Simultaneously traversing: traversing countless heavens

Chapter 101 The Ten-Year Drinker

The Nangong family.

The CD player dispelled the gloom and dampness of last night, but it could not dispel the heaviness and oppression that permeated the depths of the mansion.

Led by a middle-aged steward, the old patriarch of the Nangong family passed through layers of corridors and arrived at an extremely secluded courtyard in the northwest corner of the mansion.

The courtyard walls were slightly mottled, and the doors were simple, which was out of place with the magnificent and luxurious other parts of the Nangong family.

"Master, that man—it was here that the young lady placed him back then." The middle-aged steward reported in a low voice, his tone cautious and carrying a hint of unspeakable complexity.

He pushed open the unlocked courtyard gate, and a mellow, aged aroma of wine, almost permeating the bricks and wood, mingled with the cool morning air, wafted towards him.

The old patriarch of the Nangong family stepped inside.

The courtyard is indeed small, but it has pavilions and waterside terraces, and the design is ingenious.

However, aside from basic cleanliness, there is hardly any trace of "life" here.

There were no flowers or plants that bloomed regularly, no ponds with fish swimming around, no clothes to dry, and not even a birdcage under the eaves.

Everything exuded a deliberately maintained, almost deathly stillness of cleanliness and emptiness.

The only place that offers a glimpse of "human presence" is the small tea room in the courtyard with a view—or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a "wine room."

The tea table was set up by the window, outside which stood a tree with sparse foliage. Beneath the tree was a small pond fed by fresh water, the water of which was crystal clear but completely empty, without a single fish in sight.

Sitting here, all you can see when you look up is a small, square patch of sky cut off by the eaves and tree branches.

On the table, there sits a simple earthenware wine pot and an equally unadorned wine cup.

The wine in the pot was empty, and the rim of the cup was clean, as if the owner had just left, or as if it had been sealed away for a long time.

The steward followed half a step behind the old master, his voice even lower, as if afraid of disturbing some unseen presence: "That person—has lived here for ten whole years. He has never stepped out of this courtyard. Every day—it seems he just sits here, drinking alone, looking at the trees, the pond, and the sky. Rain or shine."

He paused, then continued, "The young lady is extremely concerned about his affairs. Years ago, some ignorant servants thought he was nothing more than a useless good-for-nothing who had fallen from power and was living as a dependent. They secretly replaced the fine wine that the young lady had specially sought out with inferior wine—when the young lady found out, she was furious and had those servants beaten to death on the spot. She also strictly ordered the entire household that if this person had any requests, they must be fulfilled to the best of their ability. If the household could not fulfill them, they must immediately report to her, and she would handle it personally."

The old patriarch listened in silence, his gaze slowly sweeping over every inch of the tea room's furnishings, finally settling on the empty seat and the wine set on the table.

"But—in these ten years, this person has never uttered a single request." There was a hint of barely perceptible emotion in the butler's voice. "It's like—it's like he's really just a mute blockhead who borrows a place to drink."

The old patriarch remained silent.

He walked slowly to the tea table, not touching the wine utensils on it, but instead went to the empty seat, brushed off non-existent dust, and then, with a posture that was not entirely in line with his status and age, yet exuded solemnity and inquiry, he slowly sat down, imitating the way he imagined that person might be.

He straightened his back and looked out the window at the tree, the pond, and the small patch of sky framed by the window.

He tried to sense what it must have been like to sit here day after day for ten years, facing the same unchanging scenery, drinking the same wine that might also be unchanging. Was it a state of mind? Was it decadence? Was it exile? Or was it—another kind of indescribable practice or waiting?

The air seemed to freeze, with only the occasional rustling sound of a breeze passing through the branches and leaves.

The old patriarch's gaze finally settled on the lone wine pot on the table.

He reached out, as if to take it, but stopped abruptly just as his fingertips were about to touch the cool clay pot.

He seemed to see that the wine pot, the wine cup, the table and chairs, and even the entire small courtyard were not inanimate objects.

What a decade of drinking leaves behind is not just the smell of alcohol, but also an intangible yet extremely sharp "intention".

That wasn't murderous intent directed at any one person, but rather a "sword intent" that had been refined to the extreme and was so pure as to be almost instinctive.

The artistic conception is so pure that any improper touch or movement of external objects could be considered a defilement or damage.

If someone can comprehend this essence, he has no doubt that there will be no one else in the world who can rival them.

He withdrew his hand.

After a long while, a long and complex sigh escaped from the old master's throat, dissipating into the cool air and the lingering aroma of wine.

"I never expected this—I really never expected this." He muttered to himself, his voice filled with absurdity, shock, and a deep weariness. "The person I've spent the last ten years scheming, investigating, searching for, and guessing the fate of, the person in the martial arts world and the imperial court, among countless forces, including myself—is right under my nose. He's been living in my house for ten years."

"Ten years—a full ten years—"

He slowly stood up, took one last deep look at the extremely simple courtyard that seemed to hold an astonishing secret, and then turned and walked out.

Reaching the courtyard gate, he stopped without turning back. His voice regained the authority and decisiveness of a patriarch as he instructed the bowing steward, "From this day forward, this courtyard is to be completely sealed off. No one is to set foot inside without my personal order—including Batian!"

"Yes, sir. This old servant understands." The steward replied solemnly, his heart filled with trepidation.

He knew that this order meant that the events of last night and the secrets of this courtyard had been elevated to the level of the family's top secret by the head of the family.

Just as the butler finished speaking, a series of hurried but deliberately light footsteps approached from afar.

A travel-worn man dressed in tight-fitting clothes appeared at the corner of the corridor. Upon seeing the old master, he immediately knelt on one knee, clasped his hands in a fist salute, and whispered, "Master! There's news! The young lady's whereabouts have been found!"

A sharp glint, like that of a hawk, suddenly flashed in the old patriarch's eyes, which had been as calm as an ancient pool.

"Prepare the horses! Mobilize... no, just you and me, lead the way!" He spoke without hesitation, his voice resolute and urgent, conveying an unquestionable determination.

"Yes!" The man in the tight-fitting clothes accepted the order and immediately turned and galloped off to prepare his warhorse.

The old patriarch of the Nangong family followed closely behind.

Zhou Yi led Nangong Pu down the desolate mountain.

The terrain gradually flattens out, and a yellow earthen road winds its way forward, with scattered traces of carriages and horses visible along the roadside.

After traveling along the road for a while, a small town came into view at the end of the road, with a banner bearing the words "Dragon Gate" fluttering slightly in the wind at the town gate.

The two followed the footsteps into the city. The streets were narrow, with shop flags fluttering on both sides. The shouts of peddlers and laborers, mixed with the smell of livestock, filled the air.

They stopped in front of what looked like the most impressive inn. The signboard, "Dragon Gate Inn," with its black background and gold lettering, hung above the door. Although it was a bit old, it was quite eye-catching in this small town.

"Please come in, esteemed guests!"

The waiter standing at the door, who was greeting customers, immediately put on a warm smile and came over.

He had worked at the Dragon Gate Inn for over a decade, and his eyesight had become incredibly sharp. Although the tall man in black had a cold expression, his clothes were damp with morning dew and mountain mist, making him look somewhat disheveled, and the little girl he was holding had loose hair and her white clothes were covered in dust, the quality of the fabric and the exquisite tailoring of their clothes, especially the half-length of ice silk ribbon that was inadvertently revealed at the little girl's waist, were definitely not ordinary.

This guy is definitely loaded, and probably has quite a background. But that's none of his business. In his line of work, the worst thing you can do is show off your skills. People like that rarely survive.

The waiter bowed and was about to lead the two inside when Zhou Yi suddenly stopped at the threshold.

Nangong Pushe, who was holding onto one of his sleeves, was momentarily stunned and looked up at him with a puzzled expression.

Zhou Yi lowered his head slightly and asked a question in a calm voice: "Do you have any money on you?"

Nangong Pushe was stunned for a moment, then suddenly realized.

She loosened her sleeves and began to grope her body with her small hands. Soon, she pulled out a brocade bag, no bigger than a baby's fist but with exceptionally exquisite embroidery, from a well-hidden pocket at her waist.

She untied the tight silk cord and carefully poured the contents of the bag into her other small palm.

A dozen or so golden melon seeds, each the size of a soybean, gleamed with an alluring yet reassuring light in the sunlight filtering through the inn's porch.

The waiter's eyes widened instantly, a sharp glint in them, and his throat bobbed involuntarily.

This is more than just "not short of money"!

Zhou Yi didn't take the whole handful of golden melon seeds; he simply stretched out two fingers and gently picked one up from the palm of her hand.

"Keep the rest safe," he whispered.

Nangong Pushe gave an "oh," obediently poured the remaining golden melon seeds back into the brocade bag, tied it tightly again, and carefully put it back in its original place.

With a flick of his finger, Zhou Yi sent the golden melon seed flying in a delicate arc, landing precisely in the waiter's outstretched palm.

"One room, hot water, food, two sets of clean clothes, a pot of liquor, and a donkey cart," Zhou Yi said calmly, stating his request. His gaze fell on the waiter's face. "Is that enough?"

The waiter felt a heavy, cool, and solid touch on his fingertips, instantly snapping him out of his daze. He could no longer suppress his smile, which almost overflowed, his mouth stretching to his ears. He nodded rapidly and frantically, like a chicken pecking at rice: "Enough! Enough! Enough! More than enough! Please come inside, esteemed guest!"

'

It's not just enough, it's a huge profit!

The golden melon seed between his fingers felt solid and had a pure color. Based on his years of experience, he could tell at a glance that it was of excellent quality and worth at least ten taels of silver!

The things this cold-noodles customer wanted—a superior room, hot water and hot food, two sets of children's clothes, and a pot of wine—would cost at most one tael of silver.

What might actually cost some money is the carriages and horses they'll be using next.

But where is this place?

Northern Barbarians!

They lack everything except horses.

With his mind racing, the waiter bent even lower, his posture almost humble, and stepped aside to make way for the spacious passage behind him.

At the same time, he took a deep breath, transforming all the pride and eagerness in his chest into a loud and long shout that pierced through the noise of the inn, and called out loudly into the shop: "One superior room! Two distinguished guests! The private room upstairs is ready!"

Please vote with your monthly tickets and give me a reward!

>