Chapter 214
Of course, since there wasn't a large amount of ice, merchants would add mint and other flavorings to these drinks made with fruit, honey, and sugarcane to create a refreshing taste. Some even went further, soaking the cups in cool water beforehand for an even more pleasant drinking experience.
The Immortal Zhongyou ordered two bowls of sweet water. After drinking them, he wiped the residue off his beard and prepared to pay.
However, when he took out the currency of the great southern country, the shopkeeper waved his hand and said, "Master, we can't use this money here."
The Immortal Zhongyou were taken aback for a moment, then nodded knowingly.
This is just how troublesome this era is.
He then laboriously reached into his satchel to try and find some other money inside.
The shop owner quickly stopped him. "It's alright. You're a master, so you don't need to pay."
The Immortal Zhongyou shook their heads as they looked at the shopkeeper's fearful yet ingratiating smile.
"You can't do that." He continued searching for money with great difficulty, but unfortunately, the currencies used in the southern countries were very different from those here.
Those precious metal coins made of silver are universally applicable, but two bowls of sweet water are clearly not worth those prices.
The Immortal Zhongyou frowned, completely unaware that the shopkeeper's face had turned pale.
More and more people gathered around, watching the scene with amusement, observing the shop owner's flustered state.
The Vaishya have offended a Brahmin guru, and this is a spectacle that doesn't happen every day.
"Is this enough money?" Sita, Sita. She pushed through the crowd and paid for the drinks for the Immortal Zhongyou.
"That's enough, that's enough," the shop owner nodded repeatedly.
"Alright, old sir," Sita, pressing down on the Immortal Zhongyou. "I'm also heading south. If you don't mind, how about exchanging some money from the southern kingdoms for me?"
Hanuman then began to drive away the people who were still gathering around.
Seeing that there was no excitement to watch, the crowd gradually dispersed.
The Immortal Zhongyou looked at the shop owner with some guilt. "I really didn't expect that I would cause you trouble. I'm very sorry."
"No, I wouldn't dare, I wouldn't dare say that..." The shopkeeper waved his hand, half ingratiating and half fearful.
Seeing this, the Immortal Zhongyou who originally wanted to say a few more words silently shut their mouths.
He looked at Sita, about to say something, when a familiar yet strange feeling welled up inside him.
But the friends didn't say anything, they just asked, "There are more than twenty countries in the south, and I only have money from a few of them. However, relatively speaking, the money from Ayodhya is the best, and the surrounding countries all recognize it. How about I exchange some Ayodhya money for you?"
"Excellent!" Sita delight. "I was just about to go to Ayodhya."
As the friends transferred the money from Ayodhya, they asked, "Why would a young girl like you travel so far to Ayodhya? You should know that to get to Ayodhya, you have to cross two battlefields and four hostile kingdoms."
"Besides, there are Brahmin monks roaming the wilderness, trying to capture people to make ritual implements. The journey is fraught with difficulties, so why are you so determined to go to Ayodhya?"
"..." Sita moment.
They don't want to talk about it? That's normal.
The Immortal Zhongyou chuckled self-deprecatingly.
At some point, he also began to pick up the Brahmin habit of lecturing.
"Don't take it to heart. Just think of it as an old man saying a few words out of turn." The friends smiled, stood up, and said, "Thank you for your help."
"That old man seems to be Brahmin ascetic," Hanuman said to Sita as he approached.
Even among Brahmin, there are distinctions of rank and status. Sages are the most esteemed among them; Brahmin ascetics are slightly lower; and then come ordinary Brahmin monks.
Ordinary Brahmin monks can also issue curses or blessings, but their power is far less than that of ascetics.
— Imagine this: both are using a computer to search for resources, but the former still has to search for keywords on Baidu, while the latter has already used magnet links.
The difference in their abilities is evident.
Sita nodded silently.
Along the way, she has grown a lot.
They had originally thought that there would be a prosperous and civilized new world outside the village, but all they found along the way from south of the Indus River Valley were barbaric, desolate, and ignorant tribes.
Can you imagine a family eating, drinking, relieving themselves, doing laundry, and cooking all in the same basin?
Can you imagine that the reason these tribal people don't wear shoes is because it makes it easier to clean up if they step in poop?
Can you imagine that the most popular drink in the village is a steaming hot "beer" produced by a so-called sacred cow?
Can you imagine a girl who is only fifteen years old and already a mother of three? When they see Sita, who is already an adult, the look in their eyes is not jealousy or envy, but incomprehension.
They were from completely different worlds now—even though Sita could understand them.
So along the way, she also learned to wear a "sari".
These Bharata traditional garments also have distinctions based on social status and social class.
Expensive saris are made of silk with beautiful pearl trim and decorated with gorgeous patterns in gold and silver thread; cheaper saris are made of cotton or coarse linen and have no extra patterns.
But whether expensive or cheap, the saris is a talisman for Bharata women.
In Bharata's customs and traditions, if a woman did not wear a sari, it meant that men could do whatever they wanted to her; if she wore a sari, it at least meant that the woman was protected by her father and brothers.
Sita his journey, Sita personally killed no fewer than twenty tribesmen who wanted to possess him.
But as long as she doesn't wear a sari, this stalking and plundering will never stop, whether in the tribe or the city.
Before entering the city-state, she finally had no choice but to put on a blue sari.
After she put on this dress, those openly venting desires in her eyes finally disappeared.
This is certainly a compromise. Sita thought.
Hanuman said nothing about Sita's decision; he was like a silent but loyal protector.
The Immortal Zhongyou had originally planned to spend the night by the roadside.
It's nothing.
The climate in Bharata is hot; sometimes it's not as cool inside as it is outside.
Since all the friends were Brahmin Immortal, naturally no one dared to risk being cursed to steal from them.
As a genius with high-end equipment, my friends can simply find a place to sit and surf the internet.
However, he hadn't gone far when several Kshatriya nobles, Gilgamesh, found him and invited him to the palace.
The tyrant who ruled this city-state was very interested in this "Brahmin" and wanted to pay him a visit.
Immortal Zhongyou, there's nothing wrong with that—where isn't the internet? Going to the palace for a few meals wouldn't be bad either.
Upon arriving at the palace, the Immortal Zhongyou met the portly Kshatriya ruler.
This nobleman was the tyrant who ruled the city-state—he had murdered the previous ruler, his uncle, twenty years earlier.
Like all Lord who meet Brahmin, this nobleman bowed with utmost respect, though the Immortal Zhongyou excused him from the elaborate formalities.
For a tyrant with a huge appetite, completing a series of formalities is simply impossible.
Two young heroes of the city-state stood nearby, their mothers conceiving children through the Vayu and the fire Agni.
The Vayu, the fire Agni, and the god Indra.
In the mortal world, the descendants born under the influence of these three deities are the most numerous.
The Immortal Zhongyou looked at the two heroes, accepted their offerings, and then blessed them by pressing their thumbs between their eyebrows.
After this series of procedures was completed, the Immortal Zhongyou turned around and sat back in their seats, gesturing to the maid to peel the bananas and hand them to them.
Losing an arm makes everything very difficult. Immortal Zhongyou is the kind of person who can endure hardship, easily overcome psychological barriers, and enjoy life with peace of mind.
Of course, when the tray was brought back by the maid, all the fruit inside had been peeled and cut into pieces, emitting a sweet and tempting aroma.
The Immortal Zhongyou picked up a piece of mango and put it in their mouths, waiting for the tyrant to make his demands.
"Revered Brahmin master, venerable ascetic, yogi!" he said, "I am about to offer sacrifices to Agni fire god, and hold a grand and important ceremony..."
The Immortal Zhongyou had just picked up the banana trembled in surprise. "Fire God Festival?"
After experiencing a series of events, he had some lingering trauma from the Vulcan Festival and related matters.
The Demon King is such a precious being that even someone Ravana would be enough to cause him a lot of trouble.
"Ah, no, no, it's not the kind of fire god festival," the tyrant quickly clarified, "It's the Ashvamedha."
Immortal Zhongyou rubbed his temples, wondering if it was because of the heat that he was dizzy and hadn't understood.
Ashvamedha? You mean the highest-ranking Brahmin who releases a magnificent horse and then follows behind it to conquer cities and territories?
Even when Ravana was Banjoku King, he did not have the power to perform such a sacrificial ceremony. To be precise, none of the Sixteen Kingdoms at that time had the capability to do so.
Holding the Ashvamedha signifies a declaration that the chaotic Bharata will be unified.
The Ayodhya possessed the largest territory, and Dasharatha enjoyed high prestige among the Lord. However, if he were to announce that he would hold Ashvamedha, he would become the target of public criticism within three days.
—Let's not pick and choose where to have a fight, we're sending you, old man, to heaven today.
Now a tyrant of a small city-state dares to tell himself that he wants to hold a "Ashvamedha"?
Fortunately, the Immortal Zhongyou were Brahmin Immortal who had been elevated from Kshatriya. If it were immortals like Jiyu or Biyi who heard this, they would be furious, or at least they would take out their water jugs and unleash a curse.
—Damn it, what kind of scum dares to hold Ashvamedha here!
Of course, the Immortal Zhongyou's expressions weren't very good either.
"Revered Kshatriya, Lord of this city-state, lord of the three rivers," said the Immortal Zhongyou. "The Ashvamedha requires enormous manpower, material resources, and most importantly, a powerful military force to ensure all of this is accomplished."
Your army must follow the steeds, conquering all territories as far as the eye can see. If there are mountains ahead, cut them down; if there are rivers ahead, cross them. Even if the Ayodhya stands in your way, charge in, conquer them, and force Dasharatha to become your follower.
Even the legendary Banjoku King hadn't accomplished this. The twenty-two kingdoms of the Ganges Plain had a tacit agreement: whoever held the Ashvamedha first would become their common enemy.
The Immortal Zhongyou turned slightly to the side. "Now tell me, do you still want to hold the 'Ashvamedha'?"
"You misunderstand, Master!" The tyrant chuckled and rubbed his hands together. "I know I am far from reaching that level, so what I am holding is a substitute."
The Immortal Zhongyou nodded knowingly.
Oh, I see. That makes sense now.
Many monarchs, unable to hold higher-level sacrifices, eventually had to settle for less.
Let's talk about the Ashvamedha. There are nearly twenty kinds of sacrifices that were invented to "replace" the Ashvamedha.
Seeing the Immortal Zhongyou' expressions soften, the tyrant felt relieved. "Please help me perform this fire ritual, and I will certainly offer you many sacrifices!"
"I don't need too much offering," the friends said. "You should use that money to help the poor."
"Ah, how merciful! How merciful!" The tyrant clasped his hands together.
Sita and Hanuman returned to their lodgings.
As night fell, faint sobbing could be heard coming from outside the door.
Sita and Hanuman exchanged a glance, put on their shoes, pushed open the door, and went out. They saw a barefoot little girl squatting on the ground crying.
"What's wrong?" Sita asked. "Why are you crying at this time?"
"My little brother was sold to the palace," the little girl said. "My parents don't care at all."
Sita was speechless.
She has seen a lot in this time and is no longer the naive little girl she once was.
In this era, it was not a bad thing for the poor, especially those from lower castes, to serve as servants or assistants to the nobility.
For the poor and destitute of lower castes, this was already a sign of upward social mobility.
She was about to try to comfort the little girl when she heard her cry out, "The people of the palace are going to burn my brother alive!"
Sita's face immediately stiffened.
When it came to burning people alive, Sita could only think of "fire sacrifice".
Could the little boy sold to the palace be a sacrifice?
At this moment, the girl's parents rushed over, glared at Sita, and then took their daughter back.
Sita stood up. "What's his name?"
"Gouwei! His name is Gouwei... Ugh ugh ugh—"