Timeline Player

Chi Que was walking along the street, observing the local customs and culture, when he suddenly heard a commotion ahead.

Not far away, several guards wearing half-body leather armor were knocking on the door. Then someone handed a money bag from behind the door. The leading guard took it, weighed it in his hand for a few moments, and then kicked the door open.

The guards stormed into the house, followed by screams and the angry shouts of one of the guards: "Do they have a death wish?! They dare to skimp on the Duchess's banquet tax!"

The screams gradually subsided, and then the guards emerged looking refreshed, carrying various items that appeared to have been forcibly looted from the house they had just been in.

Many pedestrians gathered by the roadside to watch, but dared not be angry or speak out. After the guards came out, they scattered like birds and beasts.

Chi Que stood not far away, his expression indifferent.

This was the norm in the Middle Ages, and he didn't intend to get involved in such matters, as it would only cause more trouble.

But seeing the arrogant expression on the guard leader's face, he knew that his actions in the city would inevitably lead to trouble, and he was already on the verge of death.

He silently noted this person down in his mental notebook, and then he caught two words from the previous conversation.

Duchess, banquet tax.

Chi Que's heart stirred slightly.

He walked up to a small stall selling flatbread. The stall owner was an old woman with a wrinkled face, who was using tongs to turn the black flatbread in the oven.

"Give me a pancake," Chi Que said.

The old woman looked up at him, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment, probably wondering about this black-haired, black-eyed stranger, but she didn't say anything, deftly picking up a blackened flatbread.

"A copper horn."

Chi Que reached for his waist, then suddenly stopped.

He has no money.

He has money, but it's blood money. He's not extravagant enough to exchange that for a pancake.

Chi Que remained silent for a moment.

Then he pulled a bullet from his pocket; it had a bronze casing and gleamed yellow in the sunlight.

The old woman frowned: "What is this?"

"The currency in other places," Chi Que said, his expression unchanged, "is made of copper."

The old woman took it with some skepticism, weighed it in her palm, and then brought it to her lips and took a bite.

"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, but her eyes suddenly lit up. She quickly stuffed the bullet into her bosom, as if afraid that Chi Que would change his mind. She then took two more pancakes from the oven and stuffed them into his hands, along with the first one: "Take these. Consider the extras a gift from me."

Chi Que took the cake, but instead of leaving immediately, he leaned against the stall and casually asked, "What kind of tax was that just collected?"

As the old woman tidied the stove, she replied, "The Duchess's Secret Feast of Youth is held every year, and everyone in the city has to pay taxes, supposedly to cover the expenses of the feast."

"A secret feast of youth?" Chi Que took a bite of the biscuit and immediately frowned. This stuff tastes awful.

"Yes," the old woman said in a low voice, "The Duchess holds a banquet every year, supposedly to keep her young forever."

Chi Que's eyes narrowed.

He recalled that the Blood Moon Feast was held on the night of the full moon, while in this past world, the feast was held once a year and the tax collected was in copper coins; it had not yet become that bloody ritual.

But the core remains unchanged.

Youth, ageless beauty, a banquet.

Chi Que made a deduction: this was the prototype of the Blood Feast, or rather, its form before it completely degenerated.

He casually fed the biscuits he had bought to a stray dog ​​by the roadside, and as he walked, he thought: If the Blood Feast started so early, how long has the Duchess actually lived? And when did it completely turn into a Blood Feast?

These questions have no answers at the moment.

He decided to start with what he could do first.

A plan gradually took shape in my mind.

He wants to open a restaurant here.

Lamia gave him a second job: a chef. In the current timeline, he hasn't had a chance to make good use of it yet, but he has already shown some potential. However, he simply cannot master it in a short period of time.

However, if he can hone his culinary skills in this past timeline, not only will he improve his proficiency, but if his skills are good enough, he might be recruited to prepare banquets and have legitimate access to the core of the secret banquet.

Chi Que walked along the street, observing the shops on both sides.

He saw a food stall.

This shop was completely different from the others. It looked like it had been carefully maintained, and even had a small attic. But a thin middle-aged man was standing at the door, carrying things onto a handcart. His face was ashen, his eyes were red, and his movements were fast and hurried, as if he was in a hurry.

Chi Que stopped, observed for a moment, and then walked over: "Is this shop closed?"

The middle-aged man didn't even look up: "We're not opening it."

Chi Que asked casually, "So, is this shop for sale?"

The middle-aged man looked up in astonishment, scrutinizing the strange stranger in front of him, with his black hair and black eyes.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over Chi Que's face as if weighing something: "You're lucky. I need money urgently right now. For twenty silver coins, I'll transfer this shop to you."

Chi Que didn't speak, he just looked at him.

The middle-aged man felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze and added, "My shop is not only in a good location, but it also has an attic and a fully equipped stove. For a mere twenty silver coins, you're really making a killing—"

"Are you trying to run away?" Chi Que interrupted him.

The middle-aged man's expression stiffened, but he stubbornly replied, "So what? This shop is mine. If you want it, pay up. Otherwise, I'd rather burn it down than give it to you for free."

Chi Que tilted his head slightly: "How about this, I'll go tell the guards right now that there's a tax evader trying to run away?"

He made a move to leave.

"Hey—" The middle-aged man quickly stopped Chi Que, putting on a fawning smile. His speed was astounding, almost like a change of face. "No, let's talk this out, let's talk this out, but...you have to give me something, right?"

"But you wouldn't get anything in the first place," Chi Que calmly analyzed. "Besides, you should still owe money. If you get caught, you'll be whipped at best, and have your hand chopped off at worst. You're just giving it to me for free. Where are you losing out?"

The middle-aged man opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Time is money, my friend." Chi Que further undermined his psychological defenses: "Think about your wife and children."

The man lowered his head and remained silent for a long time.

Chi Que did not urge him, waiting for him to make the final decision.

Finally, the middle-aged man pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket, on which the location of the shop and a few lines of text were drawn in ink.

It was the land deed for the shop.

He clutched the paper as if he were saying his final goodbye.

Then he handed over the land deed.

Chi Que took it, glanced at it, confirmed that nothing had been altered, folded it neatly, and put it in his pocket.

Deductive reasoning is really useful.

He originally intended to give them some money, but since the other party asked for twenty silver coins, he decided not to take anything.

The middle-aged man didn't say anything more. He straightened up, let out a long breath, as if he had finally expelled something heavy from his chest, and then pushed the cart away without looking back.

But his steps were much lighter than before.