Jingle, jingle.
The carriage bells collided.
The large horse stopped in the middle of the road and refused to move. Its hairy tail flicked up, and a steaming, smoking pile of horse dung dropped to the ground. The half-foul stench of livestock drifted through the air. The dung soon froze hard, but its peculiar odor lingered for a long time.
Cha Qing was used to it. He snorted through his nostrils, picked up half a side of mutton, and headed home.
After half a year of living here and studying diligently,
it was impossible for him to have no accent at all. But so long as the locals slowed down and did not use any technical terms, ordinary communication in daily life posed no problem.
Creak.
As he opened the courtyard gate, Cha Qing caught a rich scent of spices and immediately felt dissatisfied.
"I'm not back yet, and you've started eating already?"
"What's he babbling about?"
"He's asking why we've started eating. My lord, before you arrived, we used Great Snow Mountain speech for all our daily communication so we could learn it as quickly as possible. Today, Big Brother Cha Qing went out to buy meat."
Hearing his hometown accent from inside, Cha Qing started in surprise and strode forward to push open the door.
The room was lively. A large copper pot bubbled and churned, sending up billowing steam. The table beside it was covered with fresh vegetables from who knew where, mushrooms, winter bamboo shoots, and soft tofu, their fragrance assailing the nostrils.
Liang Qu, Long E Ying, Long Binglin, an unfamiliar bald monk, Fan Zixuan, and Kou Zhuang sat gathered around it—six people in all. Two Marsh Weasels were off to one side, making the room feel somewhat cramped.
"My lord!" Cha Qing suppressed his