After all seven bull carts were emptied, Chunhe and Village Chief Hong Xian counted their earnings. The weight of silver and copper coins jingling in their pouches was proof of a successful day.
Hong Xian stretched his back and let out a satisfied sigh. "Seven full carts sold in a single afternoon... Chunhe, your vegetables are truly something else."
Chunhe simply nodded. His Qi-infused crops weren't ordinary—they carried the essence of the land, nourished by the natural flow of energy. It was no surprise that those who tasted them would come back for more.
But their work wasn't over yet. The plan was to stay in town for a week, using the earnings to purchase necessities for the village. Grain, cloth, salt, medicine, and even a few tools—the countryside lacked many things that only the town could provide.
With the sun beginning to set, they guided the empty bull carts through the town's bustling streets and arrived at a modest inn. The wooden sign swayed slightly in the evening breeze, the faint scent of roasted meat and hot tea drifting from within.
The innkeeper, a middle-aged man with a friendly face, welcomed them warmly. "Ah, Chief Hong! You've come to stay again?"
Hong Xian chuckled. "That's right, Old Zhang. We'll be here for a week. Give us three rooms."
Chunhe handed over a few copper coins as payment. They needed proper rest after the long day, and the inn provided warm beds and decent food—better than sleeping in the open with the carts.
But rest would have to wait.
The night took an unexpected turn when a rowdy group of traders and mercenaries overheard them celebrating their successful sales. One thing led to another, and before they knew it, a drinking contest had begun. Cups slammed onto tables, liquor spilled, and cheers erupted. Hong Xian, surprisingly, held his own, but Chunhe? He barely flinched after downing a whole jug.
"Damn, this bastard's got the tolerance of a fucking ox!"
Xu Mei "You guys go play. I am tired; I just sleep."
Chunhe stalked behind her like a shadyally cat.
"Ah, but isn't the night long, the moon bright? Why waste it sleeping?"
"You know I'm good at poetry. We compose a couple of poems—with some wine… and a few side dishes."
the night is cold iam worried to let a fellow village girl go alone to her room.
you know bad things happen
His eyes glued onto her breasts like he's eyeing a juicy steak.
Xu Mei's glare could have frozen the depths of hell.
But Chunhe, the fearless pervert, unaware his eyes never lost contact of the breast.
A slap wasn't just coming—it was an inevitability.
But—
Hong Xian dragged him back.
no my juicy steak.
One of the traders slurred, pounding his fist on the table.
Not to be outdone, the mercenaries challenged them to arm wrestling. Chunhe won every round effortlessly, his Qi-enhanced strength making it almost unfair. The losing side groaned, rubbing their sore arms, but grudging respect started to form between them.
"Shit, if I had arms like that, I'd be breaking boulders for fun!" a burly mercenary laughed, slapping Chunhe on the back.
At some point, someone suggested poetry. What started as crude limericks quickly turned into a full-blown battle of drunken verses, with people getting up on tables and waving their tankards like scholars of old.
"The farmer strong, the drinker bold!""Fists like iron, stories untold!""Drinks like water, can't be stopped!""But his money—watch it drop!"
Everyone burst into laughter, even Chunhe, until someone insulted someone else's poetry skills.
"You know... I heard something interesting earlier."
"That guy over there said your mother's cooking tastes like pig slop."
"What?! That bastard! I'll—"
"And that fellow across the table? He said you couldn't even lift a chicken without breaking a sweat."
"That son of a—"
Chunhe glanced around, as if afraid to be caught. Then, with a sigh, he shook his head. "It's just... I heard from someone that your wife calls you half a man."
The man's knuckles cracked. "Who. The. Fuck. Said that?"
Chunhe put on an innocent face. "Oh, I can't say. I respect privacy, after all." A pause. Then a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "But between us... they also said you can't even get up when it matters."
The man's chair snapped in half as he shot to his feet.
Across the tavern, Chunhe whispered to another poor soul. "Brother, I overheard something earlier... You didn't hear it from me, but some folks say your swordplay is all... show. That the real reason you've never won a duel is because you just—can't—finish."
Then, to another unfortunate soul: "I heard from someone... that you wouldn't last more than three thrusts in battle—or the bedroom."
Fists slammed against tables. Stools scraped against the wooden floor as men stood up, eyes burning with misplaced rage. The flames had been lit, but Chunhe wasn't done yet.
"Brothers! Is violence truly the way?" he began, shaking his head with a sorrowful sigh.
"Is not peace our greatest treasure? Are we not men of virtue and honor?"
And then—
"But then again..." Chunhe continued, eyes gleaming, "if a man lets an insult go unanswered, is he truly a man?"
"Unless, of course... one of you wants to admit that what was said about him is true?"
"Surely, one must defend their pride!"
Like a true villain, he poured wine into trembling hands, handed out plates like shields, and whispered venom into eager ears.
"Did you hear? He said your hands shake too much to aim properly.""He claimed your wife laughs behind your back.""He told everyone you wouldn't last five seconds in a real fight!"
Chunhe slid between fighters like a graceful fox, pretending to hold men back—while pressing weapons into their hands.
"Brother, don't fight!" he cried. Then he shoved a roasted duck into the man's belt. "But if you must... aim for the ribs."
The tavern descended into madness.
Wine spilled, wine flew, and one poor bastard got knocked out by a roasted duck to the face.
And through it all—Chunhe laughed.
And he continued to fan the flames.
"I heard from someone that your father called you a disgrace... that you'd never be half the man he was.""Your wife laughs about your 'performance' behind your back.""The only reason you win at arm wrestling is because no one wants to touch your clammy hands.""He said your 'blade' is more like a butter knife."
And Chunhe?
He stood in the center of it all, untouched, unbothered, and laughing like a true villain.
While men groaned and crawled away, he took a long swig from a jar of wine, watching the carnage unfold with gleeful amusement.
A man, bloody and dazed, crawled toward him, reaching out. "Brother... help me...!"
Chunhe stared down at him. Then—
He kicked him square in the chest.
"Pathetic."
A man lunged at him—too drunk to aim. Chunhe simply sidestepped, tripping him effortlessly.
Crash!
The fool went face-first into a pile of broken chairs.
Still untouched.Still drinking.Still laughing like a lunatic.
"Swing left! Aim for his ribs!""Brother, don't let him insult your lineage—kick him in the balls!""Oh no, not the table—wait, yes, the table! HIT HIM WITH IT!"
The innkeeper cracked his knuckles. "Alright, you little shit."
"WHO started this mess with his bullshit rumors?"
"I don't know."
"WHO whispered poison into ears?"
"Words are just wind, my friend."
"WHO handed out plates like they were weapons?"
"A simple act of generosity."
"WHO TOLD A DRUNK IDIOT TO 'SWING LOW' AND THEN GAVE HIM A GODDAMN TABLE LEG?!"
"AND WHO—GAVE THE GUY WITH NO TEETH A DAMN TABLE LEG AND SHOUTED 'CHARGE'?"
Chunhe hesitated.
"...Ah. That one might have been me."
The entire tavern loomed over him like titans over a weasel.
And with great, dramatic agony, he collapsed to his knees, wailing like a man condemned.
Tears, snot, theatrics of the highest degree—
"HAH! And here we thought we were the bold ones!"
"PAY UP."
"Ten silver coins. For damages. And food. And my suffering."
"TE—TEN?!"