Volume Two: Bandits in This Realm Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Five: The Turn of the Year

"Anma City is massive and sturdy, but the layout leaves much to be desired—it's rather lacking in symmetry." Someone chuckled foolishly at the base of the city steps. His legs had gone completely numb from squatting, yet he showed no inclination to stand up, simply muttering to himself with the leisurely air of a homeless wanderer.

At the foot of the wall, a beggar was sunbathing. The sunlight was somewhat glaring, so he held a massive plantain leaf over his head to shield himself. Already feeling irritable, the beggar grew even more annoyed by the constant rambling of the man beside him. He snatched up his fan, hurled it at the man, and cursed, "Do you really take yourself for the master of the Northern Frontier? When did Anma City's architectural planning ever become your place to critique? Why don't you look in a mirror—aside from being a bit... handsome, what else do you have?"

The man didn't get angry. He cheerfully picked up the beggar's fan, held it over his own head, and drawled, "Isn't that enough?"

"Enough?"

The man smoothed his sleeves and said with utmost sincerity, "Good looks can be traded for meals, you know. Or perhaps your stomach prefers to digest hard armor plates?"

The beggar shook his head, indicating he had never heard of such a thing.

"Then you truly are pitiful," the man said, patting the beggar's shoulder with a chuckle.

The beggar shook his head again. Locking eyes with the man, he said word for word, "I understand that logic, but living off a woman's kindness doesn't last forever."

"That's just because your realm of cultivation is too low." The man paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched a young woman walking down the street. "No one in this world understands the true nature of romance better than women. If you have the skill, you can start living off soft meals from a young age all the way until you're seventy or eighty, and still have gentle, understanding older sisters to undress for you."

"At that age, are you sure it's not... a bridal chamber scene inside a coffin—a double-barrelled entertainment package? By then, they'll just be dragging me straight into the grave," the beggar interjected, picking up the thread of the conversation. "One of my old wandering brothers couldn't stand the loneliness and went to live off a woman. His end was tragic."

"Oh? How so?" The man stood up, brushed the dust from his clothes, and smiled down at the beggar.

The sun was blindingly bright; it was already midday, and he had serious business to attend to, meaning he could not linger.

"Hmph, his death was utterly pathetic. If it were purely a contest of prowess between the sheets, that brother of mine was undefeated in a hundred battles. Who would have thought those gentle, clothing-stripping older sisters were so fierce and ravenous? The moment they realized they couldn't outlast him on top, they pulled out man's ultimate nemesis."

"What?"

The beggar glanced at the sun, looking rather wistful. "Nothing much, just a metal scouring pad. I only pity my brother; until the day he died, he never once managed to claim the dominant position."

"Tsk, that is a rather pathetic way to go." The man's gaze sharpened. Suddenly feeling a chilling draft around his lower extremities, he hurriedly waved his hand and smiled at the beggar. "Well then, I have business to attend to. You're an interesting fellow. If you have nothing tying you down in Anma City, you should go settle down in Mobai City at Sishan. I won't dare promise you much else, but if you're hot from the sun, there will be umbrellas to shade you, and if you're cold, there will be clothes to keep you warm."

The beggar curled his lip. He figured this man had lost his mind and truly imagined himself to be some grand figure. "Wake up, brother. If I listened to you, I'd end up starving nine times every three days and getting beaten with little steel rods for no reason."

The man laughed heartily, refusing to argue further. Tossing a name to the beggar, he twirled his plantain fan and headed straight toward the city center.

"Lin Changtian? Such a familiar name..." the beggar murmured. Suddenly, his eyes widened as a flash of insight struck his mind, and he seemed to recall something of vital importance.

You scoundrel! Give me back my plantain fan!

...

A few days prior, Sishan had received two batches of people and two letters.

The first batch came from the delegates of Anma City. Their attitude was exceptionally humble, claiming to be Du Zhaolin's number one running dog—ah, no, his number one capable assistant, a man named Zhao Zilen. He came with only one purpose: Anma City was going to celebrate a festival, and according to tradition, people from all four quarters of the Northern Territory were invited to join in the festivities.

This claim was true enough; the Northern Territory had maintained this rule for years. In the past, however, they only needed to invite the Eastern and Western Territories. But this year, with Mobai City bursting onto the scene, Sishan had earned a seat at the table as well.

Word had it that this even sparked an amusing anecdote among "gentlemen" once. Years ago, during a war between the Lin and Ma factions, right at the most critical juncture of the battle, both sides retreated thirty miles simply because it was time for the festival, and then dispatched envoys to Anma City to "join the merriment."

As for why they absolutely had to go to Anma City? Because it was a rule laid down by their ancestors: paying homage meant facing North. They weren't honoring Ma Hui's face; they were honoring Anma City's original title.

The Master, who civilizes a domain.

As for that second batch of people, they had sneaked in stealthily. And they were none other than familiar guests of Sishan.

Qiu An had infiltrated with a high level of professionalism—so professional, in fact, that a Sishan sentry managed to capture him single-handedly in less than half an hour.

The reason was that the sentry had glanced around while wrapping up his shift and, purely by coincidence, spotted Qiu An relieving himself near a haystack.

The sentry was overjoyed at the time. After all, Sishan had recently been running a "Civilized City" campaign, and Mobai City was the first to undergo the organization's test.

There was no other reason; Sishan was simply that kind of city, and its master possessed a "very warm heart."

Had it been anyone else, they would have cursed him as a busybody.

The sentry smiled brightly. Right before his shift ended, someone actually delivered a performance bonus right to his doorstep?

And thus, the clan's Qilin prodigy, the rising star of the military, the pampered child of fortune and brilliance whom everyone held up as the paragon of other people's children—the second young master of the Qiu family, Qiu An—was thus captured alive by a mere foot soldier.

When he was caught, his gaze was full of lingering resentment, and he couldn't help asking, "Did you happen to know I was Qiu An of Anma City? Is that why you pursued me with such tenacity?"

"Not really. The Grand Marshal said that anyone caught relieving themselves in public would be rewarded with a free-drink voucher for the Mobai City tavern." The sentry paused, broke into an honest grin, and continued, "Though I know who you are now. I suppose I won't have to worry about wine for the rest of my life."

Qiu An stopped speaking. He kept his head down the entire way until he met Lin Changtian, hastily delivered Ma Hui's message, and then hurried back to Anma City.

He truly hoped there were no drink vouchers in heaven.

...

"Hmph, these people are so strange," Lin Changtian thought to himself as he walked toward the city center. Sishan's envoy had arrived a few days earlier, but because of Ma Hui's message, he had been forced to sneak out without drawing attention, ending up spending two days mingling with the beggars in the west of the city.

He pursed his lips, feeling a lingering reluctance. Had the appointed time not arrived, he might well have managed to become the supreme leader of Anma City's beggar sect.

"I really don't understand why Ma Hui sent people here anyway. Has he been completely sidelined by Du Zhaolin?" Lin Changtian muttered to himself, utterly baffled by what scheme that fellow was plotting.

Could it be related to that damned Heavenly Dao again?

"Halfway messages bring no sons with blooming flowers," Lin Changtian cursed. Suddenly thinking of something, he froze in place and chuckled foolishly to himself.

The ancients never lied—Ma Hui truly had no son!

He continued muttering endlessly as he walked. The streets along the way were lively, decked out in festive lanterns and colorful banners as everyone celebrated the arrival of the Northern Territory's grandest festival in years.

Ah, what was it called again? The Beginning-of-Year Festival, or something of the sort.

...

Happy second day of the Lunar New Year, everyone!