Once the troublemaking woman left, there was no more spring scenery bursting forth to admire, and the crowd at the Yang Family Shop quickly dispersed.
Zheng Dafeng hunched his shoulders and scurried beneath the main house's eaves, squatting some distance away, not daring to get too close to Old Man Yang.
Both were disciples, yet before this master, his treatment and Li Er's were as far apart as clouds and mud.
Zheng Dafeng also resented his master's favoritism, but with some things, refusing to accept one's fate simply would not do.
Zheng Dafeng asked timidly, "Master, Qi Jingchun is dead set on refusing to follow the rules. When the time comes, where are we supposed to go?"
The old man said nothing, puffing on his dried tobacco. At some unknown time, from some unknown place, a black cat had arrived. It crouched not far from the old man's feet, shook its fur, and sent droplets of rain flying.
Zheng Dafeng said worriedly, "That bastard from Zhenwu Mountain actually invited a god down from the mountain. Could there be trouble? After all, countless people are watching this place now."
The old man still said nothing.
Used to his master's sparse speech, Zheng Dafeng did not find it awkward. As his thoughts ran wild, he thought again of Qi Jingchun and cursed, "Damn it, Qi Jingchun, you've spent fifty-nine years being a grandson. Couldn't you endure a few more days? Scholars are just stubborn fools—utterly beyond reason!"
The old man finally spoke. "You're a stubborn fool even without reading."
Rather than feeling ashamed, Zheng Dafeng turned and ingratiatingly asked, "Would Master like me to knead your shoulders or pound your legs?"
The old man said flatly, "I don't have much of a nest egg for my coffin. Give up on that thought."