeper looked at the two copper coins on the counter.

He was stunned for a moment.

This pauper, did he change his nature today? He actually brought money when he went out?

By the time he reacted, grabbed the two copper coins, and prepared to scold him again for the half-string of debt, he looked up.

In the bluestone alley outside the wine shop, the sunlight was just right.

The green bricks and white tiles, washed by the spring rain, exuded a fresh and bright vitality.

And that idle scholar in his washed-out green cloth robe had already folded his hands behind his back.

Walking with the most composed and listless steps in the world, he swayed and disappeared into the bright spring light at the corner of the alley.