Autumn Moon Market remained unchanged as always.
The boy Tong Zhihuan who once offended the gentleman now worked as an apothecary apprentice at Tongji Hall. He helped his dad gather herbs while learning dicine.
Ti flew, and he had grown much taller.
His childish face had matured, temper smoothed out.
Gone was that mischievous boy from years past.
In his rare free monts, Tong Zhihuan often walked to the bridge in Autumn Moon Market.
Only he knew what he longed to see there.
It was the far-fetched hope of eting that gentleman again.
But alas, the figure never reappeared.
anwhile, Old Man Zhang now had a son—Xiaoliu, the boy his tavern sheltered. Grateful, Xiaoliu treated Old Man Zhang like true father.
Ever since, Xiaoliu took charge of the tavern’s affairs.
From brewing to serving Autumn Moon Brew, he managed everything.
Old Man Zhang passed on his last remaining skills.
Xiaoliu proved exceptionally dedicated.
He even improved the recipe, deepening the Autumn Moon Brew’s flavor.
Better wine drew more crowds.
During a visit by students from Anning County, tasting the brew inspired poetic praise.
Word spread far and wide after their return.
Those who sipped Autumn Moon Brew never spoke ill of it.
Demand soon outstripped supply.
Xiaoliu worked tirelessly, doubling production yearly—yet it never sufficed.
Still, he sold whatever he could brew each season.
Despite the shortage, Xiaoliu always kept one jar unsold before each release.
Old Man Zhang, uninvolved with daily operations, brewed his own jar annually using traditional thods.
Xiaoliu questioned this, having already reserved wine for the gentleman.
Old Man Zhang replied:
‘I worry he might not like the taste.’
After all, however fine new things were, they’d never match old comforts.
“Ti nears—the gentleman should arrive in half a month. Xiaoliu, treat him most respectfully when he cos. Understood?”
“Don’t worry, Manager.”
“Good.”
⋯
Over three years of Divine Refinent practice, Chen Changsheng occasionally erged from deep focus. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel⟡fire
To his delight, he sensed awakening drawing near—
a feeling entirely new to him.
Amidst forest fields, grains of sand swirled together.
Particles stacked into human form.
In a blink, skin erged, then a simple white robe.
Chen Changsheng opened his eyes.
Golden rice paddies stretched before him.
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He paused, surveying the endless fields.
“Earlier than last awakening, it seems.”
His breath quickened.
Cultivation truly countered the curse!
He gazed into the distance, sending forth Divine Sense.
Autumn Moon Market shimred in his perception.
Stunned, he withdrew imdiately.
His lips parted in awe.
“Divine Sense…?”
Testing again confird it—
after three years’ refinent, his awareness spanned twenty miles.
“There must be more,” he mused.
Spotting a distant tree, an idea sparked.
Focusing his Divine Sense, he nudged the tree ntally.
Instead, colossal force slamd against it.
CRACK.
The trunk shuddered violently, then crashed down in two pieces.
“Wha—?”
Chen Changsheng reeled back, eyes wide.
“A light tap only…”
“And it snapped?!”
He swallowed hard, whispering:
“Then… what realm am I at now?”
Gazing at the shattered trunk, he murmured:
“That’s… alarming.”
⋯
A carriage stopped before the tavern.
An elderly gentleman descended—Yun Manor’s Steward Rong from the next town, a regular Autumn Moon Brew buyer.
Entering with three helpers, he announced:
“Little Manager, my Master’s birthday feast needs fifteen jars of Autumn Moon Brew—the day after tomorrow.”
Xiaoliu approached hesitantly.
“Fifteen jars? Not sure we have that many left…”
Steward Rong frowned.
“None?”
Xiaoliu explained:
“Demand exploded these past years, as you know. Even with extra workers doubling production yearly, we still run out.”
“Well, bring what you have. I’ll supplent with other wines.”
“Right away.” Xiaoliu nodded. “Follow to the cellar.”
Counting revealed only twelve jars remained.
As helpers began hauling them, Xiaoliu spoke up:
“Steward Rong—please spare one jar from these twelve.”
“Why?” demanded the steward.
Xiaoliu replied earnestly:
“It’s the tavern rule the Old Manager set years ago—always leave the last jar unsold.
No disrespect intended, sir.”
Seeing Xiaoliu’s sincerity, Steward Rong relented:
“Very well, but bring fine alternatives—I must justify this to my Master.”
“Rest assured, only the best!” Xiaoliu exhaled in relief.
At that mont,
dust-covered boots stepped into the tavern.
Chen Changsheng noted the empty room.
“Anyone here?”
Movent sounded from the back courtyard—helpers loading wine onto the carriage.
The manager must be busy, he figured, and sat waiting.
Soon Xiaoliu and Steward Rong reentered from the yard.
Spotting Chen Changsheng, Xiaoliu froze.
“G-gentleman! When did you arrive? Why didn’t you call? How long have you waited?”
Chen Changsheng waved dismissively.
“Just arrived. Saw you were busy. Where’s Old Man Zhang?”
“Off watching opera, likely,” Xiaoliu answered, joy erasing Steward Rong’s presence.
Steward Rong studied this newcor—
Otherworldly poise. Impeccably clean robe, scholarly elegance. Extraordinary!
“When did he pick up leisure habits?”
Chen Changsheng set his gourd on the table.
“Never mind him. One pot of Autumn Moon Brew, and refill the gourd.”
“At once, sir!”
Xiaoliu grabbed the gourd toward the cellar.
“Wait!” Steward Rong blocked his path.
“What’s this? Didn’t you insist on keeping one jar unsold?”
Xiaoliu faltered, clutching the gourd.
“Then explain this,” the steward pressed, brow furrowed.
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