Faraway Wanderers Novel (English Translation)

No Regrets

Chapter 36

There was an elderly man in the corner, whom the kind waiter didn’t chase away. The old man’s body was like it had shrivelled up in water, his face full of wrinkles, dressed head to toe in old and ratty cotton robes, his sparse whiskers disheveled. His hands were pressed together palm-to-palm as he knelt on the floor, bowing continuously to those who passed. A chipped bowl was placed beside him.

Zhang Chengling peeped at him, his ears full of Cao Weining’s sophisticated musing. “...They say the scent of chrysanthemum comes from the bitter cold…”

“That’s not right, Cao-dage, chrysanthemums bloom in autumn, is autumn that cold?”

Cao Weining coughed. “Most of these poets sigh over things not worth sighing about, contributing nothing useful to society. They’re a generation of loafers who compose boring things about nature in their libraries. Being unable to tell which season chrysanthemums blossom in is typical of them!”

“Oh, they’re really a bunch of slacking bookworms who don’t know anything, ahahaha…”

When Cao Weining and Gu Xiang started to discuss the beauty of the four seasons and poetry, they could drive a person to insanity. Zhang Chengling tolerated it for as long as he could, and when he finally could not bear it any longer, he dug out a few copper coins, walked downstairs, and bent to put them in the old beggar’s bowl.

The old man rambled, “Good philanthropist, thank you, philanthropist, may the most merciful and compassionate Goddess of Mercy protect you…”

Zhang Chengling’s lips tightened as he squeezed out a laborious smile. His father was the true humanitarian, who the heavens had protected for a lifetime. Except for that one night, the gods had gotten drunk, didn’t keep watch, and his father had died.

The good had to rely on the heavens for protection, but the evil could live on viciously. Wasn’t this too laughable?

He sat on the steps, and of his own accord, started reciting the things Zhou Zishu taught him, but was still befuddled about a great many things. As he recited on like a little monk reciting scriptures, his mind wandered, his gaze drifting somewhere far away, his heart wondering why his shifu was not back yet. The first thing his shifu would do upon returning would be to scold him, why did he have to be this stupid?

As a child half-matured, his bones were growing furiously; the clothes that Zhao Jing had ordered tailors to make for him a few months ago, when they had just reached the Zhao Family Manor, were small on him now. The legs of his pants were a good few inches shorter, the hems hanging laughably above his ankles.

Zhang Chengling dipped his head, reached out his fingers to pinch the hem of his trousers, rolled them up and unrolled them again--thinking, I’m not this stupid on purpose, who doesn’t want to be a bit smarter, so that they can master abilities a little earlier, to seek revenge for their family a little sooner?

He recalled that time in childhood, when the shifu teaching him martial arts had complained about him to his father. His father had only patted his head, and said to that shifu with an apologetic smile, “Please be more forgiving on him. It’s like how the five fingers on a hand do not grow to be the same length--this boy of mine had a bout of fever when he was younger, and is slower than others. But he’s a good kid, I don’t expect him to become something great in the future. As long as he can take good care of himself, that’s good enough.”

In this world, if there were emperors and rulers that accomplished great things, there also had to be peddlers and messengers dealing with insignificant affairs, otherwise, could the world even function?