To Hell with Your Legends

"Bang, bang!"

The huge muffled thuds exploded into the half-interested ears of the drunks.

Like thunder erupting from flat ground, they jolted their sluggish minds awake:

"Who the fuck—"

Someone was about to start cursing when they heard a crisp clap, like a dead tree struck by muffled thunder:

"Smack!"

They turned toward the bar and saw that ridiculous vagrant strike the wooden table again:

"Bang bang, smack!"

"Bang bang, smack!"

"Bang bang, smack!"

The drunks had been born in a rural town. How could they understand rhythm?

Yet strangely, there was no embellishment at all—just two knocks on the table, followed by a clap of the hands. That was all.

This simple but lively beat echoed through their ears again and again.

It somehow felt enticing, as though it were urging them to knock on the table and clap along...

"What kind of trick is this?!"

The drunks held their hands still, fighting the urge to follow along.

They had completely forgotten to mock him, unaware that they had already fallen into the rhythm.

Tang Qi knew he had achieved his goal—

As a creator of prepackaged online songs, he naturally knew there was no such thing as good or bad music.

But music had its functions, and it had its audiences.

A concerto might be grand and majestic, but it was not necessarily suited for ordinary people who had worked all day and only wanted to get drunk and brag.

Give them a simple beat instead, something to help empty their minds.

Once their spirits rose, their hands would happily keep time without stopping—

The drunks cared about their dignity, but the little girl behind the bar did not.

She only thought the rhythm was not complicated. It seemed like she could make it too.

Without realizing it, she was drawn in and began knocking and clapping along.

"Bang bang, smack!"

"Bang bang, smack!"

The rhythm they made together resonated, much louder than Tang Qi's solo performance.

It echoed through the increasingly silent tavern, as though muffled thunder were about to burst from the earth.

Rhythm was rooted in the blood to begin with, an instinct born with them. Besides, this rhythm was not complicated.

Once one person followed along, a second and third would soon follow...

"Damn, it's actually kind of interesting."

Listening as the "thunder" grew louder, Jackal could not help setting down his cup. He pursed his lips and muttered before turning to shout at Tang Qi,

"But if you think knocking on tables counts as performing, you'd probably be better off selling your ass!"

"Shut up, Jackal." Black Snake beside him had also been shaken awake by the "thunder."

"Boss?"

Jackal was at a loss, but he feared Black Snake.

Just as he was about to explain, he saw Black Snake staring sharply at Catherine behind the bar—

She seemed to have been pulled into the rhythm as well, lightly keeping time with the drunks.

So Black Snake began knocking on the table and clapping too.

"It's just clapping and knocking on tables..."

Jackal gritted his teeth and spat coldly,

"What other tricks could there be? Once he starts singing, he'll just kill the mood."

No one wanted to hear those stale old flatteries and boasts.

Tang Qi knew that perfectly well—

This simple drumbeat had performed its task flawlessly.

It had drawn the drunks' attention and lifted the tavern's mood.

But it could not earn their approval.

The opening alone was not enough for a ballad to win applause.

It needed to truly enter the listeners' hearts—

Yet the songs at the academy, written to serve nobles and officials, were nothing but praises of virtue and glory, or tales of romance and passion.

The drunks would not relate to any of that.

There was only one subject that could make these farmers, who labored all year only to be exploited by landlords, feel understood—

Their lives.

So, as the tavern once again filled with that crude yet stirring "drumbeat,"

Tang Qi raised his voice and sang:

"When they praise the past, who is fighting for tomorrow?

On their nights of fine food and rich clothes, who is being coerced by money?

This world is too damn bitter—

The rich cause trouble, and the poor take the blame!"

The lyrics did not deserve that familiar masterpiece.

He could only make up a new verse himself, with a melody that sounded like casual humming.

But it did not matter if the melody was casual.

What mattered was that it was easy to remember.

It had to be catchy enough for the listeners to hum along.

The academy did not teach such things, and Tang Qi's predecessor could only play clumsy little court tunes on a lute.

But Tang Qi, a creator of prepackaged songs, could write this kind of melody with ease.

As for the lyrics, he used the plainest words possible.

There was no need to name anyone directly.

The drunks understood who was praising the past and who was living in luxury.

"A new nation rises, an old dynasty falls;

Let the gods speak—who wastes away upon these fields?"

Lord Mel legally owned the land of Star Plum Town, but he would never personally go to the countryside and cultivate barren fields.

So he marked out the most fertile land, established an Orchard, and had his Serfs grow the finest Star Plum.

He then leased the remaining fields to free farmers, collected their rent, and bought back their excess crops at low prices—

Three mountains surrounded this place, cutting it off from the outside world.

To leave the town, one had to cross the dangerous Twilight Forest.

Its treacherous terrain, wild creatures, and even undead monsters could easily wipe out a fully equipped adventuring party without a Spellcaster.

Occasionally, lucky people like Tang Qi survived.

But merchant caravans rarely did.

So the farmers had goods in their hands, but nowhere to sell them.

As for the lord who reaped all the profits, of course he would not risk traveling back and forth between the two places.

All he had to do was host balls at his villa in Dragon Gold City, enjoy a life of leisure, and send his caravans running about. Every year, an endless stream of gold coins flowed into his treasury...

Those who truly buried all their blood and sweat in this land received only enough to barely balance their income and expenses.

Who was the master here?

And who wasted away upon this land?

"It's me, it's me!"

Tang Qi had been hungry for too long, and thirsty for too long. His voice was already somewhat hoarse.

But the stage had been set, and he could not lose his nerve.

Even if he had to tear his vocal cords apart, he would sing at the top of his lungs,

"Don't let promises destined to be broken blind you,

Don't forcibly seize my goddamn labor—

Pick up your hoe, even if you have to kill and burn;

Hold your head high, even if you scream your throat raw!

To hell with heroes, to hell with legends;

To hell with landlords, to hell with life!"

"Cut off his goat beard!"

The Dwarf keeping the rhythm downed his plum wine and slammed the table as he rose.

Born in the mountains, he had never been able to stand the nobles' tedious formalities.

"To hell with landlords, to hell with life!"

When adventurers got drunk, they did not care who paid their wages.

But Jackal hurriedly pressed down on his Dwarf companion's shoulder, shocked and frightened.

"Gravel, are you insane? That's our employer!"

Black Snake stretched and leaned back against the wall in the corner.

"The employer can't hear us in Dragon Gold City. If we're unhappy, what's wrong with cursing a little?

We're mercenaries paid in coin, not dogs begging for scraps."

If they had truly been that loyal, how could they have come to the tavern to get drunk while they were supposed to be on night watch?

Jackal was still uneasy and hurriedly looked around.

Yet he found that no one paid any attention to their corner at all.

Tang Qi's "ballad" was crude, but the advantage of being crude was that it was easy to learn.

By the time he repeated it a second time, people had already begun singing along to the tune.

They were usually dissatisfied with the lord, but they would never voice it openly.

Yet tonight, wind and rain had trapped the drunks within this tiny space.

They were already living in drunken oblivion.

As long as tomorrow had not arrived yet,

they could pretend they were still living in a dream.

No one cared about words spoken in dreams.

Once drunk, they no longer feared speaking wildly.

"To hell with landlords, to hell with life!"

"Poet, you're a goddamn genius!"

"Catherine, three more cups of Star Plum Wine! Oh, and my favorite mashed potatoes too. I'm sleeping here tonight!"

"Grandma, I miss you..."

Amid the cheering and clinking cups, they felt thoroughly satisfied.

To the point that no one cared anymore about who had written the ballad.

Nor did anyone care about the joke he had been before.

They only hoped this night could last a little longer.

After all, when that pale strip of dawn appeared along the horizon,

they would have to forget the present and wake from their dream.

So Tang Qi finally had time to rest. He gave a light cough, making a bubbling sound. "Uh, uh, uh..."

It could massage his aching throat.

A tray was placed before him.

On it sat hard, cold black bread, stewed beans, and a cup of plum wine fragrant with fruit and faintly gleaming.

He slowly raised his eyes and met Catherine's bright gaze.

Then he heard her say:

"You worked hard. Would you like something to eat?"

Respect had to be earned.

He was a Poet, not a beggar.

This was payment, not charity.

"Of course. Thank you."

Tang Qi nodded, but unexpectedly noticed the little girl beside Catherine.

She was the first listener who had followed his beat.

Still immersed in the ballad, the girl raised her tiny fist and loudly copied him:

"To hell with landlords, to hell with life!"

Catherine reached out and rapped her hard on the head.

"Don't learn dirty words!"

The girl covered her aching head.

"Waaah~"