A big-headed, short-necked Jin Dian horse stood at the dock, in front of a slender bamboo-bark, old-lacquer-canopied cart, in which sat a plump little figure—shrunk down, he could’ve passed for a shop manager on a New Year’s painting.

In the early June weather, close by the green shade and the water’s edge, it wasn’t exactly hot, yet the fat man was already sweating.

The driver, thoroughly spoiled, had left his plump manager sitting alone in the cart while he lounged under the banyan tree nearby, a twig dangling from his mouth.

In truth, neither of these two was old—both looked to be around twenty years old.

The old customers coming off the Ai City dock arrived in waves, one batch after another, and each time, this master-and-servant pair would stand up to greet them. Whenever they spotted someone plump with a few blemishes on his face, the fat manager would rush over affectionately to take his hand and call him “uncle.”

Unfortunately, not once was it actually his uncle, and he’d been made a fool of every time.

Today was no different. Bright and early they’d come out, and not only was there no real uncle, there weren’t even any fake ones. The young attendant said impatiently, “I’m telling you, Second Manager! Something must’ve gone wrong today. Look, it’s getting late and it’s hot—why don’t we just head back? I have a feeling today’s definitely not the day, that old Tan family…”

Hearing this, the plump manager glared at him, pulled a large cloth handkerchief from his sleeve, wiped a round of sweat beads off his face, and muttered, “Shut your mouth. I know it’s probably not happening either, but I’ve been coming every single day, rain or shine, without fail. Oh, so it’s hot and I should just leave? No way. Then I’d have to stay here without missing a single day, hmph!”

The young attendant pouted, spat out the twig from his mouth, and picked up a blade of grass from the ground instead: “Ugh~ tsk! Hungry~ah!”

“Hungry? Well, now that you mention it, I’m hungry too.”

The plump manager grumbled, rubbing his belly, glanced around, and spotted someone frying bean cakes by the banyan tree. He walked over to the oil-sizzling pot, first staring intently into the bottom of the pan, then solemnly pulled ten good copper coins from his sleeve, rolled up his sleeves, and with his plump, jade-white fingers, pointed at the pan of bean cakes, picking out the biggest ones one by one.

With his back to the attendant, every time the vendor scooped one out, he’d stuff it straight into his mouth.

The young attendant watched his gluttonous manager out of the corner of his eye, snorted twice in disdain, then his gaze happened to catch an opera boat pulling up to the shore.

Being young, he was always drawn to excitement, and he lazily got up, squinting at the boat’s banner, muttering, “Five Fortunes Troupe? Pfft… thought it was a big troupe. Never even heard of the Five Fortunes Troupe, hmph!”

Grumbling to himself, he stretched his back, about to lean against the banyan tree again, when he spotted the gangplank being lowered onto the shore, and a person—not quite dark, not quite fair, round-faced and somewhat plump, clearly full of freckles—stepping onto land.

The young attendant’s mouth couldn’t keep up with his excitement; he started stammering, wanted to shout but couldn’t get the words out, so he started stomping his feet and hopping.

After hopping about, he ran a few steps to the plump manager’s side and grabbed his sleeve to speak.

Who would’ve thought—the manager had just stuffed the last bean cake into his mouth, and after a series of “hot, hot, hot” sounds, he swallowed and clutched his burning chest, saying angrily to the attendant, “What do you want? What is it! I’m telling you, if you want to eat, buy it with your own money—this is my monthly allowance, I… oh my mother’s mother, they’re here!”

His eyes followed the attendant’s urgent pointing finger, and the plump manager finally spotted the person disembarking. Counting the freckles on the man’s face once more—yep! Plenty of them—that had to be the person he’d been waiting for.

The poor fat man’s face twisted with exasperation as he beat his chest and stamped his feet: “What did I say, what did I say—I’m the kind of unlucky bastard who gets bird droppings on his head from above and doesn’t even know to dodge, has to tilt his head back and catch it right in the nostril! How many days has it been already, and I’ve been coming every single day, every single day… and I just quietly ate one little cake, ah~!”

Saying this, he raised his hand to smack the attendant: “I told you ‘hungry,’ told you ‘hungry’—out of everyone on this whole street, only you’ve got a gut like that, only you’re the greedy one, and it’s all your fault…”

The young attendant, furious, finally managed to squeeze out two words, his face flushed red: “Go, go, let’s go!”

“Ah, right, go, go, go, go, go, go!”

Everyone in the Five Fortunes Troupe, high and low, was reluctant to part with Manager Ping and the young master. In all their travels up and down the river, on however many boats they’d taken passage, this uncle-and-nephew pair had never once put on airs since coming aboard—their kindness went without saying.

Everyone felt the reluctance, and as the boat pulled to shore, they all came out together to see them off.

Zhang Shuangxi, despite being a grown man, had a heart that could weep the Great Wall down at any moment, and he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, sniffling as he saw the uncle-and-nephew pair off to shore.

Truth be told, the others had gone ashore before too, at various stops along the way.

But ever since She Wanlin had left Qingfeng, his feet hadn’t so much as touched solid ground once—whatever hidden skills he might possess, none of them were of any use right now.

The moment he stepped onto land, his legs turned to jelly, and covering his mouth, he stumbled off to the side, utterly disoriented, and started throwing up over the riverbank.

Say what you will about him throwing up—several tribal girls happened to pass by the shore. These girls weren’t dressed in particularly fine clothes, and some even had dark markings tattooed on their faces, but their eyes sparkled brightly, and their laughter rang out clear and hearty.

Perhaps fair-skinned young men were rare in Jin Dian, because they giggled and gathered behind him to watch him retch. Perhaps feeling sorry for him, one of the girls reached over, plucked a flower from the roadside, pulled out the stem, and came up behind She Wanlin.

He turned around and was met with a tattooed face, which startled him—and then she offered him the flower.

Well, if this wasn’t turning out to be a lifetime’s worth of strange encounters all in one day—She Wanlin stared in wide-eyed terror as several tattoo-faced girls licked the stems of their flowers in front of him.

What… what were they trying to do?

Was this some kind of welcoming custom in Jin Dian?

It took him a good while to understand—could it be they wanted him to lick it too? He hesitantly reached out a slightly trembling hand, took a flower, and tentatively licked the stem, then smacked his lips. Huh? It was sweet!

Seeing that he understood, the tribal girls burst into silvery laughter together, then walked off with their baskets on their backs.

Utterly bewildered, She Wanlin held the flower, watching their retreating figures, and thought—ah, so this is what Jin Dian is like?

It was… actually rather nice.

Another boat pulled up to shore, its hull striking the rocky dock with a dull thud, and She Wanlin, finally recalling the matter at hand, went back to retching over the river.

Old Stinky watched him, shaking his head helplessly. “Well now, the moment you set foot in Jin Dian, you’ve already made a grand offering—feeding the fish before anything else.”

Zhang Shuangxi wiped away a couple of tears that hadn’t quite fallen, and clutching Old Stinky’s sleeve as if parting from a lover, asked, “Brother, how, how could we possibly part ways like this, my heart just can’t bear it—so, so where will you two be staying?”

Old Stinky, bundle in hand, looked around at the shore and said noncommittally, “I don’t know myself either… Someone’s supposed to be picking us up.”

Before he even finished speaking, a “meat bun” of a figure came rolling over from the side, chased by a big shrimp of a figure behind him.

The young attendant seemed to have some kind of minor impairment, though it wasn’t very obvious—he stood there with a little pot strapped to the back of his neck.

The “bun,” his mouth smeared with oil, ran up to Old Stinky, first patted down his silk robe, then scooped both hands down to the ground and bowed to Old Stinky in greeting: “Ah, ah, ah, could it be—could you be my uncle from the family? Is, is it you?”

Old Stinky chuckled. “So you got the letter? Knew we were coming today?”

At this, the fat manager’s eyes brimmed with such heartfelt emotion that tears immediately burst out: “Ah, we finally caught you! Twelve-Pot and I have been waiting for you both for so many days!”

The young attendant smacked him on the back of the head, then stepped forward and bowed: “We, we got the letter from the main house long ago, saying the Third Branch’s young master and you, uncle, were coming to visit—we’ve been coming out every day to wait, and we’ve finally caught you.”

Two letters had been sent to Jin Dian—one from the family head, Ping Shen, and another that Old Stinky himself had sent via the post station’s express horse after disembarking. He’d arranged himself an identity of no small standing—that of a senior instructor-manager pulled from the clan’s old establishment, tasked with teaching skills to the direct bloodline.

As such, aside from the head manager, all the younger generation in the Ping family’s business had to address him respectfully as “Master,” or affectionately as “Uncle.”

The young attendant, having delivered his message, looked over the group one by one, and going by their attire and bearing, none of them seemed to match their own Third Branch’s young master. So he asked again, “Uncle, where’s the young master?”

Old Stinky set down his bundle and pointed toward the poor fellow still retching off to the side. “There he is. Unsteady on his feet—he’s suffered greatly.”

The two of them looked and laughed. The plump manager said, “Ah, I got seasick like that too back in the day. Our family travels all over the world, sooner or later everyone goes through this. The young master’s still small—give it time, once he’s traveled more, nothing will faze him.”

Old Stinky laughed and agreed, saying that was certainly true.

As the two sides exchanged words, the deference in their tone made the hierarchy quite clear—wait, had it turned out that Manager Ping was actually the one serving others? And the person they called “young master” was actually the young master? Brother Yi?

Seeing everyone’s surprise, Old Stinky explained with a smile: “Please don’t take offense, everyone. Being out and about, and our young master still being of tender age on his first journey away from home, we were afraid something might go wrong, so we didn’t tell the truth. We hope you’ll all forgive us.”

This one remark stunned quite a few people, especially the two hot-tempered ones from the kitchen—this whole journey, watching She Wanlin do nothing but eat and play, never accomplishing anything useful, while his uncle gave him pocket money every day, they’d taken it upon themselves to scold him plenty on his family’s behalf.

They hadn’t dared lay hands on him the way they did with the young performers, but they’d certainly nagged at him, even said unpleasant things to his face. Who could have guessed—he was actually the direct-line young master of the Ping family’s old establishment.

Well now, whatever else they didn’t understand, this meant he was a wealthy young master from a family with mountains of gold—they should’ve been currying favor, and instead they’d cursed him out the whole way. Fear crept into their hearts, and their faces turned a sickly yellow, already regretting it deeply.

She Wanlin finally emptied his stomach completely, then straightened up slowly, holding his back, and came over, tilting his chin up somewhat with difficulty to ask Old Stinky, “Uncle Stinky, who are these people?”

It wasn’t a lack of manners—at this moment he could barely find himself, his soul still floating somewhere else.

The two of them were quick-witted; seeing him return, they immediately came forward together, bowed deeply in formal greeting, and announced their identities together: “Ai City’s Ningxin Trading House—Ping Jin, Ping Duo—paying respects to Young Master Yi.”

The Ping family’s business was enormous, having operated across not fewer than two dynasties. In the Ping family’s ancestral territory, in the towns, villages, and manors where the Ping clan gathered, the bloodline had branched out into who knew how many lines.

Yet the family remained remarkably united, having managed the business passed down from their ancestors extremely well—and what did they rely on? Fairness and justice internally, and honesty, sincerity, integrity, and genuine goodwill externally.

She Wanlin had learned a great deal from Old Stinky along the journey, and had truly benefited from it—you’d have to say Old Stinky was quite something; no matter whose family, wherever in the world, whatever their public face or private secrets, Old Stinky knew it all.

So the moment these two spoke, She Wanlin understood at once that they weren’t blood members of the Ping family proper, but must be children adopted into one of the Ping branches from outside as infants, later raised within the trading house, and eventually—chosen for their sharpness and promise—granted the family surname, becoming Ping family members from then on.

As long as these adopted sons proved themselves steady and capable, rising to become shop managers, the clan would arrange land for them back home, and help them build a house and take a wife.

For orphans, this was already quite something—a remarkably generous outcome.

As for the true-born young masters of the Ping family, they too started out learning the trade as ordinary shop hands.

Of course, She Wanlin didn’t need to work as a shop hand during his time in Jin Dian—he was a young master from a collateral branch, accompanying his mentor to travel the world, broadening his horizons and gaining experience with the family’s various trading houses.

She Wanlin smiled at the two of them, and returned their courtesy politely: “Our journey here was difficult, and I myself am rather useless, having burdened you two elder brothers along the way. May I ask which branch you two belong to?”

They’d already confided the truth to Old Stinky, who chimed in from the side: “The lad’s never met them, but once I explain, you’ll understand—remember our Ninth Branch’s Old Zeng-ye, who lost a son early on? By generation, you should call him Nineteenth Uncle. These two were adopted under your Nineteenth Uncle’s name—his grandfather and our own grandfather were blood brothers, so you should call them ‘brother,’ understand?”

What a tangled web of relations.

Hearing this, She Wanlin addressed them both as “brother.”

Seeing that he was neither harsh nor arrogant, but rather easygoing in calling them “brother,” the two finally set down the worry that had weighed on their hearts these past few days—after all, he was a true legitimate young master, while adopted sons like themselves numbered in the hundreds scattered across the Ping family, all over the realm.

With the family reunited, everyone grew warm and close—one helping to carry the luggage, another turning to buy bean cakes for their young clan-brother.

She Wanlin didn’t show it on his face, but in his heart he was pleased—he felt the old Ping family had real warmth and humanity to them, no wonder their business had grown so large.

Once their luggage was loaded onto the cart, Old Stinky asked where Ping Duo’s residence was, and having asked, turned to say to Troupe Master Zhang Shuangxi: “We’ll be staying at the tea plantation estate below Small Tuan Mountain outside the city. Once you’ve finished your business these next few days and the main show has been performed, come by tomorrow with the children for a visit—we’ll be sure to treat you well.”

Zhang Shuangxi, no longer crying by this point, dabbed at his handkerchief and asked hesitantly, stammering, “Really, really, can people like us really set foot on your family’s land?”

It wasn’t unreasonable for him to ask this—after all, the opera profession was never much respected.

Old Stinky said nothing, but looked instead to She Wanlin.

She Wanlin, back when he’d been a young prince in Yandu, had never looked down on anyone, and besides, he genuinely liked the people of the Five Fortunes Troupe—even the two hot-tempered kitchen hands, whom he knew to be petty and jealous, mouths running without filter.

But why would he bother teaching them a lesson, making them behave?

They were all simple-hearted people anyway, especially this group of young performers, who’d been utterly sincere and kind to him.

So he nodded at Zhang Shuangxi and said, “Come by all means. Tomorrow I’ll go take a look at the situation, and if the venue is suitable, I’ll invite the troupe over to perform a few full plays.”

At this, the entire Five Fortunes Troupe felt a flush of embarrassment.

This one had traveled with them the whole way and knew full well that their troupe only really knew how to perform the same handful of plays, all temple-offering, festival, and market pieces.

Troupe Master Zhang was embarrassed, but Zhang Yongchun and the others were especially delighted, asking, “Really?”

She Wanlin nodded. “Really. Even if the tea plantation’s head manager doesn’t agree, I’ll pay for it myself and invite you all.”

The moment he said this, Ping Jin overheard, and cut in with a grin: “Good lad, you’re home now! No need to spend your own money—how old are you anyway, don’t worry, our accounts have this covered. It’s an annual custom to hold performances twice a year—might as well invite you all, since we’d be inviting someone regardless. We’ll head back first, you rest up these next couple of days, and I’ll handle the arrangements when I get back.”

As he spoke, he reached into his robe and pulled out a sheepskin pouch, from which he took something like an envelope, and handed it with both hands to Zhang Shuangxi.

This was a contract slip, sealing the deal.

This left the entire Five Fortunes Troupe overjoyed beyond words.

She Wanlin had found it odd all along—Ping Jin was dressed as a common laborer, yet spoke and acted with more authority than even that plump bun of a manager.

Noticing his puzzlement, Ping Jin just smiled at him and tilted his head toward the carriage, implying this was a family matter to be discussed among themselves later.

And so, this hard-won uncle-and-nephew pair finally bid farewell to the Five Fortunes Troupe at the dock.

Just before leaving, She Wanlin took Zhang Yongbao’s hand, quickly pressed some money into his arms, and whispered in his ear: “Little Bao, I’ve made it home now. Later, when you want to redeem your little brother, I’ll help you figure something out. But you mustn’t act recklessly anymore, understand? Your troupe master is a good man—don’t do anything you can’t take back.”

Hearing this, little Bao felt as if struck by lightning, staring dumbly as the kind benefactor climbed into the carriage. Once they’d gone some distance, he stood rooted to the spot and began wailing.

Troupe Master Zhang, not wanting to watch this pathetic display, walked over and kicked him: “The man’s long gone, who are you crying for now?”

Little Bao kept crying. “Master—Dad, I just feel like, the young master, he, why is he so good to me, wuwu…”

And he even said he’d help redeem his little brother.

Troupe Master Zhang clearly misunderstood, and his heart softened as he pulled his little apprentice into a hug: “Alright, alright, stop being so sour. That kid was born to a life of eating pastries and fine things—comparing yourself to him will only make you mad. Compare yourself to your little brother instead…”

Zhang Yongbao hiccupped, staring blankly at his troupe master.

Thinking his words had worked, Troupe Master Zhang smiled contentedly: “That’s right, look at your life now—I didn’t even hit you today, right? Does your little brother have it this good? Our family gets two full meals a day…”

Hic~!

Leaving aside what became of the Five Fortunes Troupe, where they performed next, and how much money they made, let’s return to the group now in the carriage. Ping Duo, reluctant to whip his own horse, just nudged its rear with his foot and said, “Off we go, heading home!”

The horse, well-behaved, ambled along on its own back toward home.

Only now did She Wanlin begin to take in the sights of this ancient city of Jin Dian.

The old city gate of Jin Dian was rather shabby—perhaps because of the high mountains and long rivers, this side had preserved its old appearance, with the watchtowers worn down and low.

Fortunately, this place enjoyed spring-like weather all year round, and at a glance, lush greenery filled the eye—the various colored trees spread like giant umbrellas, blooming here and there outside the city, accented everywhere by wildflowers and grasses. Though the old city looked shabby, it was nonetheless beautiful.

Of course, this was the old Tan family’s territory—under their harsh methods of rule, it had managed to cultivate a look distinctly different from other prefectures and cities.

Beneath the bricks of the old city wall, everything had a worn, glossy sheen. And this sheen wasn’t the result of wind, frost, or rain—it had been worn smooth by the bodies of beggars who lived leaning against the wall for their livelihood.

Well now, at a glance, crooked figures crowded around nearly half the city, with patchwork tattered cloth shelters propped up everywhere—this wasn’t Ai City anymore, it looked more like a City of Beggars.

Seeing She Wanlin’s astonishment, Ping Jin laughed and said, “You’ll understand soon enough, young master. Nothing much to say about our Jin Dian, except, heh, there sure are a lot of beggars, a lot of rascals, and even more tribal peoples of all sorts. Anyway, it has its good points and bad—one street with twelve people might have twelve different dialects. I’ve been here over ten years myself, and I still haven’t learned them all.”

She Wanlin found him even more curious, and was about to ask when the plump Ping Duo beside him spoke up: “Young master, don’t mind how he’s dressed—last year he got into a fight with some Alang people who work our tea plantation, and the head manager punished him with a year as a common laborer. Heh, these clothes I’m wearing are his, heh heh heh…”

The bun of a man laughed, his creases jiggling with the motion.

Finding him endearing, She Wanlin laughed too, then asked once he’d finished, “Are the Alang people a tribal group?”

Ping Duo nodded. “Yes, a small tribe—there are all sorts of mixed tribal groups around here. All around our tea mountains, it’s Alang people—there’s White-Headed Alang, Blue-Headed Alang, and Flower-Wearing Alang.

You’ll get to know them once you settle in, young master. The one he fought with wore a blue headscarf—damn it, the old manager spoiled them rotten, they’re all a bunch of sly, lazy types. I said we should just give the tea-picking and mountain-watching work to the White-Headed Alang instead—they’re the most honest and kind-hearted—but his family wouldn’t have it, and so the fight broke out.”

She Wanlin looked at his skinny, wiry back and couldn’t quite picture him fighting. After a moment he asked, “So… did you win?”

Ping Jin’s body stiffened, then slowly turned around, eyes gleaming as he looked at She Wanlin and asked, “Wait, I was fighting with outsiders! You… you’re not going to blame me for it?”

Old Stinky, sitting in the back seat, suddenly chuckled to himself, thinking—blame him? You people have no idea what kind of person he really is—this isn’t your harmonious, profit-loving legitimate young master type at all. He’s the son of the world’s foremost executioner of men. Blame him?

He’d probably want to charge in and fight alongside you himself.

You all haven’t seen it, but all these years, whenever the kids from Quanhou Street got the short end of the stick, the next day someone with a cloth sack over his head, dressed as a servant boy, would single-handedly beat up an entire gang from Quanqian Street—that’s this brat.

And it wasn’t just him—every kid from Qinwei Alley knew how to put on an act. In the daytime, all proper and dignified; behind people’s backs, each one more ruthless with their fists than the last.

Besides these, there was an even more vicious little poison-wielding girl, who, whenever she went out for revenge, brought along half the city’s physicians on standby just in case.

Thinking of this, Old Stinky’s heart filled with strange thoughts—right, why hadn’t he ever thought this deeply about it before… they’d been secretly brawling in gangs for ten years, and the families genuinely had no idea?

Seeing it this way, it seemed the adults of Qinwei Alley weren’t much better after all—turns out, of everyone, this old beggar himself had been the most honest one all along.

Lost in his thoughts, he then heard his own boy say fiercely: “What’s there to blame? I’ve only been strolling around Jin River for a few days, but I’ve dealt with tribal folks too, and I figure—it’s not that they’re bad people, it’s that when you try to talk to them, they don’t understand, and writing it out clearly is even less possible! So what do you do? Fight first, right, beat them into submission, then talk sense into them after. Don’t you agree, Brother Jin?”

At this, Ping Jin’s body shook, and passing by a stretch of wildflower fields, he burst out laughing together with Ping Duo, laughing so hard tears streamed from his eyes.

Leaning against the side of the cart, She Wanlin laughed too, gazing up at the blue sky and white clouds, at the riot of colorful flowers all around, thinking—Jin Dian’s Tan family might be detestable, but the people living here weren’t the least bit annoying.

Otherwise… once he took down old man Tan and inherited the princely title, he’d have to switch his fief to right here.