Chapter 683: Unknowingly, Great Changes Have Taken Place

The shopkeeper chatted for a while with several guests in the main hall. Song You sat quietly nearby, listening. When the shopkeeper had nearly finished recounting the tale of the past immortals and the story of the “immortal noodles,” the guests had also eaten most of their noodles and entered the phase of lowering their heads to drink the broth.

The shopkeeper went to take a look in the kitchen, then came back to tell the diners they would need to wait a little longer.

“No problem, no problem.”

The Daoist said this with the same good-natured tone as before. Taking the chance, he asked, “Just now, I heard the shopkeeper mention that there’s a certain ‘Philanthropist Li’ in this city, who was once a villain and had some connection to an immortal. Now, the immortal of the legend has been gone from Southern Art County for seventeen or eighteen years, how is that ‘Philanthropist Li’ doing these days?”

The shopkeeper laughed. “Hahaha, sir, the very fact that you hear me call him ‘Philanthropist Li’ tells you the ending. A philanthropist is one with a kind heart who does good deeds.”

He paused for a moment.

“Ever since meeting the immortal, Lord Li truly turned over a new leaf. He repented and made amends. And here’s the curious part, ever since he stopped bullying the townsfolk and seizing wealth by force or trickery, he actually became even richer. Back then, Lord Li had purchased a minor, idle post in the

yamen

, but now he has risen to the rank of

Tixing Qianhu

[1].”

“He got promoted and made a fortune?”

“That’s about the gist of it,” the shopkeeper replied. “You see, Southern Art County’s cloth has always been famous. Ah, that reminds me; if this is your first time here, apart from trying our immortal noodles, if you have some free time, you must also buy two

chi

of our cloth and make yourself a garment. Southern Art County’s cloth has always been soft and comfortable, yet sturdy and durable... Now, where was I?”

“Southern Art County’s cloth.”

“Oh, yes, Southern Art County’s cloth.”

The shopkeeper nodded repeatedly and went on, “Nowadays, the largest cloth shop in the city belongs to Philanthropist Li’s family. He hires women from poor families both inside and outside the city to work there, pays them very well, and even provides a hearty lunch every day. Many women are willing to work for him. I’ve heard that because of this, all the cloth shops and weaving workshops in the city have had to raise their wages compared to before. The women, in return, work diligently, and the cloth they produce is among the best in the city. When merchants from other places hear of this, they too are willing to come and buy from his shop. Gradually, the business just kept growing and growing.

“As for the money he earns, much of it goes toward aiding the poor, repairing roads in the city, and building charity schools. For more than ten years it has been this way. That’s why we call him Philanthropist Li. Even the county magistrate thinks highly of him, and his official rank has been promoted again and again.”

"Ah, so that’s how it is." After listening, Song You nodded.

What the shopkeeper said was much the same as what Shu Yifan had told him years ago, when he passed through Southern Art County on his way back to Heyuan in Hezhou after borrowing a mountain road from Pingzhou.

Now that the world was about to fall into chaos, even if one accomplished nothing great and had no schemes, having a good reputation locally was still a blessing. Sometimes it could even provide a means of survival.

In troubled times, apart from the bloodthirsty fiends, most of the warlords who valued benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and law, whether orthodox officials, feudal lords, or righteous armies, would, upon arriving in a place, show some respect toward those renowned for their virtue nearby. There were even many stories of them lowering themselves to pay visits.

It was, in a way, exchanging one kind of wealth for another.

“Shopkeeper, you mentioned earlier that there used to be a nunnery outside the city, which also seemed to be connected to Lord Li. Do you know what has become of it now?”

“Sir, you seem unusually concerned about this matter.”

The shopkeeper chuckled at the question and wiped his hands.

Several guests in the main hall also glanced at Song You. This Daoist’s curiosity really was a bit strong.

It was normal for ordinary people to enjoy hearing tales of immortals. Most who came here would either ask the shopkeeper or go to the teahouses in the city to hear storytellers recount those days, but they would only listen to the parts related to the immortal, perhaps showing some mild interest in Lord Li. Very few would ask in such detail about the fates of others.

“That nunnery is long gone. It’s now been turned into a charity school outside the city, and it’s even been expanded a bit. A teacher has been hired, and any child from a poor family within ten or so

li

of the place can attend to learn reading and writing, so long as they bring their own lunch. It was Lord Li who funded it.”

“And what of those nuns?”

“I’m not too sure myself, perhaps my father would know better. I’ve only heard that most of them came to own farmland. Some farm near the charity school, some work there as cooks, some are employed in Lord Li’s cloth workshop, and others run small businesses in the city, selling pickled vegetables and snacks.”

The shopkeeper paused, then suddenly remembered something and pointed to the side. “Yes, yes, if you’re interested, sir, tomorrow morning just head out the door and turn right into a certain alley. It’s quite lively in the mornings, with many vendors selling pickles. If you ask around, you might just find that one of them used to be a nun at that nunnery.”

At that moment, a voice came from the kitchen calling him to fetch the noodles. The shopkeeper, grinning, told the Daoist that the noodles were ready, then went to the back.

“Here they come!”

Two large bowls, each the size of a fighting basin, were carried out, one in each hand. The shopkeeper sidestepped to push aside the curtain and walked out steadily. “Southern Art County’s most authentic and most famous immortal noodles, this is the very same kind the immortal once ate.”

“Did you not just tell the guests that the immortal’s noodles back then were made by your father and mother?” Song You asked with a smile.

“It was my old mother who made them back then. Now, it’s my wife who does, but please rest assured, sir, the recipe and technique have been passed down unchanged. It’s exactly the same as the bowl the immortal once praised so highly, not a bit different.”

“May I ask, how are your parents these days?”

“Oh, sir, thank you for your concern. My father and mother are still alive, but after working hard for so many years, their health wasn’t so good two years ago. Just then, there happened to be a physician back in our hometown who’s very skilled at treating ailments of the back and waist. Last year, they returned home to recuperate.”

“I see...”

“Will you be eating here, sir, or upstairs?” The shopkeeper glanced toward the upper floor. “If you’d like to eat upstairs, it’s more convenient for me to carry it up for you.”

“Then I’ll trouble you to take it up for me.”

“Please light the way for me, sir. If I spill it, I’ll have to spend time cooking you another bowl.”

“Alright...”

The Daoist took the lamp and walked ahead.

The shopkeeper followed behind, carrying the bowls steadily.

Creak...

A door upstairs opened.

Out of the corner of his eye, the shopkeeper seemed to catch a fleeting blur of flowers in the room. When he looked more closely, there was nothing there. He froze for a moment, then stepped through the doorway with the noodles.

Inside, there was an old wooden table.

𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

“Please take your time, sir, no need to hurry. When you’re done, just leave it on the table. After you check out tomorrow morning, I’ll come up to collect the dishes.”

“Alright.”

“Then I won’t disturb you further,” the shopkeeper said his piece and left.

Creak...

The Daoist shut the door and fastened it.

Only then did a cat lazily crawl out from the corner.

“What took you so long?” the cat spoke in a low voice, grumbling softly.

“They’re freshly pulled noodles.”

“Mmm...”

The cat leapt lightly onto a bench, transformed in an instant into a young girl, then turned and beckoned toward the outside. A swallow flew in through the window.

The Daoist took out the small bowl belonging to Lady Calico, split one of the noodle bowls into two portions, and fed them to the two little demons. He pulled the other bowl toward himself, stirred it lightly, then picked up a mouthful with his chopsticks and placed it in his mouth.

It was still the same wide, thin pulled noodles, somewhere between broad noodles and hand-ripped noodles in thickness, shape, and texture, easy for the broth to soak into. In truth, there wasn’t much “stirring” to be done; there were hardly any seasonings, just a bowl of richly simmered stock with the noodles and a sprinkle of chopped scallions. The so-called “mixing” was merely pressing the scallions down into the soup.

Slurp...

The broth must have been kept hot on a small stove, because like the noodles, it was scalding when it entered the mouth.

Savoring it carefully, it was flavorful, rich with oil.

The bone broth carried its own natural umami. That familiar taste bloomed on his tongue, and it was steaming hot yet clean and light enough. It was warming him from throat to stomach in this early-winter night, bringing a deep sense of comfort.

“It’s still the same taste as before.”

Compared to back then, the flavor seemed a bit richer. That was only natural, as it was already nighttime, close to closing hours. If the bone broth hadn’t been left overnight or watered down, it must have been simmering since before dawn. Its flavor would grow richer as the hours passed; in the evening it was usually oilier, saltier, and more savory than in the morning.

“It’s still the same taste as before!” The young girl across from him also picked up some noodles and, imitating his tone, made the same remark.

The Daoist didn’t need to ask to know that she had no memory at all of what the noodles here had tasted like nearly nineteen years ago.

He slowly finished the bowl of noodles.

“This dish is very simple. I can make it too,” Lady Calico said, looking at the oily sheen left in the empty bowl.

“Then I’ll trouble you with it from now on.”

“No problem!”

Poof!

A soft sound, Lady Calico had transformed into a large, pot-bellied cat, looking rather comical, while the swallow became many tiny birds, flying out of the window in a neat formation.

Night gradually deepened.

Cold slowly set in.

Yet the inn’s second-floor window remained open. The calico cat stood on the windowsill, gazing downward with a focused expression.

This small room was on the far right, its layout mirroring the one on the left—only the bed was on the right and the table on the left, while in the other room, it was reversed.

The street below was nearly identical.

Everything still looked exactly as she remembered.

In a daze, a small figure seemed to appear before her, walking close to the wall and occasionally glancing up at the inn’s second floor. Even imagining such a scene made the cat instinctively lean backward slightly and tuck her head in, trying to avoid the figure’s gaze.

Lady Calico remembered this place.

She remembered the sharp, perceptive immortal here.

She also remembered the fabric here.

Years ago, in this small town famed for its cloth, a Daoist had taken her out to buy three colors of fabric and made her a set of tricolored garments. They fit perfectly and pleased her greatly.

After wearing the clothes for two years, the fabric had faded with time and grown softer, fitting her like a second skin. It was as if the garments had grown out of her body. When Lady Calico’s magical abilities developed enough for her to make her own clothes, she reproduced the style of that outfit, even mimicking the faded look of the fabric after two years, right up to the present.

The cat had long since forgotten the taste of the soup and pastries she had eaten here years ago, but how could she forget the past entirely?

It was just that so many years had passed, and so much had changed.

1. This is an official title roughly meaning ‘Prefect in charge of criminal affairs for a thousand households’ ☜