Chapter 41: Chapter 41

“Cough, cough, cough…”

Shen Xiuhan nearly choked, hurriedly clearing his throat with a few dry coughs:

“Ma, there’s no rush over marriage matters. We should open a restaurant first and build up some savings. Only with silver in hand do we have any standing — and only then can we hope to find better in-laws, right?”

“That’s the way of it…”

Madam Zheng nodded in deep agreement, but then her expression grew uneasy again. She fidgeted with the hem of her clothes, hesitating:

“But we’re poor folk. The coarse food we make — would anyone in the inner city really pay good money for it?”

Before Shen Xiuhan could answer, Shen Momo, nestled in his arms, lit up and declared loudly:

“Mama, did you forget? We’ll sell the yummy noodle-noodles Gege makes!”

Madam Zheng’s eyes brightened at her words. “That’s right — we can sell blanket noodles!”

The bowl of blanket noodles Shen Xiuhan had made last time — she had tasted it with her own mouth.

Though he had only made it that one time, the chewy, silky texture and the rich, savory flavor had stayed vivid in her memory ever since.

These past few days, Shen Momo had been pestering her every day to make blanket noodles.

Madam Zheng had tried twice, and each time she had botched it. So she said with some embarrassment:

“But… but Ma’s hands are clumsy. I can’t manage such delicate cooking.”

“It doesn’t matter. In a few days I’ll find some time and teach you step by step. The method’s simple — you’ll pick it up right away,” Shen Xiuhan said with a smile.

“Yay!”

Shen Momo bounced up and down in delight, cheering happily: “Finally, I get to eat Gege’s noodle-noodles!”

Listening to her silver-bell laughter, Shen Xiuhan laughed heartily and turned to Madam Zheng:

“Ma, once we move into the inner city, we’ll open a noodle shop. You’ll man the ladle and handle the coin, and I’ll train at the martial hall. Once we’ve earned enough, we’ll send Momo to a tutor’s school to learn her characters. When she gets out each day, she can help carry bowls and serve dishes at the shop…”

As she listened to the beautiful picture her son was painting — a life without killing, without hunger and cold, with nothing but firewood and rice, oil and salt —

Madam Zheng’s expression slowly grew entranced.

…

The fourth day after killing Yu Zhe and Tian Erhu.

Early spring had quietly arrived.

On the road.

Shen Xiuhan caught sight of several swallows darting past, flapping their wings as they alighted on branches that had begun to bud with fresh green shoots.

At Mei Hall, more than thirty disciples had all gathered, paired off and feeding techniques to one another in drilling practice.

Shouts rose from every corner of the training ground, and sharp gusts of force stirred the air between colliding fists and feet.

Xu Chuan and Xiang Yunting had been held up by something, and neither had yet appeared.

Shen Xiuhan, taking up the duty without hesitation, stepped in as temporary overseer.

“Your lower stance is unsteady — like duckweed on water! The stance frame must be rooted like the coiled roots of an old tree. Otherwise, no matter how much you drill, it’s nothing but empty posturing!”

His Dark Eagle Stance had reached Perfection; a single glance was enough to pick out the flaws in the outer-court disciples’ forms.

Walking over to one disciple’s side, Shen Xiuhan raised his foot and gave the back of the man’s rigidly locked knee a measured kick — neither too light nor too hard — and offered a pointed reminder in a low voice:

“Your force is strung too tight. A loose stance scatters qi-blood; one held too rigidly causes qi to stall and blood to clot. Between loose and tight, you must find your own measure.”

“Yes, Senior Brother Shen!”

After making a full round, Shen Xiuhan’s gaze came to rest on one figure, and he felt a small stir of surprise inside:

‘Hmm… Xiao Wen’s stance work is really starting to develop some real grounding.’

Over these past few days, it was as though something had clicked for Xiao Wen — his progress in the stance was advancing a thousand li a day.

His full set of Dark Eagle Stance flowed like drifting clouds and running water, and in every gesture there was now the faint intimation of a dark eagle unfurling its wings, poised to take flight.

At this rate, he wasn’t far off from Initial Mastery of the stance art.

Across all of Mei Hall, those who had cultivated Dark Eagle Stance to Initial Mastery could be counted on a single hand.

Comprehension of this caliber was genuinely top-tier within the outer court.

“Hah…”

Xiao Wen slowly brought his stance to a close.

He lifted a sleeve to wipe the sweat from his temple, and when he raised his eyes and saw Shen Xiuhan standing beside him, he called out with a touch of awkwardness:

“Senior Brother Shen…”

“Not bad — your foundation is solid.”

Shen Xiuhan gave him an approving look and clapped him on the shoulder:

“Keep training at this pace, and in time, you’ll surely knock open the door of Blood Tempering and step into the inner court.”

“Thank you for the encouragement, Senior Brother…”

Xiao Wen gave a bashful smile, his lips moving slightly as though he wanted to say something.

But before he could speak, a sudden clamor of voices and footsteps burst in from beyond the courtyard.

Shen Xiuhan turned toward the sound.

Xu Chuan and Xiang Yunting led the way in.

Behind them followed seven or eight middle-aged men in fine brocade robes, carrying themselves with the bearing of household stewards.

Trailing further back came a long line of maidservants and attendants, some bearing registers, others carrying tea sets.

In the blink of an eye, this crowd had packed the outer court’s open ground from end to end.

Xiang Yunting casually waved over an outer-court disciple and gave him a few low-voiced instructions.

The disciple nodded frantically, his head hammering down like a garlic pestle, and led a few men briskly into the inner court.

A short while later, several grand master’s chairs and square tables were lined up in a neat row beneath the covered walkway.

A handful of paunchy, brocade-robed stewards clasped hands and exchanged pleasantries with one another, then each took his seat.

The maidservants and attendants deftly presented warm cups of freshly brewed tea, then stepped back to stand with lowered hands off to the side, silent as crows.

This was…

A retainer posting meeting?

What a grand spectacle!

Shen Xiuhan’s eyes shifted slightly. Xu Chuan had already come over from the side, lowering his voice:

“Junior Brother Shen, the retainer posting meeting is about to begin.”

“Apart from you, the better hands in our hall’s outer court will also be trotted out for a turn — to see whether they can catch the eye of these noble clans and merchant houses, and land themselves a post as a household guard or errand runner.”

Shen Xiuhan nodded lightly at his words.

Mei Hall’s sources of income had always been narrow; it relied almost entirely on disciple tuition to keep its doors open.

This was utterly unlike the other martial halls.

Take Tongbei Martial Hall, for instance.

Under its name were taverns, gambling dens, covert brothels, and countless other hall-run enterprises — far too many to count.

Disciples who had the right connections, or hard-enough fists, could be absorbed directly in-house.

But Mei Hall disciples who wanted to earn silver and resources could only seek out their chances through this retainer posting meeting — at the various noble clans, merchant guilds, and escort agencies.

In the courtyard, eight or nine disciples with solid stance work had been picked out by Xiang Yunting and lined up in a row, taking turns putting on a vigorous display in front of the stewards.

Xiao Wen was among them.

The first two disciples, perhaps from nerves, performed Dark Eagle Stance limply, without any real force.

The stewards merely watched with cold eyes, sipping tea and chatting idly — they didn’t so much as raise an eyelid.

The third was the son of a minor inner-city family.

This one had broad shoulders and a thick waist, stout of sinew and bone — just looking at him, one could feel a certain imposing presence.

His stance frame opened wide and struck bold, movements fierce and overbearing, kicking up a howling gust of force.

At last, the stewards sat up straighter, stroking their beards and nodding, and began murmuring to one another in low voices.

When the man, panting, cupped his fists and stepped back, two of the stewards set down their tea cups and called out their offers one after the other:

“Changfeng Escort Agency, hiring three outer perimeter caravan guards!”

“If you’re interested, sir — one tael a month in wages, plus one jin of salted fish, three jin of fresh fish, and two bowls of qi-blood-replenishing medicinal broth included in the rations. Should you meet ambush on an escort run, any man who dares draw his blade and draw blood earns bounty on top, counted by the head!”

“Renxin Hall, recruiting two house guards!”

“The monthly pay is also one tael. No meat is included, but qi-blood medicinal broth is covered — three bowls’ worth. And there’s one further benefit: any man under Renxin Hall may purchase one ‘Blood-Nourishing Pill’ from the hall at cost each month.”

Seeing that offers had been made for him, the disciple’s face flushed bright red with excitement.

But the moment he heard how starkly the two sets of terms differed, his feet grew hesitant.

After wavering for a moment, he piled a smile onto his face and walked toward the pale, plump steward from Renxin Hall.