Chestnuts

Perhaps because so many had died in the Northern Border over the years, the environment had actually improved. As night fell, the stars crowded the sky like a black curtain unable to contain its own light, spilling scattered points of brilliance through tattered gaps—one by one, cold and bright. Unfortunately, Lu Yan could not see them. What told him night had arrived was the slightly cooling air and the cries of the street vendors ringing in his ears.

“Roasted mutton! Freshly roasted mutton! Piping hot!”

This was essentially the mutton skewers of Lu Yan's past life. However, perhaps because it lacked cumin, the flavor fell far short of what he remembered. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and turned his head away. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out an Inedia Pill and popped it into his mouth. A fresh scent of herbs and rice dissolved in his mouth, suppressing his protesting stomach. An Inedia Pill was not real food; it kept him from starving, but it offered no taste. It had been a long time since he had tasted mutton.

“Roasted chestnuts! Fresh out of the pot, sugar-roasted chestnuts!”

“Candied hawthorns! Mountain hawthorns saved from last year! Purely wild-picked!”

The cries rose and fell, one after another, as if competing to see who had the loudest voice. This was the outer district of Black Mountain Fort, not the most prosperous area, but the people lived in relative peace. The curfew rules did not reach these remote northern territories, so vendors could still set up stalls and hawk their wares at night, allowing people to enjoy a hot bite to eat after a hard day's work.

The cries carried the warmth of everyday life, reflecting the most down-to-earth hopes of the common folk. There were no grand ambitions—just earning a few copper coins today and hoping to do the same tomorrow. To live, and to eat something good. It was as simple as that. Lu Yan walked down the street at a steady pace. His mind was still on the news he had heard back at the Abandoned Guest Hall—the Ice Spirit Cult had destroyed another city. Their momentum was unchecked. Having just slaughtered everyone, not a single living soul remained. He clenched his sleeves, his knuckles turning white.

He quickened his pace. It was not to rush, but to drive the images out of his head—images he had not witnessed but could easily picture. Flames, screams, and Ice Spirits tearing open throats. He had seen such things before. He had seen them the year the Formation Sect was destroyed. Lin Yuan had died in his arms, blood pooling all over the ground. He could still remember that temperature to this day.

He did not want to think about it anymore. He had already done enough for these people. The Formation Sect had guarded the Northern Border for five thousand years. His father had died on the Great Wall, and he himself had been blinded and forced to flee. He owed them nothing, and he could no longer help them anyway.

The cries gradually faded, left behind in his wake. He navigated forward, tapping his bamboo staff on the ground. Tap, tap, tap. With a soft clack, the staff struck a stone-carved qilin. He had arrived. Making a turn, he raised his hand and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

“Come in,” a crisp, childish voice called out from inside.

Lu Yan pushed the door open and stepped inside. A rich aroma of medicinal herbs washed over him, mingled with the scent of dried leaves and the earthy smell of roots.

“I'm here to buy medicine,” he said softly, facing the small figure organizing herbs in front of the medicine counter.

“Daddy went out to collect herbs. Just tell me what you want to buy.” The child was standing on tiptoe, struggling to stuff a package of herbs into a cabinet overhead. Her small arms were stretched straight, her fingertips barely reaching the edge of the shelf.

Lu Yan did not hesitate. The people of the Four Seasons Herb Hall were completely trustworthy, even if the person in front of him was just a child. Yao Wu's daughter was born with an innate affinity for plants, a talent that others could only envy. Since she was small, she could discern the age, origin, and processing of medicinal herbs better than workers who had done it their entire lives.

“Glory Star Leaf, six-qian root, Nine-Mind Bodhi, four-patterned Soul-Calming Fruit...” Lu Yan listed the ingredients for Focus-Stabilizing Pills. He could recite them with his eyes closed; he had prepared this prescription dozens of times, and the proportions of each herb were etched into his bones.

The small figure pulled open a door behind her. The moment it opened, the already rich aroma of herbs surged to a whole new level, so thick it felt almost physical as it brushed against his face and entered his lungs. Surprisingly, Lu Yan's cultivation technique began to circulate on its own, sending spiritual energy slowly through his meridians. The aura of the spiritual herbs was incredibly potent—so much so that even his shattered spiritual sea could sense it.

Seeing that he had listed nothing but spiritual herbs, the little girl dropped her act. The tiny child circulated her spiritual energy, and the boxes and drawers opened as if moved by invisible hands. Several spiritual herbs floated out, twirling in midair before landing on a sheet of oil paper. Her fingers flew as she wrapped them up in a couple of quick motions, her movements far too agile for a child. Looking slightly embarrassed, she pursed her lips before speaking.

“Uncle, the Bodhi is out of stock. It will take a few days to get more.”

Lu Yan paused. He wanted to correct her and tell her to call him “Brother”—he wasn't old enough to be called “Uncle” yet. But then he thought about his relationship with her father. Yao Wu called him “Little Brother,” and he called Yao Wu “Old Brother.” Since he called her father “Brother,” her calling him “Uncle” was the correct generation. He swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

“Then tell Yao Wu... tell your father to save the missing ingredient for me, and I'll come back in a few days.” With that, he counted out some spirit stones from his storage bag and placed them on the counter.

Seeing him about to leave, the little girl's eyes darted around. She sized Lu Yan up, noting the black silk tied over his eyes. Remembering how her father usually did business, she plucked up her courage and spoke.

“Uncle, do you have an eye ailment? We have Sight-Restoring Liquid handmade by my father. It's only fifty spirit stones a bottle!” She held up five fingers in front of Lu Yan, even though she knew he couldn't see.

Lu Yan ignored her and continued walking toward the door.

Growing anxious, the little girl ran over and hugged his leg. “Uncle, please think about it! If that's not enough, I can throw in a bottle of Scar-Removal Ointment! If you buy both, I'll let you have them for sixty-five spirit stones!”

Lu Yan found it amusing. When it came to selling things, this little girl was the spitting image of her father, wishing nothing more than to make you spend every coin in her shop. That old rascal Yao Wu tried to pitch a bunch of useless items every time Lu Yan came to buy medicine—Nourishing-Qi Paste, Heart-Clearing Dew, Mind-Calming Incense, praising them to the high heavens. Last time, Lu Yan had bought a bottle of Mind-Calming Incense. He had burned it for half the night, and aside from making his eyes sting, it had done absolutely nothing. This little girl was at least better than her father; she wasn't outright lying.

He was about to refuse when a sudden thought flashed through his mind.

Scar-Removal Ointment.

He thought of the person he had brought home. He recalled the wounds on her body—whip marks, the charred scars left by the heavenly tribulation, and the gaping hole where her sword heart had been gouged out. He remembered the contrast between her smooth skin and the rough textures when he had applied the ointment...

He murmured to himself, his voice so quiet that it seemed he had no intention of letting anyone hear.

“Huh? Uncle, what did you say? Do you want it? Do you?” The little girl looked up, her large eyes shining with anticipation and desire, like two freshly washed black grapes.

Lu Yan paused for a brief moment.

“Twenty spirit stones. Two bottles of Scar-Removal Ointment.”

“Uncle, you don't want the Sight-Restoring Liquid?” The little girl was unwilling to give up. The profit margin on eye medicine was much higher than on Scar-Removal Ointment. She could make forty spirit stones on a single bottle of Sight-Restoring Liquid, whereas earning five spirit stones on a bottle of Scar-Removal Ointment was already a stretch. Counting on her fingers, she added, “Sight-Restoring Liquid and Scar-Removal Ointment together for sixty spirit stones. I can't go any lower!”

“No!” Lu Yan said decisively. Over the years, he had been swindled by Yao Wu more than enough times with pitches like “a rare spiritual medicine found once in a century” or “miss this chance and it's gone forever”—only for the purchases to turn out to be completely useless. If Sight-Restoring Liquid could actually cure blindness, Yao Wu would have struck it rich long ago instead of huddling in this tiny shop in the outer district of Black Mountain Fort.

The little girl pouted and sullenly packed the medicine. Two bottles of Scar-Removal Ointment in white porcelain jars, their mouths sealed with wax. Lu Yan took the medicine and turned to leave. After two steps, he paused. He hesitated for a moment, then fished out two more spirit stones from his storage bag and placed them on the counter.

“Exchange this for twenty taels of silver for me. Keep the change.” His voice remained steady and unhurried, as if he were speaking of the most mundane matter.

The little girl's eyes lit up instantly, her entire demeanor transforming from gloomy to beaming with joy.

“Thank you, Uncle!”

Lu Yan did not look back. He waved his hand and pushed the door open to leave.

He exchanged the spirit stones for silver, bought rice at the rice shop, and picked up some vegetables at a produce stall. It wasn't much—just a few handfuls of greens and two blocks of tofu, enough to last for two days. He didn't buy meat at night, as it was rarely fresh at this hour. Carrying his bamboo basket on his back, he walked home. The cries of “Roasted chestnuts!” still echoed in his ears, one after another, like a thread pulling at him.

A sudden thought crossed his mind—if Jiang Ci were with him, would she buy some chestnuts to eat? He suddenly imagined that aloof woman, who seemed as if she did not belong to the mortal realm, methodically peeling chestnuts, placing the shells on one side and the nutmeat on the other, then taking small, delicate bites. She wouldn't get her hands dirty or leave crumbs all over her face. Once finished, she would gather the shells into a neat pile, wrap them in paper, and throw them away properly.

Lu Yan shook his head. He had truly been alone for too long.

He quickened his pace, passing through the gates of Black Mountain Fort and onto the path back up the mountain. After walking for a long while, the vendor cries behind him faded entirely. A cool northern breeze blew past, carrying the scent of earth and plants. He took a deep breath.

—In his hand was an extra bag of chestnuts.