50: right and wrong

The only small tavern in Su Family Village was less a tavern and more the main hall of Wang the Cripple's house on the east side of the village.

There were two greasy square tables, a few long benches, and a half-person-tall wine jar in the corner, emitting the sour stench unique to cheap liquor.

In the past, this place only saw a bit of life during the slack season or festivals.

But these last few days, Wang the Cripple's main hall was already packed with people as soon as dusk fell.

“Wang the Cripple, another bowl!” A ruddy-faced man slammed his coarse porcelain bowl heavily onto the table.

“Coming right up!” Although Wang the Cripple's legs were inconvenient, his face was wreathed in smiles, and his movements when scooping the liquor were slightly faster than usual.

The man was Zhao Eryong. Normally, he was the type who would smell a bowl of rice porridge for ages before drinking it, but these days he had wine with every meal, and his eyes and brows were filled with irrepressible pride.

Sitting across from him was Su Yang.

Su Yang wasn't drinking. A small plate of stir-fried peanuts sat before him. He picked them up one by one, chewing them carefully while listening to the surrounding noise.

“Brother Eryong, what exactly are you guys doing at that Workshop?” A skinny, monkey-like man leaned over, his face beaming with smiles. “Look how rosy your complexion is—you must be striking it rich, huh?”

Zhao Eryong let out a loud burp and glared at him. “The Village Head said, don't ask what you shouldn't ask.”

“Hey, we're just curious.” The skinny man rubbed his hands together. “We're all from the same village. If there's good fortune, bring your brothers along too.”

“Exactly, exactly. We see you guys leaving before dawn and only returning after dark every day, acting all mysterious.” Someone nearby immediately chimed in.

“Look at Su Yang, and Zhao Dazhuang's families—they've been eating meat every meal these past few days. My wife has complained about it several times.”

Sour words, mixed with unconcealed jealousy, permeated the small main hall.

Su Yang put a peanut into his mouth and chewed it with a loud crunch, remaining silent throughout.

He remembered Third Son's instruction: “Second Brother, keep your mouth shut and your heart steady. The more others ask, the less you should say.”

Zhao Eryong, feeling flattered by the crowd, was about to boast a little, but then he suddenly glimpsed Su Yang's calm face and swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

He recalled the expressionless face of Village Head and the warning, “Anyone who dares leak a single word will be thrown into the river,” and a layer of cold sweat instantly broke out on his back.

“Drink your wine!” Zhao Eryong pushed his bowl away and roared gruffly, “If you want to earn money, go farm properly! Don't spend all day coveting other people's pots!”

The crowd was stunned by his shout and sullenly backed off, but the scrutiny and resentment in their eyes grew even stronger.

In the corner, a figure was huddled in the shadows, almost merging with the darkness.

It was the village hooligan, Su the Scabby.

He wasn't drinking or eating peanuts. His shifty eyes were fixed intently on Zhao Eryong and Su Yang, and he absorbed every word of the conversation.

His fingernails were full of black dirt, his eyes flickered, and a cold, undetected sneer curled his lips... When Su Ming returned from the town, he ran into Zhao Rui right at the village entrance.

Zhao Rui was still wearing his half-new, half-old scholar's gown, holding a scroll of books. When he saw Su Ming, his gaze was slightly complex, containing both a hint of familiarity after experiencing a life-or-death situation and a trace of lingering awkwardness.

“Su Ming, you're back?” He stopped, his tone slightly more peaceful than usual.

Su Ming, holding the newly purchased Four Treasures of Study in his arms, nodded. “Mhm.”

“I heard... you've been helping my father manage the accounts recently?” Zhao Rui's tone carried scrutiny, but not the mockery of the past. The experience in the ruined temple that night was like an invisible thread, briefly tying them together; though not strong, it prevented him from ignoring Su Ming completely.

Su Ming stopped and looked at him calmly. “The Village Head respects me enough to let me help with the bookkeeping.”

“Bookkeeping?” Zhao Rui pursed his lips, seeming about to say something, but finally just said, “My father is very strict about rules. You... be careful.” These words sounded somewhat benevolent.

Su Ming nodded slightly. “Thank you for the reminder.”

Zhao Rui seemed to have completed some task and let out a breath, then couldn't help but ask in a low voice, “That... Workshop business, is it really that important? My mother said the atmosphere at home has been very tense these past few days.”

Su Ming's gaze swept over Zhao Rui's curious face, and his tone remained flat. “We just do what the Village Head instructs; it's not good to ask too much about the rest.”

Zhao Rui looked at Su Ming's impenetrable demeanor, recalling his unusual composure that night, and that indescribable feeling resurfaced in his heart. He waved his hand. “Fine, I just asked casually. You... take care of yourself.” After speaking, he turned and walked away with his scroll.

Su Ming watched his retreating figure and walked toward home, holding his items.

Lin Yu: “The relationship has subtly improved, downgrading from 'actively seeking trouble' to 'tentative inquiry,' which aligns with interpersonal changes after shared trauma. Disciple, your response was appropriate. Continue to maintain the persona of being 'harmless and useless.'”

With the first “large sum” of money he earned, Su Ming bought a bag of polished rice for the family, replaced his father's smoking pipe, bought two feet of cotton cloth for his mother to make new clothes, and purchased a pair of new straw sandals for each of his two older brothers.

He exchanged almost all the remaining money for Four Treasures of Study.

There was already paper, needless to say, ink, brushes, and a full jar of clear oil that could keep the lamp burning until dawn.

That night, the small oil lamp in the Su Family's earthen house shone brighter than ever before.

Su Shan puffed on his new smoking pipe, and through the swirling smoke, he watched his youngest son studying intently under the lamp, a trace of pride visible in his cloudy eyes.

Madam Su Chen was sewing shoe soles nearby, and the smile on her lips never faded.

Night deepened.

Su Ming blew out the oil lamp, lay on the bed, but his consciousness sank into the ancient ring.

In the courtyard, the chirping of insects rose and fell, like a summer night symphony.

“Master.”

“Mm.” Lin Yu's voice carried a hint of laziness. “Disciple, you must not slack off in your cultivation of the Breath Concealment Art. You have only just begun to Master restraining your Yang Qi; you are still far from the true meaning of the character 'Concealment.'”

Su Ming followed the instruction and began to circulate the Breath Concealment Art in his mind.

That familiar “warmth” reappeared. This time, he guided it much more smoothly than before. The warm “mist” slowly contracted inward, condensing without dispersing, adhering to the surface of his body like an invisible undergarment.

“Very good.” Lin Yu's voice held a trace of satisfaction. “The Breath Concealment Art is your Foundation, your guarantee for survival. But merely hiding is not enough. True concealment is not becoming an immovable stone, but becoming a drop of water that can merge into any stream.”

“Then what should this Disciple do?”

“Starting today, I shall teach you the method of Spirit Refining.” Lin Yu's voice became serious.