Chapter 93 – Moving In

Zhan Changfeng went to find Fan Zhili about the room rental, and was told the price was three spirit stones per month.

The common currency in Cangyun Ravine was Spirit Pearls; only those of higher cultivation or status used spirit stones as an intermediary for exchanging goods.

For an ordinary family, earning a thousand spirit stones in a year was already considered quite good.

Renting a room for three spirit stones per month was actually a little on the pricey side, especially since it wasn’t a dedicated cultivation stone chamber like those at the Welcome Pavilion, which offered security services and sat atop a spiritual vein.

But for someone like Zhan Changfeng, who could casually spend several thousand spirit stones in a single transaction, it didn’t register as anything significant.

Which is why the Coachman’s worries back then had been well-founded. After paying half a year’s deposit, she found herself nearly broke.

She thought about it for a long time and couldn’t figure out where exactly she’d spent it all. She only knew that she had originally planned to exchange the remaining Ghostfire Dark Lotuses for spirit stones, but had ended up using them all to consolidate her cultivation instead, and the one she had gritted her teeth to keep was used to destroy all evidence.

Fan Zhili had no idea about her rare moment of internal struggle. After collecting the deposit, he began making arrangements on her behalf. “That house is barely livable. I’ll ask some of the idle villagers to come help you fix it up. You’ll also need to buy your own bedding, cookware, and the like.”

“The village chief is very thoughtful. Thank you for the trouble.”

“It’s still early. I’ll go take care of it right now. You head back first and deal with anything in the house you don’t want.”

Zhan Changfeng arrived at the lakeside cottage. Honestly, looking at its dilapidated state, she really wanted to tear the whole thing down and build something new. Fortunately, this time she thought of her purse and restrained herself.

That said, the tables, chairs, stools, beds, and washbasins that others had used — those she absolutely could not keep.

Fan Zhili brought along a few villagers with good physical strength to come do the work. After wandering through the now-empty rooms, he sighed, “Well, there’s no way we’re finishing this in a day. All the furniture needs to be made from scratch.”

One of the villagers said, “Then let’s start by fixing the roof, doors, and walls today.”

The house was not small by any means — it had a front and back section, with a loft above. They worked until the sun was nearly at the horizon and decided to pull an all-nighter.

Zhan Changfeng watched Fan Zhili bring over some food and suddenly realized her oversight. She had only thought about paying wages but had forgotten they still needed to eat.

In truth, this was simply the unspoken etiquette among neighbors. Paying wages without providing meals wouldn’t cause any real offense. But now that Fan Zhili had handled this part of the courtesy for her, she couldn’t just turn a blind eye.

Having never in her life worried about food, and currently surviving entirely on Fasting Pills, Zhan Changfeng had no idea where to find something to eat. Thinking back to how the Coachman used to hunt beasts up in the mountains, she headed into the hills.

As the saying goes: those who live by the mountains eat from the mountains, those who live by the water eat from the water. The Limo Mountain Range had countless peaks. Aside from Qingbai Mountain, which sat near Qingbai Village and was relatively safe, the rest was the domain of wild beasts — in a sense, a prime hunting ground.

Unfortunately, Zhan Changfeng was unfamiliar with the terrain. She wandered through the mountains for a full circuit and saw nothing.

In the end, a fat rabbit came shooting out from somewhere and knocked itself dead against a tree right beside her.

Zhan Changfeng picked up the rabbit in speechless disbelief, marveling at just how astronomically unlikely that had to have been.

A gentle breeze drifted through the quiet forest. Having secured food, Zhan Changfeng didn’t linger. She strolled leisurely back the way she came. Along the road, a few children were playing house, passing bowls of mud back and forth with exaggerated politeness. She glanced at the rabbit in her hand — its red eyes glazing over as rigor mortis began to set in — and quietly detoured around another path.

“Hey, Yi Zhan!”

A figure came spinning out of a nearby courtyard like a whirlwind. Spotting the rabbit in her hand, he exclaimed, “Oh wow, you went hunting! I want to go hunting too, but my mother never lets me.”

Zhan Changfeng couldn’t quite tell what his main point was. “Mm. Do you know anywhere that can cook this for me?”

“North Street has lots of game restaurants! If you want someone to cook it, I’ll take you there.” Li Baimao said, then made a disdainful face. “But between you and me, some of those shopkeepers are shady. You bring in a rabbit, and who knows what ends up in your mouth. The taste isn’t even good. I’d recommend asking my mother to make it. Her cooking — now that’s something else entirely.”

Zhan Changfeng could tell his disdain was genuine, so she followed his lead. “Would your mother be willing to cook for me?”

“Of course she can! My family runs a game restaurant too.” Li Baimao replied with full confidence.

North Street was the only commercial street near Qingbai Mountain, primarily serving the students on the mountain with all manner of needs.

Li Baimao led Zhan Changfeng to a restaurant and pointed at the signboard above. “My mother’s reputation is right up there. I guarantee it’s delicious.”

The sign read: Li Sanniang’s Game Restaurant.

The main hall of the restaurant was divided in two. One side had dining seats, no different from an ordinary tavern. The other side was the kitchen, separated from the dining area by nothing more than a wooden fence about half a meter high.

Several diners stood outside the fence watching the cooking inside, occasionally bursting into praise.

Zhan Changfeng paused and looked over. At the neat preparation counter and stove, cooks worked through their tasks in an orderly, unhurried manner — the place had a lively domestic energy. But the most striking sight was a middle-aged woman in the midst of butchering a wild boar.

Her nasolabial folds were rather deep, and her expression was one of complete focus. The knife in her hand was perfectly steady — neither rushing nor dawdling — as she dismembered the stout wild boar into pieces with the ease of someone cutting a sheet of paper. She transformed the bloody scene into something like an art form, entirely matter-of-fact about it.

Zhan Changfeng also noticed the woman’s aura. She was an ordinary woman with no cultivation whatsoever.

“See? My mother is impressive, right? I want to become someone just like her someday.” Li Baimao said proudly.

“She really is.”

“Heh heh.” Li Baimao actually grew a little embarrassed. Remembering the matter at hand, he quickly waved over a server.

He didn’t dare bring the rabbit directly to his mother. She was very strict about kitchen rules — watching was fine, but aside from the cooks, no one was permitted inside, not even her own son.

The server trotted over. “Young Master, what can I do for you?”

“My classmate would like to try my mother’s cooking. Can you put us in the queue?”

“Sure thing.” The server turned to Zhan Changfeng and gestured to a wall covered in menu boards. “What would you like, sir? Everything up there we can make.”

Zhan Changfeng handed him the rabbit and ordered a few additional dishes. Thinking of the workers doing physical labor, she added extra servings of rice.

“It’ll be about half a shichen. Are you eating here or taking it away?”

“Taking it away.”

“Right you are. Please have a seat while you wait.”

Li Baimao asked, “That’s a lot of food. Can you finish it all?”

“It’s a late-night snack for the workers.”

Li Baimao worked out the timing — by the time it was done and brought back, it really would be a late-night snack.

Seeing that the server was quite busy, Li Baimao went himself to fetch a pot of tea and poured a cup for each of them. Then he said, “Teacher Qin doesn’t seem entirely satisfied with you. Honestly, I don’t really know what he means either. I don’t think you did anything wrong. It’s like immortality is to you, or comprehensive history is to me — both are incredibly distant goals, ones we might never complete, but we still have to try.”

He pursed his lips. “I already told him I can’t memorize all of comprehensive history, but he still forces me to do it anyway, doesn’t he?”

The tea was rich and fragrant, its color clear and bright — a fine cup indeed.

Zhan Changfeng was momentarily speechless. This Li Baimao seemed rather scatterbrained on the surface, simple and guileless — yet his thinking had an unusual kind of clarity to it, a clarity he wasn’t even fully aware of himself.

No wonder Yu Sheng and Han Zhigao, two sharp-minded individuals, had become his friends.

“It might be that my knowledge of literature and history is poor, and we have trouble communicating because of it,” Zhan Changfeng replied.

Li Baimao scratched his head. Someone who could trade verbal blows with Teacher Qin, go back and forth with Yu Sheng, and set up such an impressive game of chess — if the community school hadn’t closed, those two would have stayed locked in a stalemate forever — however he thought about it, that wasn’t someone illiterate.

“I think your handwriting is pretty good though!”

That was said in complete sincerity. Zhan Changfeng only replied lazily, “I only know those two characters.”

By the standards of what people in Cangyun Ravine could read, that was.

Li Baimao took that at face value and misunderstood, assuming she couldn’t write. He was inwardly deeply impressed — someone who was illiterate yet carried themselves with such assurance, appearing profound to all who saw them. Now that was a talent!

He said excitedly, “Alright, I see you, sis! You had all of us fooled completely. Come on, teach me! I’m always giving myself away and people make fun of me.”

Zhan Changfeng looked at his eyes lighting up and found it amusing. Having nothing else to do, she began to make things up with an utterly straight face. “It’s actually a very simple matter. First, you need to establish your position.”

Li Baimao dragged his stool over to sit beside her. “What do you mean?”

“It means when you interact with someone, do you see yourself as their superior, their subordinate, or their equal?”

“What about as an equal?”

“Neither subservient nor arrogant.”

“That makes sense. What about as a subordinate?”

“Neither subservient nor arrogant.”

“Huh? Isn’t that the same thing?”

“How is it the same? In the former, what you’re showing is confidence. In the latter, what you’re revealing is integrity.” Zhan Changfeng said unhurriedly. “Life has no high or low in worth, yet ability has its depths, background has its wealth or poverty, the heart has its heights, character has its virtues and flaws, thought has its differences, and principles have their distinctions. For most people, the saying ‘birds of a feather flock together’ is absolutely true. Once you enter into a relationship with someone, you are always following that rule. So let us draw a comparison. Take you and your friends — the reason you became friends must be because of a mutual recognition and an emotional bond between you, isn’t that right?”

Li Baimao thought about it and nodded.

“Then what if one day you discovered they had become utterly worthless, with nothing left that you could admire — what would you do?”

“That won’t happen.” Li Baimao denied it, then after a moment added, “Once a friend, always a friend.”

Zhan Changfeng neither agreed nor disagreed. “There are many ways for emotional ties to be worn away — time, distance, differences in understanding. Do you still remember the pain you felt when a loved one passed away? Is that pain still with you?”

Li Baimao wrung his hands together. His agitated look seemed like self-affirmation, or perhaps a defense. “I still miss them very much.”

“Missing them. That’s all.” said Zhan Changfeng.

Li Baimao’s face went pale. Someone usually so thick-skinned suddenly began to change the subject. “Weren’t we talking about how to put on a front?”

“To put on a front, first you need to have something to front with.” Zhan Changfeng said. “Interacting as equals, neither subservient nor arrogant — what that’s really telling you is that the premise of equal exchange is that both parties have comparable strength and similar excellence. You don’t need to bow your knee, and they don’t need to accommodate you. How to achieve this comes down to maintaining your confidence and making yourself excellent, or even more excellent. Otherwise, you can only drift further and further apart.”

“Confidence?”

“The ability to resolve the trouble you cause yourself. The courage to bear the responsibilities that fall to you. The strength to help friends and family when they are in difficulty.”

Li Baimao fell into thought, and gradually seemed to grow a little flustered. After a long pause, he fidgeted and asked, “What should I do?”

“Play to your strengths and avoid your weaknesses,” Zhan Changfeng said offhandedly.

(End of Chapter)