After composing himself, Meng Zhao had no desire to linger any longer. He left the teahouse with Lü Yue and returned to the Meng Family.
It was nearing dusk, and pedestrians hurried back and forth along the roads.
The stalls and shops lining both sides of the street were also packing up and closing their doors, preparing to return home and rest.
When Meng Zhao reached a fork in the road, several Beggars suddenly sprang out from a corner. Their hair hung in wild disarray, their clothes were ragged, and their bodies reeked. They begged him for money. They were either old men or children, and looked utterly pitiful.
Under normal circumstances, these Beggars would never block the path of someone like Meng Zhao, dressed in such luxurious clothes and clearly of extraordinary status.
However, one of the more experienced Beggars noticed the string of Jade Prayer Beads around Meng Zhao's wrist, which he continued to finger even as he walked. Thinking him a kindhearted and compassionate man, they took the risk.
Meng Zhao was not particularly kindhearted, and fingering the prayer beads was merely a habit. Still, seeing these miserable Beggars softened his heart somewhat.
He could not help recalling this body's past experiences.
Before he had transmigrated into it, this body had been just like the people before him—going hungry one meal and full the next, liable to freeze or starve to death at any moment, as lowly as roadside weeds.
Moreover, after witnessing such a bloody scene today, with so many innocent people dying in vain, a trace of compassion rose within him.
His gaze grew gentler, and he gave Lü Yue a meaningful look.
Lü Yue understood at once. Knowing what his Young Master meant, he untied the money pouch from his waist, took out more