Little River Town.
Shu Mountain Branch.
Early in the morning, Old Zhang, a Shushan Disciple, walked out of Widow Wang's house, a gourd tucked at his waist as he followed the riverbank, his feet sinking into mud.
He glanced down and cursed under his breath.
Old Zhang let out a huge yawn, feeling somewhat unwell.
Could it really be that I'm getting old?
"Old Zhang, Old Zhang."
Two children suddenly came up from behind him.
Without looking at them, Old Zhang snapped, "Get lost, get lost. Don't bother me."
He pulled out a document from his pocket.
"Damn it, I worked my bones to the marrow for all these years, and they say I embezzled. How the hell did I embezzle?
Was it easy for me to get where I am today? So what if I skimmed a little?
If I didn't skim a little, how was I supposed to advance?"
"Old Zhang, Old Zhang!"
"Get lost, get lost, get lost!" Old Zhang roared impatiently.
"It's over. This time, I'm finished. When I go back to Shu Mountain, I'll be locked up for at least a hundred years.
A hundred years without alcohol—I'll die."
"Old Zhang, Old Zhang..."
"Get lost!"
With that furious roar, Old Zhang's voice abruptly rose several octaves. His eyes bulged round, his eyeballs nearly popping from their sockets.
His already rough skin flushed crimson from extreme fury, as though it had been drenched in blood.
The two children jumped in fright, their faces deathly pale, their bodies shaking like sieves.
Soon, Old Zhang caught the smell of urine. Looking over, he discovered that one of them had wet himself in terror.
Old Zhang was puzzled. Surely the two children could not have been scared that badly by him?
He had always gotten along well with them,