Chapter 583: Seeking Old Friends

“Ah, right, sir...”

“What is it?”

“It’s already dark. If you're looking for an inn to stay a few days, exit this alley and head to the right, there’s one just across the way. It’s not fancy, but it's decent enough,” Butcher Gao said, his face flushed from drink.

He continued, “I happen to know the innkeeper. Just mention my name and you’ll get a bit of a discount. No need to go out of your way to praise me. Just tell them you were referred by Butcher Gao. I’ve got some friends in the

jianghu

who often lodge there, and the inn regularly gets their meat from me. When they hear that, they’ll understand.”

“That would be a great help.” Song You smiled slightly and cupped his hands in thanks before finally taking his leave.

That inn had been around for many years. If ownership hadn’t changed hands, it should still be the same one. Song You had already planned to stay there.

After taking a few steps forward, he walked into the darkness.

These days, Yidu’s nights seemed quieter than before. Perhaps it was because of the increased rumors about ghosts and demons; people naturally avoided going out alone after dark. Thus, the already quiet alleys became even more silent. The sound of hooves echoed clearly, as did the tap of the Daoist’s and the girl’s staffs against the ground, and the soft rhythm of their footsteps.

Then came the sound of conversation.

“I still remember that once you drew a picture of me when I was lying in the tree,” Lady Calico said.

“Yes. That painting was given to Prefect Yu. He still keeps it. He even took it with him to Changjing. I’d guess it’s now hanging in his residence.”

“You drew the plum blossoms red!”

“Yes.”

“They were yellow!”

“Lady Calico, you’re quite observant.”

“Once, when we were in Changjing, we came home to find a plum blossom on the door. It was yellow too.”

“You have an amazing memory.”

“It was from the fox!”

“...”

The Daoist hadn’t expected this little creature to link the plum tree in Yidu’s courtyard with the plum blossom left behind by the fox when it came visiting in Changjing and found them not home. He hadn’t expected her to remember it either.

He shook his head, then said to her, “Lady Calico, you’re truly clever...”

The two figures walked away from the courtyard with the horse following close behind.

After all, this was Yidu, not some remote outpost in the Western Regions or Xingzhou. There were still several shops along the main street lit up for the night.

Soon, the two of them arrived at the inn’s entrance. Song You first inquired about the room rates, then mentioned that he was referred by Butcher Gao from Tianshui Alley. Surprisingly, it actually worked. The innkeeper immediately knocked ten wen off the price and enthusiastically helped carry his luggage up to the second floor.

The room was quite decent, and it was much better than the inn he’d stayed at in Yucheng. The bedding was clean, even carrying the faint scent of having been sun-dried.

There were tables, chairs, a teapot and cups. By the window, a small wooden table offered a spot to sit and enjoy the bustling street below. There was a shelving unit for storing items, a nightstand, an oil lamp, a washstand with a basin, and even a large wooden tub for bathing. This inn was clearly of a higher tier than a typical

chema

inn.

After setting down his belongings and thanking the innkeeper, Song You requested enough hot water for a bath. Then he closed the door and returned to the room, walking over to the window and opening it to gaze out.

The inn staff would take some time to fetch and heat all the water. About an hour later, a staff member came knocking, bringing up buckets of hot water one by one. They poured it into the tub and mixed it to the right temperature, even leaving an extra bucket of boiling water so the Daoist could top it off if it cooled mid-bath. They were quite thoughtful, indeed.

Of course, it didn’t come cheap.

Water in the city had to be purchased, and so did firewood. Preparing a full bath required several buckets of water, multiple boiled, and involved manual labor. The profit the inn made on such service was certainly not small.

“So expensive!” Lady Calico was the first to exclaim.

“We’ve returned to Yidu after days on the road, so we should clean off the dust.”

“We could bathe in the river. That doesn’t cost anything.”

“Cold water isn’t as comfortable as hot water.”

“We used to boil water ourselves. That didn’t cost anything.”

“But we no longer have our own courtyard in Yidu.”

“Mm...”

“Lady Calico, please go out and hunt mice. Come back after I finish bathing,” Song You said to her. “Or, if you prefer, I can prepare a warm bucket for you. You can transform into a cat and bathe in that. Of course, the bucket must stay outside the door. Until I’m finished, you may not come out before me.”

“Eh?” The cat turned her head and looked at him in confusion.

The Daoist met her eyes, as if to convey that there was no room for negotiation. Seeing this, the cat turned her head again, then padded off without another word.

About an hour later, the Daoist had changed into clean clothes and was tidying up his belongings and taking things out from his pack.

The water in the bath had been topped up again and was still pleasantly warm. Lady Calico, now back in cat form, was paddling around the tub like a little puffball, swimming back and forth in circles like a soft, furry worm.

By the time the Daoist had laid out brush, ink, paper, and inkstone on the table, steam had already filled the room, cloaking it in mist. At the sound of paper being unrolled, the cat leapt out of the tub, shook herself on the floor, and released a burst of steam that thickened the fog in the room. Yet her fur was already dry.

Poof...

The cat transformed into her human form; she was dressed in her tricolored robes, and her hair was loose as she quietly seated herself on the other side of the table.

The two of them picked up their brushes and dipped them in ink at the same time, their postures nearly identical. The oil lamp flickered, casting their shadows onto the wall.

But when the Daoist lifted his brush, intending to write down his thoughts and his feelings upon returning to Yidu, the tip of the brush hovered for a long time without touching the paper. For a moment, he truly didn’t know how to begin.

On the other hand, the little girl across from him wrote steadily without pause. She even shielded her paper to keep him from peeking.

“...” Song You shook his head, but said nothing.

After a while, a staff member came to knock on the door again and began carrying out the used bathwater, bucket by bucket.

At the very least, tonight would be a good night’s sleep.

Early the next morning, it was as if Lady Calico had predicted exactly when the Daoist would wake. The moment he opened his eyes, she had just returned from outside with freshly bought meat-filled and still steaming hot steamed buns.

Outside the door, the calls of street vendors rang out, “These are good herbs. They give miraculous effects... Too skinny? Eat this and bulk up! Your pee will shoot eight zhang high!

“How to take it, you ask? Soak in wine if you’ve got it, soak in pee if you don’t! No wine or pee? Chew it dry, it still works!”

The voice was loud and carried extremely well. It even made its way into Song You’s dreams.That was what woke him up.

But the Daoist didn’t say anything about it. He simply accepted the bun from the child’s hands with a word of thanks and began to eat.

He’d barely taken a bite before he looked up and asked, “Lady Calico... you didn’t happen to sneak off and make these yourself last night, did you?”

“I bought them!”

“Then did you wash your hands after catching mice?”

“...!”

The little girl’s face turned serious. She frowned and thought for a moment before replying indignantly, “You eat rice that mice have run across! You eat flour that mice have nibbled on!”

The Daoist couldn’t help but laugh at that. This little one had improved quite a bit.

“So, where are we going today?” Lady Calico asked as she watched him eat.

“Out for a stroll.”

“A stroll!”

“Maybe go see if some old acquaintances are still around.”

“Old acquaintances!” Lady Calico repeated his words, paused briefly, and then suddenly asked, “Will we run into that swordswoman surnamed Wu?”

“Heroine Wu...” Song You’s hand, holding the steamed bun, paused for a moment before he shook his head. “That depends on fate.”

“Mm...”

After breakfast, the two of them stepped outside while a swallow followed closely behind.

The streets were lined with familiar shops and buildings. Lady Calico often felt a sense of recognition, and whenever she did, she’d turn and stare unblinking in that direction, straining to summon the memory.

When she managed to recall something, she’d tug at the Daoist’s robe, point, and begin excitedly describing what she remembered, like what it used to look like and what had happened there. Her stories were vivid and lively, even a little giddy.

In those moments, she seemed just like an ordinary little girl, eagerly sharing stories from her past with an adult.

And fortunately, the adults shared those same memories. When they passed a hawker selling candied hawthorn, Song You bought three skewers, one for Lady Calico, one for himself, and one to take back for the swallow.

Holding the skewers while strolling down the street added an extra air of leisure to their walk. That’s just how they’d been all those years ago.

Eventually, they made their way to the Northern Market, and then to the Cloud Talk Canopy. Even before they reached the entrance, they could already hear the impassioned, rhythmic voice of a storyteller inside. The voice bore a 70–80% resemblance to that of old Mr. Zhang from years past. Just from a few lines, it was clear the telling was quite good.

Song You slowly walked up to the entrance.

Outside the pavilion, a young attendant leaned against the railing, head tilted up toward the sky, clearly listening to the storyteller as well. He swayed his head to the rhythm of the tale, completely engrossed.

Only when he sensed someone standing before him did he look up. Seeing it was a Daoist accompanied by a little girl, he quickly straightened.

“Here to listen to a tale, sir?”

“Yes...”

Song You peered inside. “I wonder if...”

“Ah, sir, you’ve come late! Old Mr. Zhang has already started, and he’s nearly halfway through.” The boy looked a bit troubled. “If you’d still like to go in, how about we charge two wen less for the tea? Just please enter quietly and take a seat in the back so as not to disturb the other guests.”

“Old Mr. Zhang...”

“Yes, Old Mr. Zhang!”

“And how much do you charge for my little one?”

“Same price, as she’s tall enough.”

“Alright.”

The moment Song You heard it was Old Mr. Zhang, he paid without hesitation and led the young girl quietly into the pavilion.

Back in the day when he lived in Yidu, he had spent countless afternoons here at Northern Market’s Cloud Talk Canopy, listening to Old Mr. Zhang’s tales. In fact, most of his free time had been passed like this.

It hadn’t just been for entertainment. When he first came down from the mountain, it was here that he first began to understand the world, and its marvels and mysteries.

Stories of Yunding Mountain in Pingzhou, the Qingtong Forest and the phoenix in northern Yuezhou, the Terraflame Kingdom in the Western Regions, and even Yunzhou’s rising-dragon lands that he had yet to visit, all had first reached his ears through Old Mr. Zhang. They could be said to have shared a meaningful connection.

Inside, the pavilion looked much the same as before, though now somewhat more worn with age.

The storyteller was a lean old man dressed in a gray cloth robe. He bore at least a seventy or eighty percent resemblance to the one in Song You’s memories.

The old man was right in the middle of a dramatic part when they entered. He paused briefly upon noticing them, giving a slight nod before continuing his tale.

Song You took a seat in the last row. Though there were many listeners present, that particular row was empty. When the attendant came over with tea for both him and Lady Calico, Song You lifted the cup and focused on the story unfolding on stage.

Still, there was a faint sense of regret in his heart. This wasn’t the same Old Mr. Zhang from his memories.

Even though this man looked strikingly similar and was seventy to eighty percent in both face and voice, he wasn’t quite as aged as the Old Mr. Zhang he remembered.

Though this man also had an aged appearance and was addressed as “Old Mr. Zhang,” he actually looked in better health and a few years younger than the man Song You had known. And after thirteen years, the original Old Mr. Zhang, if still alive and still telling stories, should have appeared far more weathered than this.