Chapter Twelve: Rumors Heard (Is Anyone Watching?)

"Master Yang, a private seat for one!"

"Tea service! Number B, two! Finest Spring Rain!"

"Three bowls of rich minced meat soup noodles!"

"Liu girl! Hurry up and tidy things, wipe the table clean for this gentleman!"

...

Upon entering, a wave of heat enveloped him. The atmosphere inside was even more boisterous than outside, with several runners darting back and forth, not daring to pause for a moment.

"Please, Daoist, come inside!" A young attendant, slightly out of breath from countless errands since dawn, rushed over, maintaining a smile that was friendly to the point of sycophancy.

Chen Yu made a courteous gesture, then, foregoing the upper floor, chose an empty spot on the ground level and sat.

"One ounce of Baoshan tea, and a plate of crispy fragrant broad beans."

He ordered tea and a snack at random, gathering up his robe to keep it from trailing on the floor. He glanced around.

The clientele in the teahouse was varied: laborers, vendors, officials, wandering adventurers from north and south, and young gentlemen in elegant attire, gently fanning themselves with paper fans. Bird keepers, singers, storytellers, hawkers peddling snacks—this modest teahouse was a microcosm of life, the world’s myriad forms unfolding before his eyes.

This suited his purpose. Chen Yu thought, with such diversity, the flow of information would be much easier to access. Yet he must remain vigilant; most of these tidings were a muddle of truth and falsehood, requiring careful unraveling and discrimination.

"Daoist, your tea." The attendant was swift: before long, a bowl of clear tea was placed on the table, steaming hot. Alongside it, the golden broad beans, still releasing steam, sent a wave of nutty aroma mingled with their fresh scent as he fanned them toward his nose.

Not bad.

Last time, he'd heard the apothecary's manager mention that Yi Yuan Teahouse was famed for three specialties: the finest Spring Rain tea, rich minced meat soup noodles, and the crispy broad beans before him.

He’d only had two bowls of thin porridge before descending the mountain, so his appetite was not strong; thus, he missed the chance to sample their famous noodles.

Lifting the bowl, he took a sip and savored it. The water was a bit hot, likely just boiled, and the tea somewhat coarse—only Baoshan, after all, far less refined than the Spring Rain variety.

It sufficed.

All around, people chatted—about everything from north to south, the martial world and the halls of power, an endless array of topics laid out for discussion.

"General Song is truly a capable man!"

"Indeed! How long did it take? He routed the Taoyang rebels completely!"

"He killed plenty, I hear. There’s talk of a batch executed and left at the market square. My nephew’s over there, he said even the dirt was red for days at Taoyang’s vegetable market, rain couldn’t wash it away!"

The drinkers discussed, and Chen Yu listened.

Taoyang County, at the northernmost edge of Guangyong Prefecture, wasn’t far from Shiya County. Recently, an uprising erupted there—the rebels reportedly seized the county seat and took the government office. Doors were broken, homes ravaged, thousands dead or scattered.

By the last time he descended the mountain, the Taoyang rebels had grown in strength, expanding beyond their county, pillaging neighboring regions and launching attacks with increasing ferocity.

He hadn’t expected it to be quelled so swiftly. No wonder the county, once tense and restless, had regained its liveliness.

He picked up a broad bean and chewed.

Crunch. Crunch.

Bang!

Suddenly, at a nearby table of three, one man slapped the table and stood: "Excellent! Those villains who plagued the land have all been executed. The counties are at peace—let’s raise a toast to that!"

Chen Yu looked over. The man’s face was ruddy, his teeth clean and white, clad in a white robe embroidered with bamboo. He was tall and upright, and the square cap atop his head revealed his identity.

A scholar.

Chen Yu wasn’t surprised at his fervor. When the Taoyang rebels were rampant, it coincided with the emperor’s thirtieth birthday in Jianye Capital. A day meant for universal celebration was marred by rebellion—a grave affront to the mandate of heaven. As expected, the Emperor of Liang, enraged, issued a decree that cut off the path to the imperial exams for nearly ten thousand scholars across the four prefectures of Western Province.

With a single command, years—sometimes decades—of diligent study were rendered meaningless for those scholars. How could they not be furious?

But the emperor was far away, and even if they had a hundredfold courage, none dared complain against the sacred majesty. So all their resentment was directed at the rebels.

"Those bandits! Thieves! Their crimes are boundless—I wish I could devour their flesh!"

His words, full of indignation, drew the attention of everyone nearby.

A lively spectacle.

Fortunately, his companions reacted swiftly, each grabbing an arm and pressing the young scholar back into his seat.

"Don’t be angry, Brother Jichu, don’t be angry."

"Yes, why waste your health over a bunch of dead men? It’s not worth harming your liver and lungs."

Their gentle persuasion calmed him; he drained his tea and relaxed.

Yet someone else was not appeased.

"Heh, so that’s who you are—a mere boy, barely grown, spouting nonsense! Branding those poor souls as criminals. Did all your learning go to the dogs?"

The crowd, relishing the drama, egged the conflict on. Chen Yu glanced at the speaker: a man with a bushy beard, a long knife slung across his back, dressed in coarse hemp robes.

Obvious. A martial man, no doubt.

Back at the scholars’ table, the young man’s composure faltered, fury rising as he stood and retorted, "And who are you? Those rebels committed every atrocity—burning, killing, raping, looting. How can you claim they’re merely pitiable? If they’re pitied, what of their victims?"

The atmosphere heated again, but Chen Yu was done with the spectacle. The broad beans before him were finished; more importantly, he had gleaned the information he needed.

The situation had improved, but only within Guangyong Prefecture. For the rest of Western Province, the defeat of the Taoyang rebels had little deterrent effect. Uprisings persisted everywhere, their momentum undiminished.

And the so-called heroic General Song, spoken of by all, was likely far from returning in triumph—probably rushing to the next hotspot to quell chaos.

"This land… who knows how much longer it can endure?"

After paying with copper coins, Chen Yu stepped out into the street, sighing as he surveyed the bustling market.

Eight years ago, when the earliest Taiping rebels of the north were crushed at Youshan by the Grand Marshal’s army of two hundred thousand, the flames of war had never ceased in Great Liang. Rebellions erupted in every province and prefecture, far too many to suppress.

He felt helpless. Still, if he could reclaim the half-acre of mountain field, it would suffice to sustain himself.

As for clothing and daily necessities… he would have to make several more trips into the wild to collect herbs and exchange them for money, stocking up while he could. Once the world descended into chaos, such opportunities would be scarce.