The moon shone bright, the stars sparse.
Courtyard.
Today was Zhou Yi's sixtieth birthday, and he had invited Lao Bai over for drinks.
A bowl of longevity noodles.
Four cold dishes and four hot ones.
They had been made by Chef Liu from the small kitchen. Back then, he had only been a young man chopping vegetables behind his father; now he had surpassed his master, and his cooking was even better than his father's.
Chef Liu's name was renowned throughout Shenjing. Ordinary wealthy merchants could not taste his cooking, yet he had never once neglected his duties at the Heavenly Prison.
Too many rules, too little silver.
Zhou Yi asked curiously why he could not bear to give up the job.
"Master Zhou, you found a fine master and succeeded in martial arts—how could you know the taste of sorrow? We common folk have it hard. We have to leave ourselves a way out in everything."
Chef Liu said, "When I was young, I came to the Heavenly Prison twice to take refuge. The first time was nothing much; I even felt stifled here. The second time, when I returned to the shop, the shopkeeper and several assistants' corpses had already begun to stink..."
"Thinking back on it now, I sleep with one eye open at night and check the door bolt several times!"
Zhou Yi did not tell him that door bolts could only keep out gentlemen. Against thieves with formidable martial skill, they were utterly useless.
Just then.
The sound of the door opening rang out as Lao Bai entered carrying wine.
"A dignified Martial Grandmaster celebrating his sixtieth birthday, and it's this shabby? Who would believe it if word got out?"
"After all these years, you finally used the front door once."
Zhou Yi's senses were