About twenty li west of Horned Python Mountain, there was actually a sizable mortal city, densely populated, with roughly six or seven hundred thousand people.
Taverns stood everywhere in the city, and the foremost among them was an inn in the western part of the city called Drunken Immortal Pavilion.
It had its own aged wines, brewed and stored for years, and its other dishes were rare delicacies hard to find elsewhere. There were even rumors that, because they loved the fine wine here, those immortal cultivators with the powers of landbound immortals had once come here as guests.
Of course, that claim was far too absurd and bizarre, so most people remained half-believing and half-doubting.
But regardless of whether immortal masters had ever come, the food here was truly beyond question. Though the price of the dishes was clearly higher than at other restaurants, customers still came in an endless stream.
Li Si had worked here as a waiter for seven or eight years, growing from a wet-behind-the-ears child into a sturdy youth. Though he was only an ordinary shop assistant, he had been born with rather uncommon looks.
By scrimping and saving over the years, he had also put away several dozen taels of silver. Seeing that the New Year would arrive in just a few days, he was thinking that after returning home, he would ask the matchmaker who lived in East Village to arrange a marriage for him.
As the saying went, when a man came of age he should wed, and when a woman came of age she should marry. He was at the hot-blooded, vigorous age—how could he not long for a wife who knew when he was cold and when he was warm?
A youth in yearning; these past few days, whenever he