Editor: Misty Cloud Translations
He draped an arm over the man’s shoulder, leaning in close with a low chuckle. "How did this even get tied to beauty? If you’re going to play the hero rescuing a damsel, shouldn’t you at least pick a pretty one? Otherwise, what if she offers herself in return? That’d be a raw deal, wouldn’t it?"
"This Young Master has rather high standards," the man chuckled wickedly, his gaze sweeping over the girl ahead before shaking his head. "Offering oneself? That depends on both face and figure." He glanced at the girl, then added, "This one has a certain lively aura about her, but her face is truly nothing to write ho about. As for her figure... well, she’s like a little bean sprout, not fully developed at all. This Young Master simply can’t bring himself to take a bite."
Several n chatted and laughed nearby, making light of Yue’er. Little did they know, Yue’er—who appeared to be eating pastries and listening to the storyteller—had heard every word.
Just then, the audience below cheered and clapped. She smiled, eyes crinkling, and joined in the applause, never once glancing in their direction. She simply let them observe her.
Only when she heard the table over there calling for the waiter to add tea did she turn her head. "Waiter!" she called out, "Refill the water!" Her gaze naturally swept around the room, landing precisely on the table of n in brocade robes. They all wore inexplicable smiles as they looked at her. Seeing this, she lifted her own smile, beaming cheerfully at them.
"Coming right up!" The waiter approached, topped up her water, then walked over to the nearby table, setting a fresh pot of tea on their table before retreating.
After taking a sip of tea, Yue’er turned back to listen to the storyteller and, also, to the voices drifting over from the other table.
The group continued their conversation over tea.
"Look at her," one lavishly dressed man boasted, his chin lifted in smug satisfaction. "The mont she saw us, that girl flashed a smitten expression. Probably never seen a man as strikingly handso and distinguished as yours truly."
"Since that’s the case, why don’t you go invite the girl over to join us?" suggested the man in brocade robes, his face tinged with mischief as he gestured in her direction.
Yet, the wicked grin on his face shifted subtly the next mont. His smile stiffened slightly, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. The figure that had been leaning back lazily in his seat suddenly sat up straight, as if struggling to suppress sothing.
"What’s so hard about that? Watch ." The brocade-clad man stood up with a smile, but the mont he rose, a sound followed.
"Pfft!"
A loud fart echoed through the room. At that precise mont, the middle-aged storyteller upstairs was delivering the climax of his tale. The patrons below were holding their breath, listening intently, not making a single sound. Thus, this sudden, resounding fart was heard by nearly everyone in the teahouse.
For a mont, everyone froze, then looked up in surprise toward the source of the sound upstairs.
At the tea table where those n sat, each of them now wore an expression of struggle. A surge of gas seed to be racing through their bellies, desperate to find an escape. They held it in with all their might, but the more they held it, the more urgent it beca.
Especially the man who had let out the loud fart. He seed utterly shocked that he’d done such a thing in front of everyone. His face flushed crimson, yet he couldn’t control the gas surging within him.
"Pfft! Pfft pfft pfft!"
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