The evening wind of the Northlands, carrying a piercing chill, was like a thousand knives, haphazardly carving the entire land. It resembled the work of third-rate sculptors who, despite claiming exceptional talent, could only manage a chaotic mess, ultimately resorting to covering their efforts with a blanket of white snow to avoid becoming a laughingstock.
Zheng Fan sat atop a pile of rubble, no longer clad in the blindingly bright armor he had worn during the day, but in a dark red sweatshirt Siniang had sewn for him. Zheng Fan had encountered followers of Zoroastrianism in Hutou City, a faith said to have spread from the Western Region. His current sweatshirt would allow him to blend in perfectly with them.
Ding Hao stood beside Zheng Fan, his long spear in hand—a spear that had drunk its fill of blood today.
Zheng Fan reached out, patted the spot beside him, and said, "Sit with me for a while."
Ding Hao set down his spear and sat beside Zheng Fan.
Zheng Fan pulled a small iron box from his pocket, opened it, and took out two cigarettes, handing one to Ding Hao. He then produced a tinderbox, lit his own cigarette, and proceeded to light Ding Hao’s.
Cigarettes were still somewhat ahead of their time in this world, though tobacco products like hookahs and large tobacco pipes already existed. The Emperor of Yan State, however, had not yet imposed taxes on tobacco products, thereby missing out on a considerable source of revenue. In Zheng Fan’s previous world, it was a known fact: the annual tobacco tax contributed by smokers—who endured social discrimination and physical harm with a spirit of fearless dedication—was enough to cover the entire nation’s defense budget for a year.
However, even though cigarettes were a bit anachronistic, when Zheng Fan moved to light his cigarette, Ding Hao still cupped his hands around the tinderbox flame in a display of respectful apprehension. Then, after taking a puff, he began to cough violently.
When he looked back and saw Zheng Fan leisurely exhaling smoke, a trace of puzzlement appeared in his eyes, and he subconsciously asked, "Master, is this... pleasant to smoke?"
Zheng Fan flicked the ash from his cigarette and uttered a phrase that had once been popular on social networks and personal statuses in the era he came from: "What I smoke isn’t tobacco; it’s loneliness."
Ding Hao was stunned for a moment. A sense of admiration welled up within him. To utter such words, one must have reached an incredibly profound state of mind. He had no idea that repeating such a phrase in Zheng Fan’s original world would earn one looks as if they were a fool.
"Do you know why I came here tonight?" Zheng Fan asked.
Ding Hao pondered for a moment before answering, "Is it to reminisce?"
"Yes. Actually, I’ve always wanted to go back to Tuman City, to revisit the mansion where I wiped out the entire household."
Zheng Fan shook his head with a sense of helplessness.
What a bunch of freaks I’ve gathered around me...
The others were one thing, but Ding Hao was a native of this world.
Could it be true that flies are only drawn to cracked eggs?
"Actually, I don’t know why I came here either," Zheng Fan said. "I just felt like coming here to sit for a while."
This was the Chen Mansion.
The havoc wreaked by soldiers during the day had virtually demolished the entire Chen Mansion. From the upper floors to the basement, everything had been plundered. For the common soldiers, this was their revenge on Registrar Chen. However, that didn’t stop them from snatching some valuables for themselves in the process.
Because of this, Zheng Fan’s reputation among the soldiers of Hutou City was now quite excellent. Not only had he stood up for them, but he had also helped them make a small fortune.
"What, you don’t understand?" Zheng Fan asked, seeing Ding Hao remain silent.
Ding Hao shook his head, then nodded, a conflicted expression on his face as he said, "Master, to be honest..."
"When you’re speaking honestly, you don’t need to call me ’Master.’ I can call you ’Big Brother,’ and you can call me... ’Little Brother.’"
"Erm... I wouldn’t dare, Master."
"Then it’s not an honest conversation."
Beads of sweat began to form on Ding Hao’s face. He had to turn respectfully towards Zheng Fan and said, "Little Brother..."
"Mas... Little Brother, to be honest, at first, I thought you were very cold-hearted. But sometimes, I feel that you also have a strong sense of humanity. Often, I really can’t figure you out."
"That’s called being pretentious."
"Pretentious?" Ding Hao mulled over the word. The more he considered it, the more apt it seemed.
"Little Brother, I’ve heard people say that the scholars of Qian State are fond of this sort of affectation. One moment they’re mourning the autumn wind, the next they’re lamenting the evening glow."
Hearing this, Zheng Fan chuckled. He reached out and patted Ding Hao’s shoulder, and said, "I get it."
After speaking, Zheng Fan stood up and stretched lazily.
Ding Hao immediately rose with him and asked, "Master, what did you get?"
"I’ve been living too comfortably, that’s why I’ve been pretentious," Zheng Fan said. "Actually, when I was a child, even though my parents separated early and my father didn’t really look after me, I never lacked money for food or school.
"I’ve never experienced famine, never truly suffered. In those days, I’d wake up, and everything would be arranged for me.
"Most of the time, there was nothing I really had to do. Even if there was, it was like playing the part of a crown prince, with a host of people around to study with me."
Such an irreverent comparison might have left outsiders utterly shocked, but Ding Hao didn’t take it to heart.
"From now on, I really can’t afford to be pretentious anymore," Zheng Fan declared.
He looked around at the Chen Mansion, now a ruin.
The world he came from, however harsh, still retained a degree of warmth. In that era, it was certainly possible to succumb to a terminal illness due to lack of funds for treatment. However, to suggest someone could starve to death by the roadside, completely ignored, was unrealistic.